New Jacket

The school buses rumbling by my house each week day remind me that something is different this year. I am no longer using the arrival or departure of buses to determine my work day, rather I am wearing the new jacket of retirement. I confess that my new jacket feels very strange and sometimes I feel like Ferris Bueller without an excuse. I certainly miss my friends at school but I am grateful I had a career and colleagues that I cherish.

My days have a different rhythm to them now. Instead of being driven by the clock, I am driven by opportunities as they unfold. Certainly there are the usual demands of life such as exercising (yuck), cleaning (super yuck) and life's paperwork (yuck on steroids). But, the sweet moments are easier to capture when one is not tethered to a job. This past week I was able to enjoy lunch with my sister, have coffee with a dear friend and celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday at a new Ethiopian restaurant (I'm a sucker for injera). Another fun event happened with my mother at her assisted living facility.

Recently, a small town in our state suffered a devastating tornado which did considerable damage to the school in the town. My mother's assisted living has a resident who was a former volunteer fireman from that town so the staff decided to host a fundraiser for the damaged school. The fireman had a collection of firemen's memorabilia set up for a display and a few local firemen brought a firetruck to the assisted living so residents could get a tour of the truck and ask the firemen questions. My mom was excited that we could attend this event together and on a week day, no less. She ran a comb through her fluffy white hair and we slowly made our way outdoors. The sun kissed us with pleasantness as mom's walker scraped across the parking lot toward the firetruck. A sweet fireman patiently showed us all the moving parts of the firetruck and I could see the love of learning ignite in my mom's eyes. After the truck tour, we made our way to the tables of memorabilia. The first thing she said was, "Oh, wouldn't a little boy just love this stuff!"  Neither of us knows a lot about firemen's artifacts but we enjoyed perusing the display tables. And, of course, all good events have food, too. We each selected a doughnut and settled into the chairs on the sidewalk. We enjoyed visiting with others at the event while we soaked up a little sun and finished our snack.

Soon enough, it was time to make our way back to mom's room. On the way in, I remarked how the event was a win-win. We got a little fresh air and sunshine and we were able to donate to a good cause. My mom looked at me and said, "And we you were here. That's another win."

Win-win-win.

Peace

Fifty years ago, a mass of humanity gathered on the fields of a farmer in upstate New York. It was an area not meant for more than 50,000, much less the estimated half a million plus who did attend. Due to a plethora of snags along the way, the venue organizers (all in their twenties) were woefully unprepared for the hordes of people who made their way to a 3-day music festival of "peace and love." There were no organized gates ready for collecting ticket sales so an announcement had to be made by the organizers, "This will be a free concert." The masses stood on their feet and resoundingly clapped with joy. And the rest is history.

I am old enough to remember bits and pieces of the event. The 60's were turbulent times and political unrest was rampant. The Vietnam War and the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and two Kennedys added fuel to the fire. I guess the time was right for a music concert with a lineup of powerhouse bands with a counterculture message. And the flower children were ready to load up their psychedelic vans and VW bugs to make it happen. I suspect many of them didn't have jobs so no worries there.

It is hard to imagine such an event happening today. Many elements have stayed the same such as political unrest, counterculture messages and people's love of music. But a few key components are very different. Today, our cellphones make it almost impossible for folks to attend concerts without the distractions of looking down at their devices, looking up for selfie poses, posting to social media, downloading fun apps and using Google maps for directions to the nearest port-a-potty. Venue ticket sales are primarily completed electronically. Concerts are one means of enjoying music but there is no end of "free" music available to the masses at any given time today. Venue producers and hosts also need to "lawyer up" in preparation for the inevitable lawsuits at the tamest of events. The hippie commune culture essentially failed so we have a few less caftans currently, and eventually, some of the flower children had to get jobs so taxes could be paid to the government that was feeding them. Adults frolicking naked at the nearest river may not be decade specific but an event such as Woodstock certainly was ripe for such activity.

One thing I know for sure, Woodstock was never on my radar. I am not an avid music buff to begin with and the very thought of attending a loose-ended concert in the middle of a field with anti-deodorant folks who love to smoke pot is far beyond my comfort zone. I am also not comfortable in the midst of a teeming sea of people and don't even get me started about dealing with a limited number of port-a-potties. And last, but not least, I do best when I am fed and hydrated at regular intervals. I am not against granola for three days but I prefer a little variety in my diet. I also find dehydration disconcerting at best.

Woodstock was one for the history books and maybe it is good if it stays that way. So, Happy Birthday, Woodstock. May you rest in peace and love.

Tripping

"You Betcha" Stick Sculpture at Minnesota Arboretum. Amazing!

My husband and I recently returned from a quick trip to Minneapolis with our daughter and her husband from Oregon. We had a grand time. The weather was exceptionally calm for the month of July with moderate temperatures, low humidity and nary a storm cloud in the sky. Our itinerary was action packed and we made the most of every minute. Here are a few insights I learned from our trip.

1) I am not a share-a-family's-home Airbnb person. In an attempt to find a non-hotel place for our little family to hang out, I dipped my toe into this world. Unfortunately, my selection was a disaster. The messages I started receiving from the host 48 hours before arriving should have sent me running but it was too late to make changes, so I hoped for the best. The psycho cat yowling behind a random door, the daughter's boyfriend making non-stop noise on the floor above us, the host's boyfriend clomping around at 4:00 a.m., a non-existent second bedroom and kitty cat #2 invading our space resulted in a restless night for all. We packed our bags and checked into a hotel. Lesson learned. I prefer staying at places where hosts have at least an hour or two of training in hospitality.

2) If you were bad at bowling a decade ago, you will still be bad at bowling ten years later. Our daughter selected a cute little retro-pub/bowling alley for our entertainment one evening. I knew that my role was to make everyone else feel successful. Mission accomplished. My score was abysmal. My dear husband ( a league bowler for many years) attempted to give me tips for improvement. Keep your eyes on the little dots on the lane floor. Keep your thumb pointed upwards. Don't lob the ball. Relax, Etc. Etc. All this was good advice, but my skill level makes me a rather hopeless participant. I had a good support team as they cheered me through all my gutter balls and wobbly single pins refusing to fall. Despite my ineptness, I am looking forward to my next round of bowling. Ten years from now.

3) Food plans must stay flexible. Due to the Airbnb debacle and a tight entertainment schedule we had no time to pick up ice for the cooler, therefore, our cache of fruits, vegetables and hummus had to be sacrificed to the trash gods. No complaints as we noshed our way through food truck cheese curds, pulled pork sandwiches, fish and chips, brats, nachos, popcorn and chocolate chip cookies. Tasty and not a green leaf in sight. Vacation cuisine, for sure.

4) It's always a good day when the Minnesota Twins beat the New York Yankees. We ended our whirlwind trip with a night at Target Field. The seats were good, the weather was great and the game was spectacular. I know just enough about baseball to cheer when I am supposed to and groan when necessary. When the game ended, we almost needed a tether to keep my husband from floating away as we left the stadium. Good had triumphed over evil and we were there to witness it.

Much too soon, it was time to say good-bye and head homeward. Lawns needed mowing, gardens needed tending and real life needed attention. Our trip was not about hotels with perfect photo ops, or stunning local excursions or trendy cuisine scenes (unless you count the cheese curds). We were content with our happy memories with the people we love.

Final Score: Twins-8  Yankees-6

50

Fifty is a number with significance, often prompting celebrations. I have long since passed that number for my birthdays, gulp. My husband and I are careening closer to that number for years married, another gulp. This blog post just passed the two hundred and fiftieth number, good gracious. I just retired from fifty years of teaching. Okay, that's not true, but it felt like it some days.

Today does mark the real deal for a 50th anniversary worth noting. On July 20, 1969, the Apollo 11 landed on the moon, a feat only dreamed about up until that point. At 9:30 p.m. (CST), Neil Armstrong stepped foot on the lunar surface, joined by Buzz Aldrin shortly thereafter. Such an astounding event was cause for celebration on so many levels. Amazing amounts of technological challenges were conquered in an era when computers and space travel were rudimentary at best. Adjectives such as courageous, brave and heroic were aptly used for not only the astronauts, but also for the support teams involved in the mission.

A recent feature on a news show highlighted some of the behind-the-scenes players in the Apollo 11 mission. My favorite was an interview with four women who were on the sewing team for the astronaut's spacesuits. They were trained to sew a different garment in high demand back then and that was the girdle. If you are under the age of fifty-five, you may have to Google this bondage wardrobe piece (warning: images may be disturbing to some). Apparently the girdle plant snagged the contract for designing the first spacesuits for a lunar walk due to their ability to design flexible garments with heavy duty material. The women in the interview shared how profound the task was to them. They knew that every stitch they made had the potential to be a life or death moment for the astronauts. One stray pin or puncture in the suit could have serious, if not fatal, consequences. Each woman was extremely proud of her accomplishments and each one shared how special it was to support the mission to the moon.

The theme that is quite evident with all the players in the Apollo 11 mission is teamwork. Through the Apollo events our nation was given moments of thinking outside our little plot of land on the earth and we were invited to look upward toward the great frontier called space. Mind you, our country at that time was in the throes of much discord with the Vietnam war, civil rights riots, an assassination of a president and the Cold War. If ever there was a time to pull together as a country, it was then.

Fast forward fifty years and we are reminded that some things haven't changed. Where two or three are gathered, there will be squabbling. And that is why a fiftieth anniversary of a monumental event in our history is worth noting. Let's strike up the band, start the parades and share the great stories of problem solving and teamwork. Happy Birthday, Apollo 11.

And look out Mars, here we come.

Fourth

Our country's official birthday has come and gone for another year. I live in a state that loves its fireworks so there was much snap, crack and popping going on. Of course, fireworks are illegal within city limits but, of course, that ordinance is only adhered to by the rule followers. The urge to play with explosives is strong, indeed.

My early memories of 4th of July celebrations also included fireworks. I grew up on a farm so the sky was the limit, literally, with fireworks. We were given a strict budget for how much we could purchase at the local fireworks stand and if you wanted something extra, you had best dig into your own piggy bank. My brothers loved the firecrackers with the loudest noise and at that time, Black Cats were the way to go. My bros would weave several of them together, light the fuse and run. We all waited in anticipation for the domino sound effects to begin and delighted in each and every loud pop.

My sisters and I were into less noise and more flash. We enjoyed the smudgy little magic snakes as they danced like cobras on our sidewalk. We loved roman candles as they spit out balls of glittery light into the sky. Our favorite was probably the box of sparklers that allowed all of us to be in control of our own dazzle effects. Bright colors, dripping sparks and swirling possibilities made for a great time as the night came to a close.

Our hometown did not have a 4th of July parade but it occasionally had an event called a tractor pull. The day included other a activities which have faded into a fuzzy memory for me, but I do remember the culminating moments of the tractor pull. Tractors were pitted against each other in a contest to pull the greatest load on a sled of sorts. Tractors were not the behemoths we have today but a farming community's machines are always a source of pride, no matter the era. Tractors belched and engines gunned as bragging rights were loaded onto the sled. I don't know if there was any prize money involved but I suspect there was a trophy or two and maybe a fancy certificate of honor. The evening concluded with a head count of kids as we piled back into our non-air-conditioned car for a sticky ride back home.

Many of our 4th of July days came and went without much fanfare. Life on a farm doesn't always check the calendar for holidays. If rain was in the forecast and field work was necessary, that was the order for the day. If cattle broke through fences, the chase began, regardless of the day and fences were given immediate attention. If garden beans needed picking, buckets were filled and canning jars were readied. Daily duties hummed along and a life of leisure was best not longed for.

All was well, however, if we could end the day with a few fireworks. The magic snakes and firecrackers entertained us as the day's light began to wane and the roman candles took over when darkness fell. And, of course, the sparklers made it possible to conclude the night with, "Happy Birthday, America!"

Fireworks captured by my sad camera from a balcony
 in Corvallis, OR, several years ago.

Cranked

Blessedly, we were able to crank our windows open this week and let in a little fresh air. Summer is always a game of weather roulette. Sometimes the heat and humidity barrels into our region at the end of May and holds us hostage until October. Other years, we can be cool and rainy for much of June. This year, June has been just about right.

After a nasty round of oral surgery last week, I was confined to my perch on the couch for a few days. The open windows let in the sounds of the day. The birds are in full form this time of year with all the babies following their mommies. The flock of blackbirds screeched away as the young ones were fed, seed by seed from my pan feeder. The percussive sound of their beaks on the metal pan added to the noisy feeding crew. Robins chattered back and forth to each other, perhaps sending messages of worm locations. The chicka-dee-dee-dees flitted in and out of the scene, carrying off seeds, one by one. And a momma downy woodpecker patiently grabbed small chunks of suet and passed them along to her eager offspring.

The neighbor's mower harrumphed its way into action and sent the birds scattering. The smell of freshly cut vegetation sifted its way through the open windows. The neighborhood lilac bushes send their fragrance through the air as well. Lilacs are pretty to look at but my nose is never happy with their bossy aroma and I cry no tears for the drop of their blossoms. The exhaust of a garbage truck deet-deet-deeing its way into the driveway across the street reminds me that all fragrances are relative.

The squeal of kids hurling down our street on their bikes prompts me to pray for angels of protection. Our house is on a small hill so the temptation to leave caution to the wind is great for thrill seeking youth. As their wheels whir across the pavement, their chatter increases and a whoop or two is let out when they reach the base of the hill. Their entertainment is a reminder that fun can be free and always wear your helmet.

Evening brings the smell of burning wood from a neighbor's fire pit. Grills belch out signals of charred burgers. Dogs pad by, letting their owners know who is in charge. Walkers, out for an evening stroll, share secrets of the day. Leaves on the trees allow the wind to use them as instruments going into the night. Motorcyclists rev by with untethered audacity. A kamikaze bird makes a loud splat against my picture window and a fluff of feathers goes fluttering down. A mourning dove makes a dirge-like call of coo-OOH-ooh-ooh, reminding us all that dusk is near.

Soon I will be cranking my windows shut again. The weather forecast looks warm and sticky for the next while. I am not looking forward to the encapsulation of an air-conditioned environment or the increase in my monthly electric bill, but that is the hand summer deals us. Best not complain and just make another ice cream dessert.

The Call

A recent vacation gave my husband and me time to recharge our batteries and provide a few new experiences along the way.  Let's be clear, our idea of a vacation does not include epic hikes, lake kayaking, exotic cuisine or Disneyland characters. We are simple folk with simple requirements. A comfortable cabin, a fireplace, a grill, a large coffeepot, a veranda and lots of books will do, thank you. Gratefully missing are hordes of people, cell phone reception, city noise and itineraries.

This year we were able to return to a peaceful little cabin in a beautiful valley in the Black Hills. It is a favorite place for us and we are happy to let the beauty of the Hills and the gentleness of the valley seep into our weary bones. We also enjoy checking out new experiences in the Hills and a brochure in the cabin entitled, Osprey Trail, did just that for us. I suffer from OOD, osprey obsession disorder, thanks to a webcam sponsored by Cornell Lab of Ornithology in Missoula, Montana. I spent so much time "in the nest" last summer that I became a self-proclaimed and annoying "expert" on the subject of ospreys. Unfortunately, there are no osprey where I live but the Hills is blessed with an active population. Bingo for me.

The brochure classified the Osprey Hike as easy so there were no barriers for such an adventure. A visit with the ranger at a nearby information center assured us that ospreys are easily spotted along the trail. With map in hand, we took off on our hike in search of the fish-eating raptor. I soon remembered what a dunce I am when it comes to hiking. The hike was listed as a short one but it was clear that our navigation skills could result in a longer meandering process than predicted.  I had a half bottle of water with me, no binoculars and no camera/phone. The sight of a bee reminded me that my husband's epi-pen was back in the vehicle. Visions of a medi-vac danced in my head.

As we forged ahead with our noses glued to the map, lost in discussions of being direction turned, I  heard a sweet sound above the trail. It was the call of an osprey. We let the call be our guide and soon we saw the unmistakable sky dance of an osprey, enjoying the air currents above the water. We watched the performance and soon the beautiful bird swooped down and skimmed the water for a few seconds. We were unable to discern whether a fish was caught but it was enough to see such a sight. We enjoyed a few moments with the bird, the lake and my obsession until a rumble of thunder reminded us to return to our vehicle.

We were unable to spend much time with the birds but we were rewarded with a great memory. And isn't that what a good vacation is all about?

We'll be back.