by jphilo | Nov 26, 2011 | Reflections on the Past
If you read yesterday’s post which listed three Thanksgiving faves, you might be assuming today’s entry continues the holiday weekend favorites theme. In which case, the color of choice would be black because of Black Friday.
A logical thought, but not quite where this post is going.
This post is going for a memory triggered by this morning’s sunrise. Or more specifically, by my sister’s comment about the lovely Minnesota sunrise visible from their four season porch. “Look,” she said, “it’s sky blue pink with a heavenly border.”
Something stirred deep inside, and I asked, “What did you say?”
“Sky blue pink with a heavenly border. That’s what Dad always said when we asked him to name his favorite color.”
Suddenly, Dad was with us, two little girls hanging on the arms of his wheelchair. Two little girls asking, “What’s your favorite color?’
“Mine’s blue,” my big sister said.
“Mine’s pink,” I added.
“And mine,” Dad winked and grinned, “is a little bit of both. Sky blue pink with a heavenly border.”
The true meaning of his words went over my head and into my heart where it lay dormant for decades. Until this morning, when my sister commented on the sunrise, and I understood that Dad – a man normally more attuned to humor and practicality than to poetic and artistic thought – loved the beauty of sunrise.
From now on – whether my morning walk proceeds under gloomy, grey skies or those streaked blue and pink and orange by the rising sun – if you inquire about my favorite color, the answer will always be the same.
“Sky blue pink with a heavenly border.”
Thank you, Dad, for loving beauty more than you let on.
by jphilo | Nov 19, 2010 | Out and About
This past Wednesday and Thursday, I went on a short speaking junket. One gig was in Iowa, not too far north of here. But the other was in southern Minnesota – smack dab in the center of where the snow hit last Saturday. Which means I got an unwanted taste of winter, even though according to the calendar winter doesn’t officially begin for a month and two days. But who’s counting?
My clothing choices for the trip indicate I was in denial about the approach of winter.
Fall outfits.
Spring jacket.
No boots.
No winter coat.
No blanket, flashlight, candle or chocolate bar for a survival kit.
The lack of preparedness wasn’t a problem for the first speaking engagement in civilized northern Iowa. They had no snow, the temperature was tolerable, and the sun was shining. But the drive on I-35 in Minnesota, en route was a different story.
About one mile over the border, and snow dusted the ditches. By Albert Lea, little clumpy piles lined the shoulders. A few miles further, and I decided it was time to shop for the item most essential to a winter survival kit: chocolate. Thankfully, the Russel Stovers Outlet Store was between my car and my son and new daughter’s apartment, where I was headed for the night.
The survival kit worked because I made it to their place safely and satisfied.
I had to borrow my new daughter’s winter coat for my walk the next morning. And I wondered if my perky jacket and skirt was wise attire with the outdoor temperature 24 degrees and holding steady on the drive to St. James before noon. But I arrived safely, and the trip home later that afternoon was without incident, too.
Probably because of the dandy survival kit which I kept by my side at all times.
The kit worked so well, I’m not adding anything to it. Why toy with perfection by adding a musty blanket? Or a flashlight? I mean, think of the damage the batteries could do if they burst and acid leached into the chocolate. Come to think of it, what if the contents of the survival kit attract Mickey and Minnie in the night. To be on the safe side, I’ll keep the survival kit in the house. Right by my side. So I remember to put it in the car next time I go anywhere.
You know, I’m kinda looking forward to winter after all.
by jphilo | Mar 25, 2009 | Daily Life
Last Friday, our son gave us a tour of his workplace south of the Twin Cities. The weather was as cold and windy as the picture suggests. The whole experience confirmed Garrison Keillor’s description of early spring in Minnesota. He said if winter had a hangover, it would be March.
The last few days in central Iowa haven’t been much better. We’ve more rain than we can handle and more wind than we want. It’s been cold enough to force people back into the winter coats they gleefully stuffed in the closet when the weather grew teasingly warm for a few days. The forecast for the weekend sounds grim – rain with a little snow mixed in, which is too much snow when April’s on the horizon.
The best thing about March weather in Iowa and Minnesota is that it’s not as bad as Dakota weather. Those states have been slammed with enough rain and snow to make a non-native quit and move away. But Dakota ranchers are tough even though their weather hangover often stretches from March through May.
Why people stay there, I’ll never know. But they do, and I’m glad because thinking of their circumstances move me to gratitude for Iowa’s early spring. No matter how bad things get here, it’s worse on windblown, snowy Dakota pasture where some rancher is herding some belligerent heifer into a sheltered draw so he can stick his arm into her womb and pull a calf.
Digging out my winter coat looks pretty good compared to that.
