Three year old techie!!

     We had dinner at the Olive Garden last night with my son Mike and his family, to help celebrate my daughter-in-law Leslie's birthday (Happy Birthday again, Leslie!!)  The food was fine, and we enjoyed a nice evening together.  We had to wait a little bit to be seated, so Leslie gave her smart phone to Addie, my 3 1/2 year old granddaughter. Waiting to eat, especially when you are 3 1/2 and hungry, can be hard.

     I found myself fascinated watching Addie use the phone. They had downloaded a kids' game "app" that Addie was enjoying. I was dumbfounded as I watched her little thumbs fly. At one point she got very serious and said to me "Grandma, I wrecked! I got wet! I have a boo-boo!!" At first I wasn't certain whether she was referring to her game or to some recent real-life event. (I was reassured by her mom that it was the game...).  The game kept her occupied not only for our wait to be seated, but at the table after we ordered. She was quiet, polite and in general, the perfect little girl for those around her!

No photos available from the restaurant... Grandma didn't bring her camera and doesn't have a smart phone! This one was taken at Christmas of Addison munching a Christmas cookie...

     I have been thinking about this, especially in terms of how technology has changed our lives in so many unexpected ways (that I am writing to an unknown public here is one of them!)  How news is delivered, how we communicate with one another, how we navigate our cars, how we can get information on just about anything... Our world has changed in ways never thought possible thirty or forty years ago...

     Back in the early 1970's on the University of Michigan main campus, there was a little old building tucked in a corner along the path to my dorm. It was the "Computer Lab" and was off limits to most undergraduates. Engineering students could take computer classes, but the rest of us were not allowed inside the building. The computers in there were so expensive and rare that access had to be limited for security reasons (even back then there were security issues!)  I had a friend in the "Engine" school who used to carry stacks of computer programming cards around with him, in order to run the program he had spent hours punching those cards for. One mistake on one card or one card out of order and the whole thing would crash... so he wouldn't allow us to touch them.

     Back then, to do research for a paper meant multiple trips to the library, with notebook or notecards in hand. To talk to my mother required a long-distance phone call that cost money, and if no one was home, there was no way to leave any message. To communicate with my room mate during the summer meant letters that took at least 3 days to get to her. If I had car trouble, I had to hike to the closest pay phone or hope a state trooper or county sheriff happened by. If I got sick with something odd, my physician relied on his 30 year old training and perhaps his journals to diagnosis it-- or he referred me to a large medical center where I had to take my paper records with me to the appointment. Photography required bulky cameras, expensive film and even more expensive developing. You didn't know what you had until you got the pictures back. And children in restaurants were given crayons to doodle with and hushed if they were too impatient.

     Addie's father was born in the early 1980's, when home computers were just in the earliest stages of use and couldn't do much other than produce "Pong" games. How times have changed! It makes me wonder what Addie's children will be doing in restaurants to keep busy while waiting... I know it will be something we can only barely imagine now.

Again, no photos of Addie with computers, but here is 2 year old Sam helping his dad with his!

     And, just in case you were wondering, while Addie loves to play on her mom's smart phone and her dad's computer, she also enjoys splashing in puddles, chasing Siggy the Schnauzer, and throwing rocks in the creek behind Grandma Barb's house... at least somethings never change!!!

Addie with a decidedly un-techy activity-- Play dough!!

Addie and Siggy playing in a Christmas gift - a tent/tunnel!

How to survive January weather??

     Today is cold, rainy, gray. Yesterday was cold, rainy, gray, as was the day before and the day before that. January in Indiana is cold, often rainy and usually gray. Sometimes we are blessed with snow, sometimes we are cursed with ice.  Once in a great while the sun comes out. But not often. People in Indiana sometimes refer to Florida as Indiana's "Lower Peninsula" because so many people travel down there this time of year. And who can blame them-- we haven't seen the sun in weeks here and I miss it. I'm even getting grouchy about it.

     There are colder, grayer places than here. And occasionally these places not just learn to live in the gray coldness, they embrace it. Last year we found such a place-- Door County, Wisconsin. If you look at a map of the US, Door County is that little strip of a peninsula that juts out into Lake Michigan on the west side of the lake. Green Bay, home of the infamous football team, is located here. It is renowned for scenery and water sports in the summer and cold, bad weather in the winter. They have a Winter Festival in Door County every year. Last year we traveled up there to go to the festival, and we discovered how many people not just survive a harsh winter, but enjoy it to the max!

     We stayed in a bed and breakfast and had a fireplace in our room, which made for a very cozy retreat.

We took long underwear, wool socks, heavy jackets, hats and gloves, and ventured out to see what there was to see. The little town of Fish Creek offers up weekend winter games unlike any we'd ever seen-- bicycle tossing and human foosball out on the frozen bay were both offered. There were a couple bonfires closeby and plenty of hot chocolate vendors for spectators. The locals were out in force, all competing in one event or another, and having a great time.  There were snowmobiles buzzing all around too, and even a trolley that perked along taking spectators from one location to another. We had a lot of fun watching them all have fun-- people watching mostly, as our bicycle tossing was a little, um... rusty. We window shopped and enjoyed some delicacies from a local candy store.

     We took a horse-drawn sleigh to tour the wine country that took us through the woods, with two handsome Percheron horses merrily jingling their bells as they stepped lively along the trail. We toured 4 wineries and visited the tasting rooms of all of them, so we were as warm inside as it was cold outside. It all was quite merry, despite a cold, gray sky and stiff wind off the lake and bay.

One morning we got up and drove out to where a lighthouse was supposed to be-- we had to hike out across a sand bar in the lake, which was exposed and frozen over, to get to the lighthouse. It was worth the trip-- what a quiet, frozen but beautiful place it was. Only the sound of the wind and our own breathing, as the lake "waves" had frozen months before.

     We attended a Door County traditional dinner-- a fish boil. These dinners are cooked in a huge pot over an open outdoor fire. Lake Michigan white fish and potatoes are put in the kettle that is then filled with water. The pot is boiled for some time, and then, just before it is "served" the cook stokes the fire so it gets very, very hot. The pot boils over, spilling fish oil onto the fire, which then flares up in what was described as a huge conflagration. Once the stunning display of heat and flame subsides, the pot is hauled inside, and the fish and potatoes are served with cole slaw and cherry pie. While the promised conflagration was not nearly as stunning as I'd envisioned, the fish was delicious. And standing around outside in the cold with the fire on one side of us and the freezing cold on the other was fun. We were invigorated when we went inside to dine.

     This year I find myself thinking about that weekend trip, and wishing we had gone up there again. We had discovered that it was absolutely possible to not just survive cold gray days, but to celebrate during them. I am challenged this year to find ways to celebrate the cold and gray that has returned. It is supposed to snow tonight and I am actually looking forward to that. Maybe a fresh clean layer of snow will invigorate my spirits!  If not, there is always the movie matinee...
         

"On behalf of a grateful nation..."

Photo by Sweet Corrosion

     On a gray but warm Saturday in early January of this year, the Bertram family gathered to say farewell to their patriarch and father/grandfather. He had passed away the week before, having suffered the indignities of advanced old age and rapidly declining health for several months. When he died, it was sad, but also a relief that this proud man would no longer suffer. His last wish was to be returned to his beloved Clinton County, Kentucky for burial, and his sons had arranged for that to take place.        
     There were not many of us sitting in the funeral home. Only his family-- three sons, their wives and 3 of his 6 grandchildren. The old man had outlived virtually all of his extended family, so the final trip "back home" was a lonely one. One additional couple, from the family of a daughter-in-law, also came, so the little group added up to eleven.

     We were sitting in the quiet, just before the funeral itself was to begin, when there was a bit of commotion in the lobby. The military honor guard had arrived. Dad had been a Navy veteran of World War II, and had survived a horrific German U-Boat attack during that conflict.  Even though he had not been seriously injured in that attack, it had seemed fitting to the family to request a final tribute to this sacrifice, if such an honor guard could be found in the rural, rolling hills of central Kentucky. There was such a guard-- the Monticello, KY Disabled American Veterans group. I want to honor this group and publicly thank them for the service they provided the family. We were touched by the respect these dignified men paid to a total stranger-- a stranger but also a comrade-in-arms.

     The leader of the DAV came to talk to the family and offer his personal condolences. He chatted briefly with the funeral director and the pastor as well. We all sat down, ready for the service  and the business of burying the dead to begin.

     With slow, dignified deliberance, in full uniform and at strict attention, the leader of the DAV guard walked from the back of the room to the casket. He walked that military cadence walk I had seen in the honor guards at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  He stopped at the casket, clicked his heels and slowly saluted, then turned sharply and walked out of the room. One by one, eleven more DAV volunteers repeated his motions. These men were not young. They were gray-headed, some more stooped than others. The solemnity with which they performed this simple act of respect touched each of the family. We had not expected this-- and knew that Dad would have been moved by it as well.

     The service was a thorough Christian funeral with promises of eternal life for the deceased and for each of us if we believed. The pastor was gentle and respectful, though he was serving a family he had never met. We were grateful. When it was over, the family carried the flag draped casket to the hearse and we began the drive to the little cemetery in the country. There were only 6 cars, including the hearse, that made the journey. We weaved through the little town, where cars pulled to the side of the street in respect. The journey through the countryside was similar-- each time we met a vehicle on the road, it pulled off to the side to let us pass. None of us could remember this occurring in the city where we lived in. We were touched again by the respect shown.

Photo by Sweet Corrosion

     The cemetery sits on a rise out in the rolling countryside, surrounded by hills and farms. There was a small tent set up over the grave. The family again carried the casket to the graveside, then sat down under the tent. There was a mist of rain falling. The DAV was there, lined up in a row of seven men and their commander some distance from the grave, and four others at the tent at attention. The pastor spoke his final words. The leader of the honor guard nodded and an order was called to the line of men. "PRESENT ARMS!"  The men snapped the weapons and when the order came "READY!" they shouldered them. "AIM!" and the rifles raised and were pointed heavenward. "FIRE!" and a round of seven shots rang out, echoing through the hills. The little group huddled under the tent all shuddered at the loud report. The guard repeated firing twice more, a total of 21 shots. A twenty one gun salute.

Photo by Sweet Corrosion

     Then the haunting strains of Taps were blown by the bugler. It echoed through the misty hills as well. I am certain there were farmers in the area who must have heard the guns and stopped for a moment to listen when they heard the bugle. I have never heard Taps played better-- so heartfelt and respectful. Tearing up, I squeezed my husband's hand. He dabbed his eyes too.

     Three guards at the casket began to fold the flag. The folding was done with that same military snap and precision, but at a slower pace befitting the occasion. The folded flag was inspected and then the leader of the guard brought it to the eldest of the three sons. He knelt in front of the son and presented it, saying, "On behalf of the US Government and a grateful nation, we present you this flag. Your country and his comrades-in-arms thank you for your father's service." He rose, and then each of the 12 men of the honor guard shook the hands of each family member before they left.

     I have had some time since to think about all this. First and foremost, I am so grateful to the Monticello, KY DAV for their voluntary service that day. The family will forever be grateful for the most fitting farewell paid to our father. We all agreed that it was a shame that Dad could not have seen it himself. He would have been amazed and most honored by it. I also think about the current wars, and that many men and women are returning in flag-draped caskets who did not have the chance to live out life to old age. How many other DAV units will repeat this same process for much younger soldiers?

     As an old hippie, there are endless blog posts I could write about war, about what is a just cause for war, about politics and old men deciding the fates of young men and women. I am rarely moved by patriotic flag-waving events that aim for emotional responses rather than thoughtful evaluation. The honor paid to my father-in-law at his funeral moved me. His sacrifice humbles me. Like our nation, I am grateful for his service, and those of all the men and women who have served like he did.

For more information on the DAV, check out their website:  http://www.dav.org/

Walking the Grand Tetons

“In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks.” — John Muir

     Last autumn, my husband and I took a trip to the mountains. We went looking for a quiet respit from our busy lives. He and I both are drawn to the mountains for reasons hard to define-- there is something about being in the mountains that puts your own life in perspective. When you are looking up at a 14,000 foot tall mountain, your own troubles can seem seem insignificant. When you are at the top of such a mountain, you feel closer to God. Neither of us had visited the Grand Tetons. Our visit there made a profound impact on us both. 

a hiking path

the road to Jenny Lake

     We were able to spend a couple days here, and spent it both traveling the national park in the car and getting out and hiking a bit. This place is so beautiful I simply cannot describe it in words. Rather than try, I will let the photos we took speak.

     We left the Grand Tetons with a renewed sense of peace and joy. Being in a place this profoundly beautiful can lift spirits in a way almost nothing else can. Being there together, sharing the experience, intensified that lift. For those whose spirits are lagging, I highly endorse a trip to this area. In the words of our National Park Service, "Get Out There!"

Lanny snapping a photo

Barb on the hiking trail

Adventures at the BMV

     My husband Lanny is a patient man-- probably the most patient human being I have ever known. He is the one who trains the schnauzer that lives with us, handles detailed finances that drive me crazy, and puts up with me (that alone proves my point...). But he may have met his match with the Indiana Bureau of Motor Vehicles.

     Before I explain, I need to provide some historical background.

     The area we live in is rural. At one point our mailing address had us located in a little town about 5 miles away, the county seat. As the county grew, a new little town grew that is located about 2 miles away, and about 10 years ago the address here changed from one to the other.

     About five years ago, the laws in our state for obtaining a driver's license changed, requiring more stringent identification.  Recently, in an effort to simplify the process of renewing drivers licenses, the BMV began to encourage drivers to renew online. And just recently it was announced that soon all drivers licenses must be renewed online. Heaven help the poor motorist who is not wired...

     So, on with the story...

     My husband's drivers license expires this month. He received a "helpful reminder" from the BMV to renew online asap. It sounded so easy...

Attempt #1:  Any opportunity to avoid a trip to the BMV office is appealing to Lanny, so he set about filing his application online. After some time spent filling in the electronic boxes, he submitted the application. He received a message back telling him that his application had been denied because his current address did not match the address the BMV had for him on file. Sure enough, Lanny discovered his license had the old town listed, not the new one. A trip to the BMV would be necessary to complete the change of address form.

Attempt #2 (or, what later was to be called the Fact Finding Mission...):  This morning, a wintry, blustery Thursday, seemed to Lanny like the best day this week to get this done. He got up early in spite of the cold day, and was out the door before 9 am. It is about 5 miles in to the BMV office, all on country roads, so despite slippery roads he did not expect any trouble. He got there without incident. The BMV was not crowded, but he took a number,  following the established protocol. Soon his number was called and up to the desk he went. He explained why he was there. He produced a printed copy of the online change of address form.
     The application was denied. It seems the new security rules required him to produce two pieces of mail that had been delivered to him at the new address, as proof that he actually lived there. He was not told what pieces of mail were acceptable (something from the US government or his work place? A recent utility bill? A note from his mother??) but he would have to come back.  Since we had other places to be the rest of the day, this will have to wait.

Attempt #3 will be tomorrow if  "God willing and the creek don't rise..." I'll keep you posted!

1/20/2012 - Update-- Lanny headed out this afternoon to the BMV office with two recent bills (the trash bill and the cable service bill) in hand, as requested by law. He returned in about an hour. He had a printout from the BMV indicating he had indeed been successful in his renewal efforts. HOWEVER - the BMV office no longer prints up driver's licenses. They will send it to him in the mail. Should his current license expire prior to his receipt of the new license, they gave him a printed fascimile of that license in case he needs ID. In the old days, you went to the BMV, took a number, waited an hour, paid your fee, had a terrible photo taken and about 5 minutes later you walked out with a new license.  I would like to believe there is progress, but am not seeing it in the new process. I fear this is but one example of how complicated our lives have become since we got so techy...

Baking Pies

This isn't my first pie... there were no photos of that momentous occasion. I downloaded this one-- thank you, Internet!

     I can very clearly remember the first pie I ever baked. I was 10 years old, and my friend Margaret and I had picked some wild blackberries we found growing behind my backyard. I had gathered barely enough for a small pie. My mother was probably not very enthusiastic about the project, because she hated baking pies, but since I had asked her to show me how, she agreed. My father loved pies and always paid huge compliments to her when she produced one. Maybe this was some kind of Oedipal (Andromedal?) thing, but I wanted compliments from my father too. Plus, I really kind of liked baking.

     Mom got out her Betty Crocker cookbook and opened to the pie crust recipe. Fortunately, the book had a series of how-to photos here. I am a visual learner, and between Mom's demo and the photos, I was able to produce a decent enough pie. Fresh baked, totally organic blackberry pie, fresh from the oven, for dessert that night. I got the compliments I had hoped for from my father.

     In the years since, I have baked many pies. I don't do it much now because pies are not good for bulging waistlines or high cholesterol issues. When I do bake one, I insist on making my own crusts. The mixes and sticks and store-bought premade crusts just don't hold a candle to home made. There is just nothing like a pie, warm from the oven, with a little vanilla ice cream melting on the side, to tell someone you love them. No matter the flavor, it always brings smiles to those I serve it to and compliments to me. When I am feeling insecure or perhaps questioning my abilities or self-worth, I can bake a pie and get instant validation.

     I discovered the recipe from Betty Crocker hasn't changed since my childhood. I have my grandmother's Betty Crocker cookbook (same edition as the one my mother had and still uses...) but you can use it too by going here (please note this is for one crust-- most pies need two, so you'd have to double the recipe):
http://www.bettycrocker.com/recipes/pastry-for-pies-and-tarts/e74dfc22-dd54-4564-b653-0f142faf91a2

      Unfortunately there are no how-to photos, but for a written description of the process, try this:
http://www.bettycrocker.com/tips/tipslibrary/baking-tips/how-to-make-pie%20crust

     There are many other pie crust recipes-- I also really like the one in a cookbook called Pioneer Woman by Ree Drummond. You can find it here:
 http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2011/09/pams-pie-tutorial/  

     I have learned that sometimes you just have to do something special for your loved ones, and the best gifts like this are ones you make yourself. You give a little of yourself. Don't scrimp on short cuts-- and if you have trouble with it, keep practicing. And usually, you'll get back way more than you gave. Especially if you bake a pie!!

Midwinter ode to the garden

The kiss of the sun for pardon

The song of the birds for mirth

One is nearer to God's heart in the garden

Than anywhere else on earth

Dorothy Gurney

1858 - 1932 

     I love flowers.  I love gardening and watching flowers grow. For years I was stymied by a lack of time, knowledge and the right spaces to make flowers grow. When I married Lanny, I came to live at his home in a rural area in Indiana. While we are close to the city, we enjoy 3 acres of yard that includes a woods and creek. We have neighbors, but they are far enough away that noise and the hubbub of raising a large family (the families on both sides of us both have 4 kids...) isn't an issue.  When I arrived, the lawn and trees were in great shape, but there was an absence of flower gardens. I knew I had to change all that!

     I set to work first in the front yard up close to the house, making an English style garden filled with frilly blooms like hydrangeas and carnations and babies' breath and creeping flox. I planted some day lily bulbs around a sun dial Lanny gave me for my birthday. We got new shrubs that were low to the ground so the flowers were the star. And hostas for the shaded area up close to the house. I read in a gardening book that when planting perennials the gardener needed to remember "the first year they sleep, the second year they creep, the third year they leap." That is exactly what happened. I am finding myself dividing the hostas almost every spring as they grow to mammoth size, and am now considering moving some of the other plants as they are crowding out smaller ones. The displays in May and June are wondrous... 

White clematis, pink azaleas and green hostas

     In the back we had a deck built after my father died, using some funds he had set aside for me. He was an avid rose gardener, so the decision to surround the deck with roses was an easy one. I have vivid memories from my childhood of my father tending a rose garden that was outside my bedroom window. Back in the days before air conditioning, I slept with my bedroom window open. I remember the fragrance of those roses almost as much as I remember the terrible fog that drifted into my bedroom when he was up early on a Saturday to "dust" the roses for blight and mites! 

     I have 22 rose bushes all told, most surrounding the deck.

     I love watching them throughout the year. Right now in the dead of winter they are dormant. We do not prune them in the fall, but rather leave the last blooms on them so they will go dormant. That means that each plant has some dried old blooms still on them-- a kind of old fashioned bouquet for winter that reminds us of what will come in the spring. 

     Sure enough, every spring we watch for the first green shoots to appear on the canes. And they do. By mid May the bushes are lush and full and most are covered in blooms. It is the first round of blooms that I love the most-- a lovely and most welcome sight after a long winter.

     The last couple years we have been hit hard by Japanese beetles, who are drawn to the colorful blooms. They munch on the flowers, the buds and eventually the leaves of the bushes. I found an insecticide that seems to keep them at bay, so do battle with these foes starting in mid July. As the summer heat intensifies, the need for watering the shrubs becomes critical. If I tend my roses closely, the blooms continue long into the fall until the weather is consistently cold enough to put the roses to sleep for the winter. Then we tuck them in with a thick layer of mulch and wait until spring. 

     This past summer I tried vegetable gardening as well. Lanny made a small raised bed for me where I planted green peppers and tomatoes. I even had a jalapeno plant! The endeavor was so successful Lanny became a new fan of homegrown tomatoes, and hopefully will agree to make another raised bed for more produce this year. We have to be very careful out here in the country, as wild critters love garden produce... especially a certain doe and her two offspring. Fencing helps, as does a thick rim of nasturtium flowers around the bed. 

The gardener with her first edible produce-- a one inch jalapeno pepper

     Gardening provides hours of pleasure, some good exercise for this aging grandma, and a lot of enjoyment of the flowers and now, even the edible produce. In the dark, gray days of January, it is fun to look forward to the time when I can get out in the garden and dig a little, and to anticipate the flowers that will come in the spring!

Our back yard in the winter...

and how it looks in spring!

Rocky Mountain High!

Around every turn, more mountain views like this one...

Road trips are one of my favorite ways to spend time, and this past autumn my husband and I took a great one. We drove to Colorado, then north to Wyoming, then headed back east via South Dakota. We spent four days in a cozy little cottage in Estes Park, Colorado, in order to take in as much as we could of the Rocky Mountain National Park.

Spending time on these majestic peaks can be a spiritual experience for me-- feeling literally closer to Heaven the higher we go. Certainly the majesty of God's creation is easily evident here-- the mountain vistas are everywhere, and if you stop and look at the smaller things there is wildlife and plant life unlike anything anywhere else.

Tundra flowers. It takes over 100 years for these plants to grow and reproduce because of the harsh climate and very short growing season.

The moon setting over the mountains!

There is a road in this park that is purported to be the highest road in North America, elevation-wise, at 12,800 feet. To drive this road and stop to admire the views around every turn, took us most of a day. We hiked as much as my torn achilles tendon would allow (another blog, believe me...) and I took hundreds of photographs. Here are some of them:

Wow... wow...

Driving into a cloud and ultimately into a snow storm!

Suddenly the clouds lift and you can see where the snow fell!

Wow... wow... wow!

There are also deep valleys in this park, and it was the rut season for elk, deer and moose. We never saw a moose, but we did see plenty of elk and deer. The bull elk below was "bugling", which is a high pitched screech intended to appeal to the ladies... we never saw any ladies around him, but he sure was imposing. As tall as a horse and the antler rack was huge.

There were also a lot of fly fishermen in the rivers in the park. This sport always seems so peaceful. Who cares if you catch a fish, given the setting?

Our stay was long enough to see the park from many angles and in different weather and light. We were in a snowstorm up at 12,000 feet, and had it rain on us in the valley. And then the sun was out and we were able to shed our jackets. We saw wildlife and wished we could have hiked into the interior more. This is a beautiful place-- we were very glad we could spend time here.

The high peak on the left is Long's Peak-- over 14,000 feet above sea level, it is usually shrouded in clouds.