by jphilo | Sep 2, 2008 | Current Events
One of the readers of this blog asked me to weigh in on Sara Palin’s nomination to be John McCain’s running mate. If you know me, you may find this hard to believe since I’m not much of a political animal. In fact, I had to check to see if I spelled ‘McCain” right, and then check again to see if Palin is 42 or 44. She’s 44.
But, this is where the six degrees of separation comes in. I am married to an Alaskan. And my Alaskan claims Wasilla as his home town. So does Pailn. They even graduated from the same high school, the high school where Elsie, Hiram’s mom, was an art teacher. Sara Palin could have been one of her students. But Elsie died a few years ago so we can’t know, and I haven’t worked up the nerve to email the candidate and ask her.
Hiram’s brother Cassius is two years older than Sara (as an alumni-in-law, Sara and I are on a first name basis) so he probably remembers her from high school. And he still lives in Alaska, part of the time near Wasilla. We’re talking primary source here, folks. Hiram spent the weekend playing phone tag with Cassius, and they have yet to connect. Once they do, I’ll give you a full alumni report.
Until then, here are Hiram’s thoughts from conversations with Cassius during a visit to see him during the summer of 2007. Cassius’ report at that time was quite favorable, somewhere along the lines of “Well, she hasn’t screwed up anything big yet.” If that isn’t a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.
One thing I won’t do is wade into the pregnant daughter issue. Anyone who has raised teenagers knows they could be dealing with the same situation facing the Palin family right now. Since we would all want others to treat us with compassion and grace in such circumstances, I say let’s do the same thing for the Palins.
by jphilo | Aug 19, 2008 | Current Events
Hiram and I spent part of Sunday at the Iowa State Fair. We ate artery-clogging junk food on a stick and looked at the butter cow, which was pretty cool and the butter Shawn Johnson, which was pretty strange. Her pony tail was good, but how do you sculpt a form-fitting leotard out of butter, and even if you do, what kind of cholesterol/exercise mixed message does it send to our country’s young people?
We wandered to the cattle barn, which during my dad’s State Fair glory days was where he slept for the duration of the festivities each year. But Sunday was the fair’s last day and we got to the barn after all the cattle had been sent home, along with their owners. All that remained was an odor which Dad called the smell of money. We dutifully inhaled. But a slightly green cast to our skin was as close as we came to finding any money. So we went next door to the Livestock Pavilion and watched the dog agility training. After that we took in the cloggers at Pioneer Hall and looked at the antiques.
But to be honest, we were just killing time, waiting for eight o’clock and the grandstand show – Garrison Keillor’s Rhubarb Tour. Hiram got the tickets in June and gave them to me in July for my birthday. And we’d been looking forward to the show ever since.
The night was everything wonderful. The weather cooperated – no wind, pleasant temperatures, even a full moon rising in the east. Our seats in the ninth row were the best in the grandstand. Garrison came out right on time and did all the right stuff, singing and joking, telling stories. The Powdermilk Biscuit Band had Hiram drooling and Fred Newman’s sound effects were hilarious. Suzy Bogguss sang and strummed her guitar beautifully. And a little boy named Andrew, the winner of this year’s Bill Riley Talent Search, wowed the crowd with his phenomenal piano performance.
All evening, I experienced a profound sense of joy and gratitude. At moments, it seemed almost too much blessing – to see such performers on such a perfect evening, to be healthy enough to enjoy them with a husband who has loved me for thirty-one years. Why should I receive such blessings when so many people around the world are suffering?
That’s a question I can’t answer, one I plan to ask God someday when we meet face to face. I’m not sure what He’ll look like, but I’ve already got a pretty good picture of heaven in my mind.
It’ll be a lot like Iowa on a perfect August evening. I can hardly wait.
by jphilo | Jul 5, 2008 | Current Events
Our Fourth of July celebration took an unexpected turn yesterday. Mom came over for grilled steaks (her treat), and then we drove to Ames for a stroll through the Reimen Gardens at ISU.
The guide at the butterfly house, a recent addition to the gardens, said we were in luck. The butterflies were extremely active. She wasn’t exaggerating. Butterflies fluttered through the air, clung to the mesh wire next to the glass walls, ate from the feeders and rested on plants. One even hitchhiked on Hiram’s back for a while. You’da thought we were watching fireworks, the way we oohed and ahhed and rated the butterflies as they burst into view. I whipped out my camera and took picture after picture.
I would have been perfectly happy shooting photos all afternoon, but our Independence Day celebration included the Get Smart movie, so we had to skedaddle. The movie made me laugh so hard my sides ached, and the Cold Stone Creamery ice cream afterwards hit the spot. But the festivities wore us out. We couldn’t stay awake for the fireworks, though they were so loud this year they woke me up. For a few minutes I wondered if Boone was under attack, but eventually things quieted down and I fell asleep.
This morning, the indigo bunting eluded me again. So I’m offering you the next best thing – a red, white and black butterfly. It’s the most patriotic one we saw yesterday.
Oooh, aaah! I give it an eight point five.
by jphilo | Jun 17, 2008 | Current Events
Iowa’s in the national spotlight for the second time in one calendar year. Our first brush with fame came in January, when the state was flooded with presidential wannabes. Now, record-breaking floods have focused the eyes of the nation upon us.
So far I haven’t heard any discussions about which kind of flooding leaves a bigger mess. But along our little gravel road, the flood waters have been pretty destructive. In fact, the rain has washed away the gravel at the bottom of the driveway. Water erosion has created a miniature Grand Canyon along the entire length of road that borders our property.
The road’s so bad we’ve become anti-social. We tell visitors not to come unless they and their vehicles are tougher than the potholes and ravines. It’s so bad the neighbor kid screams bloody murder when he rides his bicycle across the ruts formed by streams of running water cutting across the road. A significant amount of daylight can be seen between his backside and the unpadded bike seat. No wonder he screams every time the two make contact. It’s so bad someone’s front tire got caught in our Grand Canyonette the other night. Before the vehicle stopped, the neighbor’s mailbox was gone and a decorative boulder was several feet east of it’s original location. Can you believe it? The consequences of flooding include hit and run landscape architecture crime.
As of this writing, the government has not lifted a finger to clean up the mess. Phone calls to the city public works department remain unanswered. Mr. Obama has offered no hope for our road, and Mr. McCain has proposed no maverick solution to our wash-out dilemma. So Hiram, my very own Pa Ingalls of a husband, took matters into his own hands. He spent the morning rebuilding the end of the driveway, filling it in with a load of gravel.
So I think we’re done being anti-social. You can visit us again. Unless you’re a politician. We just finished cleaning up one mess. We don’t need another.
by jphilo | Jun 15, 2008 | Current Events
I’m back from four days in Cedar Falls. Floods threatened the city the day before the writers’ conference began. But our meeting was headquartered at a campground high above the rain-swollen river. By the time I arrived Wednesday morning, electrical service had been restored and most of the fallen trees were cleaned up. After rain on Wednesday afternoon and Thursday morning, the days were sunny and the nights were cool.
During a break on Friday, I grabbed my camera and walked over to the cliff above the river. Through a break in the trees, the high water surrounded summer cabins on the other bank. The Cedar River had crested a few days earlier, and I couldn’t imagine how high the water must have been then.
The conference ended Saturday at noon. Another ugly storm gathered in the south as I sped home. Later, it dumped more rain on Cedar Falls, and the tornado sirens went on several times in the night. By then, I was safe in my bed. Why, I wonder, did my life proceed normally while floods destroyed and disrupted the lives of others? Why was I granted such grace?
I can’t answer that question. But when I wake up tomorrow and face the month’s worth of writing I need to finish this week, I’ll be grateful for such a small problem in a dry house. And I’ll get busy.
by jphilo | Jun 2, 2008 | Current Events
A few days ago my favorite comedian, Harvey Korman, died. What do you say when someone who impacted your formative years leaves? I think my sister, who asked if she could guest blog about this man who made us smile, says it perfectly.
Dear Harvey and Carol,
Thursday, May 29 was my fifteenth wedding anniversary. On my drive home from work while I was thinking about my lovely husband, I heard a distressing news clip: Harvey Korman of the Carol Burnett Show had passed away from an aortic aneurism at the age of 81. It was a difficult week. First our Uncle Bud on Sunday, and then you, one of my favorite entertainers.
Several Christmases ago my son Ben got me one of the best gifts I have ever received: two DVD’s of old Carol Burnett shows, including Went with the Wind, the movie parody of Gone with the Wind including the funniest sight gag I’ve ever seen. (I take these DVD’s with me to parties by request of friends). This skit left us weak with laughter.
Ben gave me these DVD’s remembering an incident from his slacker teen days when he nearly got in trouble with me for watching TV instead of doing a required chore. I came charging up the stairs ready to skewer him only to find him doubled over in laughter in front of the TV. He was watching a clip of Went with the Wind. I was helpless–we laughed together. He was off the hook and I told him about the role of The Carol Burnett Show and you, Harvey Korman, in our family.
Your show provided blessed comic relief once a week for our family. The chemistry among the cast—you, Vicki Lawrence, Carol Burnett, Tim Conway, Lyle Waggoner–was exquisite, the sketch writing cutting and witty. We would watch you and Carol in Mama’s Family, you and Carol on an executive date, Tim Conway and you alone on an island executing a military parade, Tim cutting up and making you laugh. My sister Jolene, my brother John, and I would spend the week acting out some of the skits, repeating the punch lines, waiting for the next show.
I heard you say once that no one was as unselfish on a show with time and the spotlight as Carol Burnett. She seemed to know that when those around her were at their best and had a chance to demonstrate that, she was at her best, too. There is nothing like it on TV now. Only Garrison Keillor’s skit writing and performance on the radio show Prairie Home Companion comes close to what you did.
Thanks, Man. You made me laugh when I needed a laugh so much. Thanks for your wonderful show, Carol Burnett! I hope I do my job as well as you guys did yours.
Much Love,
Jolene’s Sis
