by jphilo | Nov 6, 2008 | Current Events
For your information, I am virtually popular. My virtual popularity includes seventy-seven friends on my Facebook account. So far, most of them are former students, a few friends my own age, several relatives, and one high school classmate.
My daughter pushed me into virtual society. Last year, during her first year of college, she wanted me nowhere near Facebook. But this summer she beggme me to join and promised to help me set up an account. But we never managed to get together, and I never got around to it, though Hiram did. I probably wouldn’t have done it this week except for an email invitation I received from a church friend.
Digital popularity has been enlightening. I’m not sure we’re a perfect fit since most of my virtual friends hang out from 9:00 PM until about 2:30 AM. Mind you, I’m not awake much of that time, but I catch up in the morning when they’re all asleep. This morning I discovered that my husband and daughter posted random things on one another’s walls last night. I’m feeling kinda left out. Why doesn’t she post on my wall? She likes him better than she likes me. Pout, pout, pout.
If I’m not careful, this hip, Facebook chick is going to devolve from virtually popular to cyberspace wallflower. I was a wallflower throughout real junior high. No way do I want to go back there on the internet. Instead, I’ll go to my daughter’s wall and write something on her “tell me your awkward story” thread. I’ve got plenty to chose from. Most of them deal with my junior high wallflower days.
So visit me on Facebook. I’ll introduce you to all my virtual friends. And you can read my awkward story. It’ll be a doozy.
by jphilo | Nov 4, 2008 | Current Events
I took this picture yesterday, to accurately record one week of fall’s relentless march toward winter. The change from a week ago Monday to yesterday is striking. But if I had fudged and taken the picture this morning, just one little day later, you wouldn’t have noticed much of a change. Usually, one day doesn’t make a huge difference.
Unless, of course, it’s a day like today. Election Day. No matter who wins this election,it will result in big changes. Either a person of color or a woman will play an important role in the Executive Branch of our government. For you it may not seem like a big deal. For kids, it’s huge.
Flash back about ten years to my fourth grade classroom. I’d read a book about the White House or the Constitution or some such matter to my students. The fly leaf had a picture gallery of past presidents, and the kids wanted to know their names. When I finished reading them, one girl raised her hand and asked, “Aren’t women allowed to be president?”
I closed the book and prayed for wise words. “Yes they are,” I answered. “It just hasn’t happened yet. But it will. Maybe you’ll be the first woman president.” She giggled. “When you get to the White House,” I told her, “invite your old fourth grade teacher to dinner, okay?” She giggled some more.
Though none of my minority students ever said it out loud, how many of them wondered whether an African-American or a Latino or disabled person was allowed to be president? Probably all of them. But by tomorrow morning, this election will answer one of their questions and usher in a new paradigm for future generations.
Every now and then, one day makes a irreversible difference. Today is one of those days.
by jphilo | Oct 27, 2008 | Current Events
This past week had more rainy days than sunny ones. In fact, from Wednesday through Friday, a look out the window was gloomy, grey and wet. Saturday the sun returned and cheered things up. Yesterday the wind in our neck of the woods was fierce and blew in a cold front, complete with cloudy skies, so we’re gloomy again.
Anne was home for the weekend. She brought two friends from college, and the weekend was a whirlwind of activity. I tried to have food ready whenever they blew in, which was no small feat since their plans changed by the hour. But from the looks of our empty refrigerator, I was fairly successful. They took off last night around 6:00, after the wind died down a little. No phone call to tell me she’s safely home, but no call from the Highway Patrol saying she isn’t, so they must have made it back okay.
The gloomy weather is a carbon copy of last week, and this Monday’s picture of our gravel road shows the damage the wind did to our fall foilage. If you look through the bare branches near the center, you can see our house peaking through – a sure sign of cold weather to come.
Normally I would moan and groan about these signs of approaching winter, but not this week. A few days ago, something happened that changed my attitude. A friend of our family, only fifty years old, was diagnosed with advanced liver and lung cancer after a lifetime of clean living. They’ve been married twenty-five years and have two teenaged sons. During the first three years of our daughter’s life, his wife came to our house and provided day care for Allen and Annie. For many years, we worshipped at the same church. I was their oldest son’s fourth grade teacher several years later. Two years ago, Hiram donated a kidney to his brother-in-law, and they send a card every September to thank him.
He started chemo last week, and we thought we’d let the hub-bub die down a bit before we go to visit them. But their family is constantly in my thoughts and prayers. When I bundled up for my walk this morning and saw more leaves on the ground than on the trees, all I could think of was how much they want to be together next fall on a cold, windy day that whips the leaves from the trees, together for another Thanksgiving, another Christmas, another New Year.
I can’t complain about the loss of warm weather when they may soon lose so much. This year, I look forward to the coming winter and pray for many more to come.
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.
