Snow Day

 

It’s a snow day today. Recently the snow days seem to generally happen on Sunday. Church is cancelled and we stay warm and safe in our homes. Though I love to go to the House of the Lord and worship, I can worship Him at home as well, and today that is what we will do. In all things I will give thanks for He sends the sun, the rain and the snow storms.

I’m sure the children in the area would much rather have a snow day on a week-day, for then they would be able to play hooky from school for the day. How well I remember the snow days of my childhood. We gathered with anticipation in front of the radio on the kitchen counter and waited for those words, “No school at Sheldon Community Schools today!” Hallelujah! Many times it was a reprieve for unfinished homework. Sometimes it meant one more day to study for a test. (As if we really did that!) But mostly, it was a ‘fun’ day. I believe our mom enjoyed snow days even more than we did. She was not one of those mothers who couldn’t wait for September when the children got out of her hair for seven hours a day. Oh no, she loved having her offspring at home with her even if for some of that time we were outside playing or at a friend’s house.

A snow day could mean any number of special things would happen. The very first thing we did was to collect some freshly fallen snow in a large bowl and bring it inside for Mom to make ‘snow ice cream.’ Of course, we were admonished to stay away from the yellow snow!  The ingredients were simple, a little sugar and a little vanilla mixed into the snow, but was it ever good! After having our fill of snow ice cream we would sit around the kitchen table playing games. Some of our favorites were, Anagrams, Wahoo, Monopoly and Clue. Other times Mom would whip up a batch of taffy and we would have a taffy pull. We were fortunate enough to live on the edge of town where we could enjoy ‘country living’ but still have friends nearby. If the snow accumulation was considerable we would bundle up and venture outside to build snow forts and tunnels. When our friends joined us a lively game of “Fox and Geese” ensued. Sometimes we built mazes in the snow. Of course, there were always a number of snow angels decorating the lawn as well. There were no hills in our neighborhood, but when the snow plows went by they usually left huge piles along the side of the road which served as sledding slopes. We tried ice skating on the tiny creek that ran behind our house, but it was usually so dry that there wasn’t enough water to freeze. If it wasn’t too cold, we walked the mile or so to the city park where an open spot was flooded for use as an ice skating rink.

Today, as I sit and listen to the howling wind and watch the drifts form across our driveway, I am glad for the memories of those snow days long ago.  That girl of my childhood, loved to wrap up in winter garb and venture outside on a blustery day. Today, this girl is wishing there was someone else who would go out and do the chicken chores!

Back to the Black Hills

This summer my husband and I are planning a trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota. We have both been there before, but not together. He was just a youngster when his family vacationed there and I have actually visited twice. The most recent trip to "the hills" for me was with my parents and three children in 1989. We had a grand time camping and seeing all the most familiar sites. The trip I would like to relate, however, is my first trip to this western destination. The year was 1963 and I was 12 years old. What a memorable vacation that was! My family consisted of my parents, two younger brothers and myself. My mom's cousins joined us making a total of 14 people! We traveled in two vehicles and took three tents along. We camped at Sylvan Lake and really 'roughed' it. Some of the boys rigged up a shower and a hand washing station. (Back then you could do things like that!) We wanted to do everything! All of us children clamored around the two adult drivers and insisted that we do this and see that and go here and visit there! Well, the father of the cousins said, "Okay, let's just do it all and die!" Of course, we didn't do it all, but we did a lot! I remember riding through a little town where the donkeys roamed the streets and came right up to our car, sticking their heads in the open windows. Cousin Mary loved all animals and thought this was great and she proceeded to feed our whole bag of potato chips to the donkeys! Back then a bag of potato chips was a real treat for me and my brothers, so we were quite upset that the donkeys got the chips instead of us! The night we went to the Passion Play in Spearfish was memorable too. Actually, I don't remember much about the play, but I remember that Mary and I got cold and were quite weary from all our adventures. We went to the women's rest room which had an outer lounge area. There we found a nice, comfortable couch where we laid down and feel asleep! When we awoke everyone was leaving and the play was over! Then there was the night that is rained and blew and stormed until a few of the cousins decided this was too much for them and got a motel room! Not my family! We stuck it out in our canvas abode all night, even though the boys could float their little homemade paper boats inside the tent when morning came!
Well, this year, we plan on camping again (unless we win a contest!) but this time it will be in our little pop-up camper. We fully intend to have just as good a time as we remember having on our previous visits, after all, we're still kids at heart!

Happy New Year

The new year has begun and with it come thoughts of what I want to accomplish in 2011. I don't like to use the word 'resolutions' when talking about my plans for the year because we all know that resolutions don't remain firm for long. I prefer not to verbalize my intentions but I also know that if I keep them to myself I am not being held accountable. Then again, even if I tell someone what I plan to accomplish, will they really hold me accountable? Most people are too 'nice' to mention it when you 'fall off the wagon.' Well....they will probably tell other people about your downfalls, but will they come to you with it? So my dilemma is this....to tell or not to tell. Like most people, I tend to try to achieve more than is reasonable. However, I figure if I have a number of things on my 'to do' list, I will at least get a few of them done....and that will be better than nothing, right? So, to those of you who read this blog, I am making some 'resolutions' and it will be interesting to me to see which of you 'hold me to' my list!
In 2011 I would like to lose at least 25 lbs. (and keep it off!). I resolve to keep up on my housework better and to get my basement cleaned and organized. I will read my Bible more. I will throw something away (or get rid of it, one way or another) every day. (Purge, Purge, Purge!) I will exercise more and eat less (this will help with #1) . I would like to get back to writing, so will try to blog at least once a week.
So, now I shall see who read my blog and who asks me pertinent questions periodically.
I'm hoping that once in awhile someone will ask me, "Did you read your Bible today?" or "How's the basement project coming?" or "What kind of execising are you doing?"
Don't be afraid! Just do it! Keep me honest!

Take a Hike!

They're sprouting up all over! Every town I visit these days seems to have one. Most are beautiful and have me itching to exit my vehicle and take advantage of these new phenomenons. I want to see what adventures lie beyond the small portion of pathway that is visible. I speak of walking/biking trails. In the past if a person wanted to hike or pedal down a scenic, secluded lane, they would go to the forest or a large park or even a country road. But these days you can leave work, exhausted from the daily rat race and within five minutes be refreshed and regenerated as you amble along a winding pathway, lined with trees, hedges and gorgeous flowers. Many even have beautifully landscaped resting areas.

Our town has recently completed one of these trails and though I haven't yet walked the entire length in a single trip, I have covered each piece at one time or another. It's a peaceful place where you can get your excercise while meditating or simply enjoying the weather. I don't get the chance to take advantage of the walkway as much as I'd like since I live thirteen miles from it, but I do see many of the town folk using the recreation trail on a regular basis. It almost makes me want to live in town again. Almost.

In spite of the convenience of this lovely area, there are still those who prefer to walk through town on the sidewalks, or on the street or on the blacktops surrounding the town. I don't mind them using the city sidewalks, but why the streets and roadways? It's simply not safe. And there are now other options!

As I drive into town or leave the city each day I usually have to slow and manuever around people who are walking or biking on the side of the blacktop. They don't seem to care that there are cars coming at them from each direction as they hold their ground in the middle of the road. I have honked only to receive a friendly wave in return.

Recently my husband and I were backing our car out of a driveway in town and almost hit two mothers pushing strollers as they walked down the middle of the street. My husband rolled down the window and asked if they didn't think it would be safer to walk on the sidewalk. The reply was that they couldn't fit side by side on the sidewalk! I guess their visiting took precedence over the safety of their babies. Wow!

If you are one of those who still haven't strolled along a recreational trail, I urge you to put it on your schedule soon. Get off your duff, get out of the road and take a hike! You won't be sorry!

The Great Flood

In view of the fact that we have had a good share of rainy weather already this spring, today I am going to relate a story about the great flood of 1926. This flood occured in Sioux County, Iowa and took the lives of four residents of that county. My dad, his brother and their father narrowly escaped a similar fate on that seventeenth day of September, eighty one and a half years ago. Here is their story.

Harvest time came and Grandpa was having trouble with his grain binder. The binder literally bound the bundles of grain with twine making this a much simpler task than in previous days when it had been done by hand. Pa took his binder over to their grandparents to help with getting the work completed. It was left there until one September day when Ed looked at Bernie and Erwin over the table at lunch time and asked, “How would you kids like to go along to get the binder.” They jumped at the chance to take a ride with their pa and eagerly hopped up onto the wagon. As they rode along, the sky began to cloud over and by the time they arrived at the Vander Zwaags it was quite dark. After a cup of coffee they started for home while the thunder rolled in the background.

As they approached Uncle Henry and Aunt Anne’s farm the wind had started to blow so Pa pulled onto the yard. The relatives weren’t home but arrived soon afterward and of course, another cup of coffee was in order. In spite of the threatening storm, the boys dad decided that they needed to get on home. Aunt Anne gave the group some old coats and they started out once more.

A torrent of rain was falling by the time they rounded the corner and it was decided that they would stop at the Kamstra’s place. No one was home there either, but the trio took refuge in the barn as the storm persisted. After quite some time in the shelter, Pa said, “We need to get going. Ma is home alone with Eugene and we need to get home.” The road was a muddy quagmire and pulling the binder caused an added hardship so they decided to leave it until later. They were still two miles from home and the deluge was unrelenting as the boys huddled together and Pa prodded the horses on.

Presently they arrived at the old bridge near their home and suddenly the horses stopped. The water rushed up the sides of the wagon and soon coverd most of the wheels. Erwin looked over the side and saw the rapidly rising creek as it swirled angrily below. He feared that they would all soon be submerged. Bernie huddled closer to his brother, his face reflecting the fear his brother had silently communicated. His sightless eyes gave him no idea just how perilous was their plight. The boys clung tightly to the wagon and clenched their chattering teeth as they wondered if they would ever reach the safety of their little farm house. It took all he had in him for Pa to urge those horses forward, but finally, knowing they were close to home, the pair slowly plodded ahead. It was dark when they reached the farm and Ma was frantic. She had called Aunt Anne and been told that her family had left quite some time ago. The creek had risen almost to the barn but she had done the chores and milked the cows. In spite of her fear she did what she knew had to be done.

The Friendly Dentist

I hate dentists! Don’t get me wrong, my dentist is a very likeable guy. It’s not the person that I detest, it’s the profession. I can’t understand why anyone in their right mind would want to spend eight hours a day with their hands in someone else’s mouth. And the dental hygienist is no better. When she is doing her cleaning routine it reminds me of fingernails scraping on a chalkboard.

My first experience with a dentist was when I was quite young. I had acquired a small cavity and it needed to be filled. The family dentist at that time was an older gentleman who had his practice in an equally old building downtown. The place was dark and foreboding. I was filled with trepidation as I opened the heavy wooden door and timidly entered. I guess the doctor thought that the cavity was small enough not to require any type of anesthetic because he did his drilling and filling without the benefit of Novocain or “laughing gas.” From then on, I dreaded every encounter with the “tooth” doctor.

As time went on, of course, I needed to see the dentist again, but by this time the old guy who gave me my first fright was retired. A succession of dentists followed and even though they were more apt to numb my mouth before working on me, they still scared me. The needle that was used to deaden my senses was huge! The “little” poke I was supposed to feel was a long, excruciating stab.

Eventually, the event of my first tooth extraction arrived. I had suffered with a toothache all weekend and on Sunday I couldn’t endure the pain any longer. I called my dentist, a guy who had attended high school with me. “Come on in,” he said, “We’ll take care of it.” Deep down, I knew what that meant. He was going to pull it! At this point, it didn’t much matter. The pain far exceeded my fear, so off I went, to the bright and cheery office so different from my first experience. Once in the chair, I braced myself for the onslaught and within seconds my mouth was hanging open and the dentist’s able hands and tools had entered. He had already administered the numbing agent and I felt a slight pushing. “There you go, all done.” Wow! I didn’t even feel it!

After that encounter, I didn’t fear dentists quite as much, but still do not look forward to my appointments. My present DDS is a pleasant sort whom I can joke with and he really tries to make my dental events painless, but I still don’t like to go see him. I hate lying back with my jaws spread wide while he and the assistant explore the gapping orifice. What do you look at? The eyes peering down at you through magnifying lenses aren't very comforting. The light used to illuminate your incisors is hypnotic. Don't look at the tools. They resemble medievel instruments of torture. I used to count fly specks on the ceiling but now they actually have pictures up there! After awhile those same old scenes become boring and my mind wanders back to the business at hand. My imagination takes over and I wonder if I might swallow something I shouldn't. The more I concentrate on not swallowing, the more I need to do so. Oh, and now my nose is itching!

Over the years I have had numerous fillings and filings. Today my sixth crown was installed and within the past year I have also had my first root canal. The worst of it is, every time I leave that office, I end up with a new pain. Maybe my friendly dentist is not as nice as he seems. Maybe he’s sabotaging another area of my mouth while repairing the current problem! I think the next time I go see him I’ll bring him a little gift. I have this nice little plant in my back room. It’s called the “Audrey II!” I hope he likes it!

The City Park

What ever happened to the city park? Today I drive past the park and see a beautifully landscaped area with a lovely gazebo and an awesome memorial to our war veterans. There is still a grouping of baseball diamonds on the north side and a playground with all sorts of entertainment options for the young. There is a very functional brick shelter house along with three or four covered picnic areas and a scattering of tables throughout the grassy expanse. Two rustic looking wooden cabins stand at the west end of the two blocks set aside for recreational activities. However, the public park in my hometown just isn't what it used to be.

My memories come flooding back as I reflect upon this part of town. As a youngster I spent many happy hours there. The ball diamond that lies to the east was once an outdoor swimming pool. Whenever the pool was open, I was there. Back then we didn't know about sun screen and skin cancer and didn't give a second thought to staying under the hot rays all day long. Once summer hit I was perpetually brown. I don't mean lightly tanned... I mean BROWN....dark brown. I never took many swimming lessons but must be part fish because I loved the water.
The pool had three diving boards - a one meter, a two meter and a three meter. I eventually worked up the nerve to dive off the one meter but only ever jumped feet first from the tallest board.

The pool wasn't the only attraction for my friends and me. Though the playground area wasn't nearly as elaborate as it is now we still enjoyed hours of fun on the swings, slides, jungle gym, giant strides and merry-go-rounds. If we became bored with the games we played in our own neighborhood, we would head across town to the park where there was no end to the diversions that kept us occupied. If we tired of the playground we could always go watch a soft ball game. There was always a game going on in one of the fields. Even if you didn't particularly care for soft ball, as we got into our pre-teen and teen-age years, it was enjoyable just to watch the boys!

The two little log cabins, that don't seem to get much use anymore, were at one time teaming with boys and girls as they attended scout meetings. The south bungalow was the boy scout house and to the north was the girl scout house. We sang and crafted, earned badges and learned many new things under the roofs of those little structures. The boy scout house is still in use as such but the girl scout house had been turned over to the American Legion and stands pretty quiet.

The center of the park used to hold two long wooden shelter houses where many family reunions were held. They had screened windows but the reunions were always held during the hottest part of the summer and there was just no way to keep cool within those buildings. As I think back on those gatherings I can still smell the sweat, fried chicken, coffee and cigar smoke. I can hear the clink of the horseshoes as the men challenged each other to game after game. There were no refrigerators in the building but we kept nibbling on the food that had been prepared much earlier in the day and never seemed to get sick. The stiffling heat caused a mighty thirst which we quenched with warm kool-aid from one of the many gallon jugs lined up on the table.
The women gossiped and fanned while the children headed for the pool. On any given day, the shelter houses were packed. If you wanted to reserve a space for your party you made sure to do so months in advance.

The most memorable of all activities the park had to offer were the weekly band concerts. Every Thursday night Grandpa and Grandma would pick us up and off to the park we would go. Once we arrived the problem of finding a suitable parking place was a priority. My mild mannered grandfather would drive around the park while the best back-seat driver of all times, my grandmother, would point out one spot after another. "Go there," she would say, and grandpa would calmly pass on by. "Now, just stop here," she would implore as we cruised past a space that a tricycle wouldn't even fit into. Finally, much to his wife's chagrin, grandpa would settle on the place he wanted and switch off the ignition. Sometimes we would sit in the car as the band played and at other times we would perch on the hard benches in front of the stage. Some towns had an actual band shell but all we had was a raised stage where the musicians sat in a semi-circle around the conductor. The instrumentalists consisted of high school students and adults with a musical background. They played for perhaps an hour or so and the music they produced was wonderful. I was especially fond of the John Phillips Sousa marches. At some point during the concert we would slip off to the little concession stand and get a bag of popcorn or an ice cream cone. I loved that little store! Years later the people who ran the Scout Stand, as it was called, would offer me my first real job.

I spent three summers working in the Scout Stand, and got to know the likes and dislikes of every customer. After an afternoon of swimming, the children would climb up on the bench outside the window in order to get a good view of all the penny candy. Then they would carefully make their choices and still end up trading with their friends after the purchase was made. The junior high boys would always order "suicides," a mixture of every kind of soda pop we had. One of the towns "simple" guys would spend his days watching ball games and always top it off with a cherry nut ice cream cone. The smell of popcorn would bring the older men from the horse shoe pits and the teens would stop by for a frozen Snicker bar. On nights when there was a big concert or tournament game, three of us would be required to take care of business and we would be tripping all over each other in the small confines of the concession stand. After the rush we would collapse onto a stool and enjoy one of the treats we had been serving up all night.

The only time our city park is packed any more is during our annual Labor Day celebration. On that day you can barely manuevure through the crowded walkways. There is excitement and fun and merriment, but the next day all is once again quiet. Oh for the days when the city park was alive with people and activity every day.