by jphilo | Jul 5, 2011 | Current Events
Only in Iowa is the passing of the State Fair butter cow sculptress a front page story in major newspapers. And the topic of state newspaper columnists. And a lead story on TV and radio broadcasts.
Only in my Iowa childhood was the famed butter cow sculptress’s name worthy of dropping at family and social gatherings. “Norma ‘Duffy’ Lyons?” my mother remarked whenever the opportunity arose. “The State Fair butter cow sculptress? She and Harlan went to Iowa State University together.” The pride in Mom’s voice was unmistakable.
Dad grinned and nodded right along with Mom from 1960, when Norma assumed the mantle of butter cow creator, until his death in 1997. He couldn’t remember his kids’ names for the last 10 years of his life, but when Mom mentioned Norma and her creamy creations, his face lit up with a look that could have melted butter.
Norma wielded her butter knife until 2005 when a stroke ended her long career, and the apprentice she had trained for several years took over. Dad’s former classmate died on June 26, 2011 of another stroke. When I called Mom and told her, she answered excitedly, “Norma ‘Duffy’ Lyon? The butter cow sculptress? She and Harlan went to Iowa State University together, you know.”
“I remember hearing that,” I replied.
“Her maiden name was Stong,” Mom went on. “So Norma and Harlan were seated alphabetically in class. Stong, then Stratton.”
This was new information, and a new and elevated level of name dropping, to boot. What’s more, Mom’s facts were confirmed in a newspaper story in the Des Moines Sunday Register which says Phil Stong, the author of the novel State Fair, was Norma’s uncle. I marveled at Mom’s ability to recall facts, especially in light of our shopping trip last week when she had to ask three times about who would receive the anniversary cards she’d picked out. (The answer is me & my sweetie and Anne & her sweetie if you’re wondering.)
Only in Iowa would the name of a butter cow sculptress revive memories in minds ravaged by multiple sclerosis and Alzheimer’s. Which reinforces a belief that grows dearer the longer I live in this small, rural, unpretentious, sweet-as-butter state.
Only in Iowa is where I want to live.
by jphilo | May 26, 2011 | Current Events
The weather’s been in the news lately, garnering almost as much attention as Oprah’s farewell.
The tornado devastation in Joplin, Missouri.
Followed by more tornadoes in Oklahoma City.
Preceded by the tornadoes in Birmingham, Alabama and other southeastern states.
Not to mention the annual watch on the Red River near Fargo, North Dakota.
The watch on the Mississippi River as the swelling waters head south.
And the floods in a bunch of little towns in southeastern Montana.
Say what? You haven’t heard about the last one?
Well, it did make NPR’s national news broadcast over the weekend. But, it’s not in a high population area (unless you’re counting antelope and jack rabbits), and its annihilation scale won’t reach that of Joplin, Missouri (for which I am thankful), so the reporters have been busy there. And with Oprah, of course.
But at our house, the Little Missouri flood on the South Dakota/Montana border where we used to live, is big news. People have been evacuated. Officials were worried the bridge into Camp Crook would give out. There was talk of cutting the road to keep that from happening.
The flood pictures I’ve seen don’t do the situation justice. Most of the time, the Little Missouri is a tame, winding river. A sorry excuse for a river, really. When we lived there, its sluggish flow and scummy side pools made it good for nothing except breeding mosquitos, which it did with a vengeance. And that was in the wet years.
To see more pictures and even a short video, visit the Harding County FaceBook page. If you aren’t on FaceBook, sorry! They haven’t posted the video on YouTube. If you are on FaceBook, would you do me a favor? Pass the link along to your friends. Maybe it’ll go viral, and Camp Crook, South Dakota and the Little Missouri River will the talk of cyberspace.
Maybe even bigger than Oprah.
Not gonna happen you say? Well, in the early 1980s no one thought a young woman with an unusual name would become a talk show maven, a media mogul, and a first name phenomenon, now did they?
So go ahead. Pass it on. This could be the start of something big!
by jphilo | Apr 5, 2011 | Current Events
It’s almost spring, and I can hardly wait for it to arrive. A look back at previous early posts shows this longing for spring is an annual event. This post shows that the spring of 2009 was full of almosts, spring surprises, and good friends.
Almost – Recycled
It’s almost spring, the calendar says, but the weather’s cold again today. Through the garden debris, the columbine are almost ready to unfurl their leaves. The peony tips are visible, almost pushing through the black dirt.
My life is a reflection of my flower garden. Mom’s house is almost sold, we’ve cleared out almost all it’s contents, and I’ve almost figured out her finances. I’m almost done going through the editor’s suggestions for A Different Dream, the mystery manuscript is almost done, and I’m almost ready for a speaking engagement. My house is almost in order, the bathrooms are almost clean, and I almost have the weekend menu planned.
The problem is, just like spring, I’m stuck at almost. As soon as I almost finish something, something more serious arises and I have abandon what’s almost done to address the other. Almost finished projects are piling up so fast they’re almost drowning me.
All I can do until April 10, when we close on Mom’s house, is make peace with the almosts. My friend came up with a perfect way to do it. We’re going to hear the author Bill Bryson speak at Drake University tonight. He’s a Des Moines native who lives in England and almost never gets back to Iowa. The talk will be an almost perfect ending to an almost winter day in what claims to be spring. And to think, I almost missed the opportunity.
Thanks for inviting me, Cindy.
by jphilo | Mar 24, 2011 | Current Events
Thoughts of spring make my heart beat faster. The daffodils are getting bigger every day. Our magnolia bush will soon burst into bloom. The grass is greening, cardinals greet me during my daily walks, and it’s almost time to put the winter coats in storage.
But a heart-stopping NPR story the other day changed my innocent anticipation of spring. It was about an annual sign of spring in Chicago, the rise in gang violence. It happens every year, when the weather improves and kids hit the streets. Last year, the report said, almost 700 youth were hit by gunfire and 66 were killed. The reporters described several programs in the schools aimed at young, adolescent boys, interventions to keep them out of gangs and in school. The problem is, sometimes the streets grow so dangerous in spring, kids can’t get to school.
The story was squeezed between stories of global magnitude – air strikes in Libya and the earthquake in Tokyo. But I kept thinking, “Chicago is only six hours away. These children are my fellow citizens facing a hopeless spring.”
My heart breaks to think of children who will see drug deals instead of daffodils, hear gunshots instead of bird song, and smell blood instead of apple blossoms this spring. My spirits flag as I get ready for my daily walk, a grace I take for granted while little children in Chicago watch television behind locked doors.
Cruel spring.
Cold comfort.
Always winter and never Christmas in Narnia.
Always winter and never spring in Chicago ghettos.
Aslan, when will you come?
by jphilo | Mar 21, 2011 | Current Events
With the earthquake in Japan, the air strikes in Libya, and March Madness some topics of national interest have been overlooked by the media recently. To be specific, the completion of our new first floor laundry room. My January 20 blog post recorded the commencement of the project, and a mere two months later, the job is done.
Which must be a relief to those of you who’ve been waiting with bated breath to hear more about the earth shattering adventure. To be honest, I a little chagrined by the fact that this breathtaking ecological story (the new washer and dryer are energy efficient) hasn’t been all over Facebook, Twitter, and the greater blogosphere. I guess my natural humility and lack of self-absorption simply kept me from uploading daily photos of the progress. That and the fact that the new laundry/half bathroom is so small it’s really hard to take pictures. To get today’s shot, I had to stand on the toilet – lid down, of course. So, in the interest of full disclosure, I freely admit that my propensity for vertigo when perched on anything taller than roller skates has a great deal to do with the poor journalistic coverage of this major event.
To make up for my alarming lack of journalistic commitment, Hiram and I hereby invite you to the christening of the laundry room this Tuesday evening. We will break open a new bottle of detergent in honor of the event and read aloud from the instruction manuel in preparation for the the launch of our stackable washer and dryer. Refreshments will not be served, but you’re welcome to stay and chat until the laundry folding festival begins.
For those of you who aren’t afraid of heights, feel free to bring digital cameras and take pictures (in shifts since the laundry room only holds 2 or 3 people) of this breaking news story. You can even use my computer to upload them on Facebook, so the people who can’t attend don’t feel excluded. Consider it your journalistic duty to humanity.
This kind of breaking news can’t be squelched. It must reach the common man!
by jphilo | Mar 14, 2011 | Current Events
The news and pictures coming from Japan are mind-boggling. So much destruction. So many injured and dead. So much potential for lasting harm from the damaged nuclear fuel plants. Every new report of mounting casualties, melting nuclear reactors, and the possibility of aftershocks increases my personal sense of helplessness in light of the magnitude of this disaster.
I can’t rush to Japan to assist in the clean up. Even without a book deadline breathing down my neck, a lack of disaster training, physical stamina, and a proclivity for the human version of a nuclear meltdown in the face of any crisis make me an unlikely rescue worker.
Is there anything can I do?
The question came to mind ten times a day. Hard on its heels come memories of Miyuki, the Japanese foreign exchange student who lived with us during the 2004-05 school year. Her ignorance of western culture was as mind-boggling as the recent earthquake.
She wanted to know about our country’s government, but concepts of elections, presidents, and public debate were beyond her comprehension.
She had never heard of Hitler, and she couldn’t understand his hatred of Jewish people. She didn’t know what Jews were.
She “became a Christian” in her first host home before she came to us, but six months later was amazed to learn He was God.
She knew Christmas was about Santa and gifts, but was amazed to learn the holiday had religious roots.
And I know there is something I can do.
Though I’ve pray for her often since her return to southeast Japan years ago, my prayers are more intentional today. I pray God will bring to life the seeds planted while she was here. I pray the truth she heard and pondered while in our home will come back to her and become her hope In the aftermath of the earthquake. I pray she will find true life in Christ and bear much fruit in the midst of devastation and pain. In the face of much destruction, my prayers don’t seem like much. But this is what I’m equipped to do – pray for Miyuki, who was in our home for a reason.
This is something I can do.
