Thank you for the Bus Ride, Mrs. Bachman

Tonight, our favorite TV news station is airing a one hour discussion about the Iowa Caucus. Before that happens, I must get updated here. I promised to write something about my experience at the Iowa STRAW POLL 2011. On August 12, 2011, a friend called and said she'd obtained two tickets for the next day's event at Ames, and asked if I wanted to go along on the three hour bus ride and participate in the Iowa Straw Poll. She said, "In America, we can still do these things and I think we should."  How can you argue with that. You can't argue with freedom, even if there are rules to follow.  Opinions about voting, and participating in our Freedom of Speech in America, vary across a wide spectrum. Here's one writer's opinion that you might want to look at. This is from Nate Ritter, my son, owner of Perfectspace.com. Hooray for freedom of speech!

I originally posted a long, multi photo illustrated version of comments, and observations here, on blogspot on November 3, 20ll.  But it did not post to the blog; and all this time I have not solved the "WHY?"

 What we participated in, that day in August in Iowa, seemed like a combination of county fair, and seminar/conference of hometown politician campaigning. My videos did not upload, to my blog on first attempt. so I will try to add those to YouTube later this month. I caught, with my iphone, part of the beginning of "The Straw Poll Speech by Michele Bachman", and a few other fun activities.

Marc Bachman and Michele's mother greeted us in Ames, Iowa.

The chronological timeline of our day and activities in Ames was illustrated elsewhere, also. I will try to upload; if that doesn't work, please check out my Flickr pages. I focused on Michele Bachman, because Bachman was the candidate my friend was most interested in seeing. Thank you, Mrs. Bachman, for the bus ride! Your energy, integrity, family support, planning, and work ethic provide wonderful examples, for not only Iowans, but for people around the world. I can see how much you love our country. Your wealth of knowledge about finances and tax issues are an asset to America. Michele offers huge possibilities to our country, and I will consider her as a leader, many years from now.

Sorry

We heard that phrase a lot on our trip around England years ago. I always wondered what they were apologizing for, because, I didn't ever see anything that they should say "sorry" about. Maybe you won't see my "oops" either. But I have to say "sorry" for the grammar problems and for possible broken links or multiple emails you might receive with this particular blog posting. I am learning, but don't always get, the way the blogspot forms and buttons keep track, or break tracks of each posting. As an example, October and November, 2011 here. I originally posted "To BLOG or TO BE", October 31, then closed out, and went elsewhere. Returning in a day to see if the blurb had posted, I saw glaring errors - spelling, grammar, etc. So, I went in, edited and fixed. Well, there were two drafts there of the "same" (?) thing. I deleted one draft, on which I knew there were errors, and chose "edit", for the other. Simple little boxes to check. I fixed what I thought should be fixed, saved, previewed, etc, and reposted, and "publish"ed. Rather than reposting my October version, in the nice orange letters, it posted a new version for November, and not in the nice orange letters. Well, so - SORRY - both will stay. Take your pick. Goals have been accomplished! At least one posting each month. I didn't promise you they wouldn't be the same posting did I? Pretend like they aren't, heh, heh. Maybe as a challenge, see if you can find how I changed the Nov 2,2011 blurb. Sorry.

To Blog or To Be

On the last day of October 2011, I reconsider my one year as a blogger. (http://twheatscarousel.blogspot.com/2010/10/and-so-it-begins.html)  In a world wide sense, by blogging, realize what a grain of salt, or a single leaf one person is. We last one season then finish by falling unattached from the giant tree, or by swooshing out to sea with the next big wave, to become the sea, or - well, you get the picture. In a huge homogeneous mix of planet people, everyone who is able, types, talks, performs on this fake paper, film or microphone on tables/desks/laptops, thinking we are one wise/funny/serious individual writer, actor, business person, with something really, really uniquely important to say (or sell) to the WHOLE WORLD!!  The Whole World - I can't even fathom that. I still don't get it. Really, I neither sell nor have wisdom or humor to offer, but I blab along, with the rest of them, with the thought that I CAN, so I do, and I will.

Do you wonder, how those piles of words and letters that people manage to put together about personal days and nights, dumped out there, floating around net space, are of any real value?  Businesses calculate and circulate paragraphs, pictures and promises to THE WHOLE WORLD.  Will it be useful, in time, except for selling or preaching, or self indulgence just TODAY?

Face to face contact with a breathing smiling/frowning/talking person seated across a table, (without a computer and printer on it) or footsteps/friends/ bird and dog sounds; leaves and flowers, gravel, clinking dog leashes, laughing children - those fill a day so much more satisfactorily than a typed monologue on a too-bright monitor pasted with yesterday's pictures or movies or news flashing away.

But then again, when I see a family photo, of people I love and miss, or get a note that says "please pray", or find from an antique census a note, or a book with pictures of handwriting and quotes from persons long six feet under, there is definitely a connection to real person, a place, one life.  Maybe sounding off  with a fountain pen/typewriter/keyboard or giving a view of a different life through a tiny glass hole in an iphone/camera, in "living" fake color there on my desk, is hugely important. Is it just for today? is it just for me or will it last longer, and go farther? Does it really matter?

Blogging, is about a promise to carry through a discipline, rather than giving anything to anyone else. Admittedly, I find a connection to pioneers, explorers/scientists/spiritual teachers, wise people, ancestors, angels and demons.  There are risks, there is pain, we make and have joy; maybe we have a plan, or see creation happening. Will Steve Jobs' heirs or Bill Gates' eventually regret their relative's role in blogging, texting, netting history. I read that the guy that made the science of the atom bomb available came to regret his role, and the outcome of his adventure. A while ago, I also read some tiny print on  some software's terms of use; it was an appeal - to use technology for good. That's my prayer today.

I'm just not quite sure, if there are big enough rewards, in blogging.  I'm a simple person.  So, I have decided to continue blogging (at least through April 2012).  

I have not decided whether  "TO BLOG" is as important as "TO BE". Or if they mean the same.

To Blog or To Be

To BLOG or To BE

On the last day of October 2011, I reconsider my one year as a blogger. (http://twheatscarousel.blogspot.com/2010/10/and-so-it-begins.htmll).  In a world wide sense, by blogging, I see again what a grain of salt or a single leaf one person is. We last a season then finish by falling unattached from the giant tree, or by swooshing out to sea with the next big wave, to become the sea, or - well, you get the picture. In such a huge homogeneous mix of planet people, everyone who is able, types and/or talks, onto this fake paper, film or microphone from our table/desk/laptop, thinking we are one wise/funny/serious individual writer, actor, business person with something really really unique and important to say (or sell) to the WHOLE WORLD!!  The Whole World - I can't even fathom that. As you can tell, I still don't get it. Really, I neither sell nor have wisdom or humor to offer, but I still blab away, with the rest of 'em, with only the thought that I CAN do this, so I do, and I will.

Don't you wonder, how all the piles of words and letters that people manage to put together about personal days and nights, dumped out there to float around net space, are of real value?  Businesses calculate and circulate paragraphs, pictures and promises to THE WHOLE WORLD.  Will it really be useful, in time, except for selling or preaching, or self indulgence today?

A face to face contact with a breathing smiling/frowning/talking person seated across a table, (without a computer and printer on it) or on a walk on a sidewalk/street resounding with footsteps/friends/ or bird and dog sounds; leaves and flowers, gravel, clinking dog leashes, laughing children - those fill a day so much more satisfactorily than a typed, too-bright monitor with last week's pictures or movies or news flashing and cackling.

But then again, when I see a family photo, with the people I love and miss, or get a note that says "please pray", or find from an antique census a note, or a book with pictures of handwriting and quotes from persons long six feet under, there is definitely a connection to - what? A real person, a place, one life.  Maybe those sounding off  with a fountain pen/typewriter/keyboard or giving me a view of a different life through a tiny glass hole in an iPhone/camera, in "living" color standing right there on my desk, really is hugely important. Is it just for today, is it just for me or will it last longer, and go farther than that? Does it matter?

Blogging, is about a promise to carry through a discipline, rather than giving anything to anyone else. Admittedly, it is a connection to pioneers, explorers/scientists/spiritual teachers, wise people, ancestors, angels and demons.  There are risks, there is pain, we have joy; maybe a plan. Will Steve Jobs heirs or Bill Gates eventually regret their role in blogging, texting, netting history, like the guy that made the science of the atom bomb available? A while ago, I read some tiny print on  some software's terms of use; it was an appeal - to use technology for good. That's my prayer today.

I'm just not quite sure, if there are big enough rewards, in blogging. I'm a simple person.  I have decided to continue blogging (at least through April 2012).  

I have not decided whether  "TO BLOG" is as important as "TO BE"; or if they mean the same.

Nearing my one year anniversary

I'm almost finished with one year of posting and blogging... blah, blah, blah. Blogging takes time. Blogging takes thought, and commitment. It has been a rewarding new journey, because I learned so much about the process and various services you can hook up with. Whether or not I will continue, I haven't decided. Thank you so much for following along, and for viewing and commenting on my Flickr (Yahoo) sketches on both my "Drawusnow", and the "Prairieranch" photo/illustration sites.  I'm working on two other websites that will eventually link to each other, so ... in 3 weeks I must decide if I'll stay with this one. Can I finish those, or should I stay with this one and blend those into blogger...mmmm.. ???. Meanwhile, I'm helping my friend with her eleven new puppies! Later, taters.

Nothing but Ink

This post will be very little about not much. On the last day of a grand momentus month, I'm urged by that inner nudger, that I should do what I said I'd do when I started this. You know... be a good example for the youngsters, (and my peers, the retirees) and get two entries in a month completed. So, it's "Nothing but Ink" (even if it is fake ink)  before the clock runs out for August.

I talked about my Montana grandmother in one of my first posts, http://twheatscarousel.blogspot.com/2010/10/whoa.html.
I'd like to do that once again, through these oldy type pencil drawings that match the moment.

I used to watch my grandmother, before the sun came up, go to the barn and milk the few cows she owned, at age seventy plus. She was a tiny little thing. She wore a dress, and her barn boots, and six sweaters and no jewelry and tied her elegant white hair into a loose beautiful bun, and secured it with crinkly little two tabbed pins. She sat on a three - legged stool. The flies were terrible, as was the stench, but after a while the smell seemed to disappear, in the sound of the animal contentedly munching away on oats or hay and the stream of warm white milk swooshing into the silver pail. I always watched her talk to the cow gently as she tied its tail to its leg, so as not to be hit in the face with it, when it flicked the flys off its haunches. I was always amazed she was never kicked by the cow. it was a gentle scene to see. 

As grandmother sat at the other end of the big brown cows, I was directed to go on the opposite side of the stanchions, where the hay was fresh and baled, and sit and behave. I could not resist those huge brown eyes, and the lonely look of being locked into the worn wood wedge. So I'd talk softly to them so they would not kick grandmother or be afraid, and I'd scratch their tufted white forhead, and try to feel where they'd removed the horns, and give them a little more hay if they asked nicely. I couldn't believe they would put their huge tongue in their nose as they ate!  The barn fell down, and that life is long gone, but I just had to attempt to show myself what that five year old might look like "back in the day."

Today I discovered some Vimeo videos by Virgil L. Harper. Because Iowa is now my home, his short film relegates as a current favorite. Watch ".....feet in the dirt!".  http://www.vimeo.com/26984617. The musician is Greg Brown.  The nice thing about this video -  you can Show it to your Kids!

Mr. Harper, a film producer and photographer, known for his work on films as "Field of Dreams", made this presentation piece for a documentary on Farm Toy Collecting and Restoring. Using still photography with voice interviews, he created a stunning view of the Iowa landscape and a fun side life of farmers when they aren't plowing, seeding, harvesting, fixing fence, milking, weeding, fixing water pumps and irrigation line, tractor parts and barn walls, farmhouse roof repairing, caulking windows and waterlines, hauling water...etc.  Harper instead shows us their hobbies of toy collecting, restoring and building dioramas of farmsteads. In contrast to most of the folks he features who say they don't care about the moneythey might earn, related to their hobby - Mr. Harper does, (probably because his is not a hobby, but his life depends on it.. you know food, water, film, lenses, marketing). Mr. Virgil Harper would be interested in your contacting him if you want to invest in his documentary effort.

I would, Mr. Virgil, if I had any spare pin money, but mine goes for sketchbooks, paper, pencils, software, cable connections, and airplane tickets to California. (I'm a grandma now!) I must say, you did a really great thing with "...feet in the dirt!". Your photography is beautiful, and connects me to Iowa, my new state. The interviewees could be my next best friends, and thanks for the coffee break. I needed that!  I might buy a tractor instead of a horse.

Toni Wheat, 8/31/2011, Sioux City Iowa

The Truth about Horseback Riding

The only real horse I've ridden is the one I took riding lessons with shortly after my divorce. We got along O.K. for 5 sessions, then I ran out of lesson money, and the horse didn't seem to care, so we parted ways with barely a whinny, and just a tiny lying promise that I might see him again sometime.

Earlier, along a simple childhood road, I learned to love to look at horses. At parades and rodeos in Western Montana I delighted in those summertime visions; so many colors, the structured faces, readable ears, flared nostrils, big muscled bodies perched atop those graceful marching/running legs.  Horse manes on Main Street - either long and flowing in the wind or braided, combed, and ribboned for a parade - an intriguing sight; those big animals, in every way, are more than just beautiful. They are simply awesome.

I, being small, as a child, always had the vantage point from below the chiseled jawline of those gorgeous living beasts. Besides being petite and short, I was kind of a "fraidy cat".  A carousel horse, painted like a dreamy fantasy, was much, more approachable, than the real ones. With a painted horse, I radiated confidence and true character!

The first carousel horse I met, was a hand carved wooden one, mounted in a double row, with pretty benches and some swans, in a sidewalk circle of worn wood, at the Columbia Gardens in Butte USA (Montana). The timezone was summer mid- 1950's.  The color of my chosen horse has blurred into other lost places where childhood goes. I know my horse was not a plain brown one (do they call that sorrel?); mine was either the buckskin or palomino, with the golden mane, or the beautiful black one with silver and gold jewelled embellishments, or possibly the galloping Pinto (the Indian horse) with an archery quiver and bow and arrows attached to its side.

Two things were great about the Columbia Garden's Carousel. The first was the price - five cents; the second was knowing you could get on a horse on either side, ride with one hand, and never get bucked off, like from a rodeo horse. The music was pretty nice too: loud enough that you couldn't hear your mother as she stood on the other side of the fence giving you orders to hang on with two hands, but soft enough to allow for a little dreaming about being in a parade, uptown, with your beautiful steed, or you were the princess of some castle just over the mountain.

The ride never lasted long, nor did the nickels, for the next rides. So, you went home, after the picnic in the park with the cousins or the neighbors, and you made up stories for the other kids that go to the Gardens that weekend.

As an adult, while my own children were in preschool and kindergarten, I waited for them in the Libraries, in another state, and read every book available, about carousel carvers who created those wonderful merry-go-rounds. Often, I tossed around ideas, not about riding carved creations, but about actually carving a couple of horses, myself.

Over the years, I'd collected some tools and some books of my own, drawn some large drawings, bought some paints and brushes, but the carving never began. Life makes dents in your plans sometimes, and then you take a different fork in the road and you end up far away from your plans. So, you change your drawings a bit, make new plans and take up with new tools. You put on the old music and you get going again.

Follow along with me, at twheat'scarousel.blogspot.com. Tap that RSS Feed button on this page (then each new article or picture/video will automatically go to your inbox, or your designated Reader application, when this blog is updated.)

New creations ahead!  The carouselcowgirl continues.  Any ideas for me to add here? I'm learning new software tools like Aperture2 from Apple and Premier Pro from Adobe. I comment in shorter sentences at Twitter.com/Cowgirlcards; I draw at Flickr.com/photos/drawia (DRAWUSNOW mostly city stuff), and Flickr.com/photos/toni-d-wheat (PRAIRIERANCH is mostly old fashioned things I'm interested in).  I am trying the service, GOOGLE+.  If you want me to invite you to Google plus, let me know. I do appreciate your stopping here today. Thanks for the interest!

I took this photo from outside the display area, where the citizens of Butte MT, are faithfully recreating a carousel, to memorialize their original Columbia Gardens carousel. The blackened horse is one of the originals, that burned in the fire of 1973, destroying the carousel.

Toni Wheat

Sioux City, Iowa, Aug 29, 2011

Puzzle Post Deleted

I deleted the recent post about making a puzzle with friends. Thank you to people who visited my blog and read the Puzzle Post. The Google stats say 10 people total on 2 different days each, visited the blog. There were no comments, so I don't know if you liked it or did not, and if you found it through Twitter.com/carouselcards (me again) a couple days ago, I apologize for the broken link. Personally, I was not satisfied with my wordy content. I will rewrite the Puzzle Post and possibly re-publish later. In the meantime, the Noah's Ark Puzzle solving continues, with its 3 corners (one is missing).  Most of the new puzzle's edges are done. This one will take some time, but it is really fun and "fills up my mind with thinkers", as one of my sons once said. Are you solving puzzles? Please tell me about that. Thanks for visiting twheatscarousel.blogspot.com, today.

Rivers of Life

Water levels rising and four new friends will live in our home until after we see what the Missouri River has in mind for the summer of 2011. Hopefully, these four whom we once did not know, will turn into lifetime friends. We shall see what this River can do with our idea. From a new home built not so long ago, in a Community Investment Development called Dakota Dunes along the shores of the mighty Mo, people of the fledgling community, left in a hurry last week. Dakota Dunes is now being visited by the Missouri River, in a not so polite way. The river water flows where it wants, messes with whomever and whatever it finds the desire to, and doesn't even knock when it comes in the door - or the window or the garage or the basement walls.  Nothing polite about this river and there will definitely be some hard feelings towards this history making river, in days following.

I've been through 3 river floods; each one changed my life in irreversible, sometimes invisible ways. Rising water shows its power and nature, proves it is in charge, and the Creator seems gone unless you look quietly into the face of the disaster or the terror, and listen and learn.

This June 2011, I mostly see the creator in His people as they day after day, in the soggy heat, fill thousands of sandbags together alongside man made machines, bulldozers, cranes, helicopters. I see the creator in those machine operators. Decision makers and laborers, paid and unpaid working to conquer  that water's intent. I see the creator as people displaced shop for supplies they need as they become homeless and wandering, and relocated. I see the creator as dads, moms, grandpas, uncles, wait together as families, and decide on one move toward an unknown destiny. People pray together and cry sometimes. People listen to each other and carry hundreds of things hundreds of different directions. And people and machines build sand walls against an unknown fate.

We listen to tv and radio, to one or another governor or guide, to say what's next, and tell what the probabilities of demise and or loss might be. I see the Creator as those Governors adjust their own personal lives, forget the month's agendas, pitch in and help fill sandbags. The best phrase I've heard is "We are doing the best we can with the best knowledge, information and people we have." That is good.

I see weariness on every face, in life here in Iowa and on web photos. After weeks of getting ready to loose all you've worked for all your life, you load what you can in the next hauling truck. And then you can't go home anymore. I am impressed mightily when a carload of teens, arrives to load and unload boxed possessions, then quietly with grace and strength leave and go do the thing they just finished, one more time...for someone else, all day.  I do see God's work in them. I see God's love in life, not in a book this week. For someone they might not even know, hundreds of people go and do.  I see hugs, tears, lots of smiles and hear lots of kind words. Today, though I've been taught we are a sinful folk, I do think that we are good, and we know how to do good, and we are good at good when pressed to put down the TV remote and go outside and look around and see our neighbors and their need. Today I see, in spite of a raging river, and man made damns and dreams, new and good seedlings from the tree of life still growing in his Creation.   Toni Wheat  Sioux City Iowa 6/4/201

The Lady and the Trolley

Before Interstate 90 cut the East Ridge off from our family of climbing kids, we'd explore our side of our Rocky mountain on many a Butte Montana summer Saturday.  We lived just below Saddle Rock, a mile or so from the old Pest House, as I called it.  Saddle Rock has since been blasted away on one side and flattened and is no longer a saddle of rock formations quite like it was; it is now a cement base for The Lady of The Rockies, created by design and hope of men and women who once lived life in the shadow of the Berkley Pit and The Anaconda Company.

Our hiking days came before the Lady. Our mountain was our own sacred ground, a training camp for lives of ups and downs, challenges and victories, below the Rock and beyond. Nature was our teacher, our selves our greatest motivators, testing life away from watchful eyes of parents, teachers and neighbors. I savored those moments under trees and clouds and circling hawks.

My two brothers and I left home regularly. We tested our strength, endurance and bravery against weather, an occasional freight train crossing a trestle, edges of granite ledges, sandy slopes, coulees without footings, and real and imagined wild animals in the woods (ticks, black cougars, stray dogs, rattlesnakes and other people's horses).

Before we left home on our hiking days, dressed in our worn blue jeans and mother-made plaid cowboy shirts (with pearl snaps she had hand installed), we'd fill our green glass coca cola bottles with water and each attach a looped tupperware flip top, threaded through the denim belt holder. To that we re-inforced the holding power of the fliptop to the jeans with a length of white grocer's string or a shoelace tied in and around the bottle through a belt loop. The bottle banged against your leg the whole way up the mountain. If you left it on the mountain you buried it so it wouldn't start a forest fire when the sun beat down on it and turned the sand to glass or fire. Our dad told us we'd better "or else."

Maybe we packed a sandwich wrapped in crinkly wax paper folded with sharp corners and creases and then tossed into a brown paper bag.  Maybe we took some cookies or carrots or a boiled egg, and the salt and pepper in more waxed paper.  Often, however, we took no lunch after rowdily discussing who would carry the lunch and who would not. I knew just how much trouble it took to manage a brown paper bag clutched in a sweaty palm while maneuvering a sand covered bank of a mountin ravine, on a dry hot summer day, trying to keep up with two boys, who liked to outdo the tomboy girl tagging along.  If we opted to go hungry, we never left the water behind. Our dad told us we could live three days without food, but only one day without water. And he ought to know, because his parents were "pioneers".

My brothers were brave. I carefully followed their footsteps - most of the time. They nimbly scrambled upward into the mile high sky. Our goal was always the upper ridge of Saddle Rock, but our timex wristwatches always ran too fast.  We inevitably turned back down towards home before the sun touched the west "M" on tech hill, across the valley.

I personally never made it to Saddle Rock before I left Butte as a young adult, in spite of all those Saturdays.  Maybe that is part of this "cowgirlcards" game I play on Twitter;  another part may be the fact that besides being brave enough to ride other people's horses that we found in corals along our Saturday hiking arena... my brothers actually made it to the Rock, the Lady and the tour trolley took over.

If you visit Butte, you will see her if you look closely, at the top of the mountain to the east, especially at night, in the summer, as she watches over the town. The people now light the statue with money and prayers for those they love. They say she was placed there in honor of women all over the world.

I might visit the top of Saddle Rock, eventually. I do wish they would have asked me what I thought about a statue being placed on my mountain.  I think I'll take the trolly and my lunch if I go, next time.   Toni Wheat

http://twitter.com/cowgirlcards

http://bit.ly/ikAX8i    Our Lady of the Rockies  90 foot statue

You and the Weather

I read somewhere, that if one writes a blog, it should be about YOU, not about me.  Well, if that's true, YOU should be writing it and not me, right?  Grouchy enough? I apologize.

I have writer's block, and I mean - HUGETIME blogger's block. Since I don't write for a living, and don't have to pay the rent based on income from typing and intelligence, creativity, or pretending to know something about something, then it's not as huge an issue that many people I've met in cyberland, might experience.  I mean what do they do when they have a headache, and have writer's block?? I can say I now understand what you sometimes go through to just a tiny degree.

Possibly this typers'  block is due to changing weather, or possibly this particular unique bloggers' block is due to the dog waking me in the middle of the night telling me he is afraid of the wind, and I should get up and sit with him. Give me a break!  We live in Iowa. The wind blows here!  Deal with it!  (I once heard that).

This dog is the hugest dog I've ever known, and probably if you saw him, you would say the same.  He about smashes your arm when he wakes you - and then he smiles at you. I am not kidding. He does smile. And he really does ask fairly nicely if he can sit with one of us, So, one or the other of us gets up, and sits with him.  I mean after all, he's just four.

The 150 pound lap dog eventually feels better. So we feel better.  And when everything is better, we all go back to sleep, until the next round of wind flips through the rafters and he hits the repeat button.  I sincerely do hope we never have to experience an Iowa tornado; but if we do, could we come to your house, and you could take a turn? After all, this is about YOU (and just partly about the weather).  I think I'll catch a nap.  You think about it OK?

OK the IRISH talked me into this.

OK I will blog again today. The Irish talked me into it.  This day is a big one - St Patrick's Day 2011. Not for everyone, I know. But for those of us who have an affinity for the day for any reason, let's celebrate together.

Butte Montana is in my heritage because my dad was sent there by the State of Montana when I was five, so he could help keep track of all those businesses that were booming because of open copper pit mining - at the big one - The Berkley.  To the Berkley, in the 1950's  came people of every heritage. My family were not miners, nor Union folk, so we didn't totally fit in.  But hey, they let us go to the parades and the schools and the 4th of July and neighborhood picnics, and say we were from Butte, even if we weren't really, I mean like since forever, like some of 'em, so that's how I got here.

So, today being a big big day in "the Ireland of the West", I am watching the townsfolk squash into the M&M bar and cafe, in uptown Butte, via the website http://www.ustream.tv/channel/st-patrick-s-day-2011 

The video might not stay live after today, so, if you want to see it you can see it today. You will have to wait for the obligatory ad to finish, but after that, maybe you'll see your friends and relatives or someone who looks like your friends and relatives.  Lots of green, and lots of getting drunk, I think. I don't know, one guy has been in there since 8:30 this morning, sitting in the same place.  (I left Butte before it was legal for me to go in there.) Oh wait, I think I see my French teacher - what's he doing in there??

So, you don't imbibe so much at one time? then go to the epicurious.com website, see recipes for Chocolate Guinness Goodness or authentic Irish Soda Bread.  http://www.epicurious.com/articlesguides/holidays/stpatricks/stpatricks. 

Hubby and I had our corned beef and cabbage today from downtown Sioux City Arby's, in their 'market fresh" sandwiches. (I think it was turkey corned beef!  So how do they do that??)  Again... epicurious has the cure for the turkey version, in a recipe by Ireland's foremost cooking authority and cookbook author and teacher, Darina Allen  http://www.epicurious.com/articlesguides/cuisines/cuisineguides/irish.

Another webplace, you should go where you can meet the real characters of Ireland and hear music,  www.discoverireland.com/go  or http://www.discoverireland.com/us/ireland-places-to-go/explorebyvideo/

Watch the video of Gerry, on a walking tour through Cork City. He says it "Kawrk". Try to catch ALL the words. I couldn't.

Around noon today, I went to the Sioux City St. Paddy's Day parade. Quite a wee bit smaller than the Butte parade, and short enough that the folks cleared out in time to go back to work, and not linger all the dang day long, like they do in the mining city. I took my green crayons and markers along to capture the leprechauns, but... everything moved along at such a clip, I just put those green things away, and watched the goings ons. Lots of green tshirts, leggins, skateboards, and wiggly antennaes and dangly earings, but nary a horse. Lots of daddy's carrying wee ones, skateboarders carrying wee dogs with green ribbons, lots of folks in green tights and shiny derby hats tossing things from beer trucks, at which time the wee ones scampered around the street like barn rats, gathering the booty. Seems like young and old, business man and homeless folk were out in various shades of verde, enjoying sunshine and smiles. Hooray for Sioux City and its 3rd annual parade... and long live the riders, steeds, drummers, bagpipers, fiddlers, drinkers and banner carrying brave ones in Butte!  (I heard your leader was picked up for DUI?? is that true?? sheeesh); (And with so much sadness across the world, our hearts pray the people of Japan soon can return to their traditions, parades, music and sacred ways).

PS. I am not a LOT Irish, but.. I hear, just enough;  enough that some day I do hope to visit that bonnie green island of Ireland, and see what there is to see and hear some music.

I'm Still Here, Sergeant Floyd

The week's theme for Flickr Urban Sketchers group Feb 13 to 19, 2011, was cemeteries and graveyards.  Every week the theme changes. If  you want to focus on the chosen theme during sketching, you're invited to sketch along with others around the world.  People who care, toss ideas into the "idea jar" and the group's moderator decides on the final focus.  Off we go, then to our 'assignment'.  When finished sketching, if you want to, you can post to the discussion page at Flickr Urban Sketchers, or if you'd like, you can upload your drawing to the 'pool', if you've joined as a member (at Google and Flickr).

Yesterday, a map in the Sioux City phone book gave me the general area of a cemetery on Floyd street, off of 6th Ave.  Off I went. I made a wrong turn on 6th and ended up at Palmer's Candies (another story - another time).  Turning the opposite direction, I finally arrived, in the center of a residential area at a hilly place of rest, on 7th street, among the markers of life's last challenge - Floyd Cemetery.

No other living human being was there at the moment.  Sunny shadows accented jutting shapes, distinct statements in stone and granite poked up from a long cold yellow winter lawn.  The grasses frozen in matty swirls displayed tiny bits of snowdrifts that had melted, reshaped themselves, flattened and froze again bubbly clear at many of the gravestone bases.  Names of Sioux City residents collectively stand here like a stone choir on the hills, marking family and individuals in the city's past, now sleeping under the name of The Floyd Cemetery. {Floyd is known as a member of Lewis and Clark's party. Sergeant Charles Floyd died on the banks of the Missouri river at Sioux City of "bilous chilous" (probably appendicitis), in 1804, a few years later Sioux City made dedication of his memorial 1901.}

I spent an hour drawing. It was very quiet. I did as much thinking as I did drawing. On leaving, I sensed people of every age, shape and persuasion, who'd placed a family member's body in the ground, under the lawn, on one of these hills.  I sensed how many tears over the collection of years must have been cried in this one place, and then multiplied that thought by all the cemeteries or other burial places through time over the world,of that same occurrence. I again knew, on this sunny day, that most of us will end in a place such as Floyd's; families or city workers will do what they can about our instructions on what to do with our body when we no longer live in it.  Some of us still have homework to do, don't we?

I've drawn in pencil on white paper, the headstones of Westcott and of Poor, because they were distinct in shape and shadow that day, not because I am related to those people. They are shown on the Flickr theme of the week page in the Urban Sketcher's group discussion, and on my own flickr page, I call, DRAWUSNOW. (if you search - look in "people"  for that name, drawia, or Toni Wheat).

In a small sketchy kind of way (Webster's definition "resembling a sketch";  not an URBAN dictionary definition), I do feel a bit connected to the Westcotts and the Poors.  On my way out, back to the life of the city, I checked the book at the entrance hillside.  I'm not in the book yet... whew... (see links below) or take a look on the left at the thumbnail sketches.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/drawia/5458626573

Public and Up-Close/ a Wired Life

OK, well if this is as scary as it gets, sharing one's thoughts with the world, they may have convinced me to "blog on." The survey/ questionnaire I sent out several months ago had some interesting feedback.  Most younger folks (25 - 35 years old) all said, "sure, I'll read your blog."  Most older folks (65 - 75 years old), said, "No thanks, I am too busy" or "I don't know what a blog is, and don't want to learn or do that".  The exceptions, of course, were "family" members who each said, "sure", I will read your blog. Two of those have joined my efforts by taking the time to figure out the "friend connect" process. Thanks you two!

I should set some goals, now, like: learn how to add video, or voice memos to the blog space.  A timeline, or links to fun things for the older folks' grandkids might draw in a few more people who "don't have any interest or time for blogs".  Transitioning from the big fat telephone hanging on the wall, ringing away, waiting for anyone in the family to answer a distant caller, was the world and technology of my childhood. So, of course, that is where my comfort lies.  Individuals/people with a phone stuck to the side of their head, palm or pocket, is not, to me, as much of a "community building" or social experience, as that big ol' jangling box, interrupting dinner table chatter. I must admit, I did hope to experience, by creating a blog, somewhat more of a connection to my new town, state, and the folks I left in the last one. I am so far disillusioned with the separateness that typing and reading offer, as compared to family/friend phone calls, gatherings, and time for a "cuppa" to catch up.  I wonder if teens and children will care (or even know) that they might have missed something, once they've grown into their techno-world.