Camaraderie

When I was attending UW-Eau Claire, there was a popular bar on Water St. called Camaraderie. It was an appropriate name for a place to hang out with friends to "enjoy a spirit of friendly good fellowship." (Webster's Collegiate Dictionary) Unfortunately, "the Cam" was destroyed in a fire a few years ago--and it's ironic that I now find my greatest moments of camaraderie around the campfire at the Amberg Hilton.
This weekend we held our annual canoe/kayak/cabin weekend with some of Fred's work colleagues, their spouses, and local friends who have cabins or homes near the Hilton. Five of us arrived on Friday, and after dinner spent several hours around the fire. There is no better place to tell stories, make digs at each other, and enjoy a few beers. We were in bed around 10:30 to be ready for the busy day Saturday when the rest of the group arrived to go down the river.
It was another beautiful day, just like last weekend, and the Pike was up a foot after two days of rain during the week. Fred and Gene had kayaked the upper part of the river Friday, and it was fast and deep--great for sailing over the big rocks that normally stick up just beneath the surface and tip the canoe, or send you downstream backwards. Fred and Paul launched just below Bull's Falls in the canoe, with Sandy and Gene in kayaks. They met up with Annie and Lori in the raft on the way, doing the upper river with just a few spills--mainly due to downed trees in the water. At the County K bridge, we loaded up the canoe and kayaks in the truck and set off to do the rest of the river in the raft: Annie, Lori, Michael, Mendy, Gene, Sandy, Fred, and ME!! YES! I actually let myself be talked into my first trip down the river in 17 years! I was the official photographer, and got some good pictures as we approached the rapids. Another kayaker had told us that there was a large pine tree completely across the river right above a big rapids called "the Chute." He said we could probably make it under if we ducked or "limboed" as the raft passed beneath. As we made the approach, we saw that the tree had some sharp spines sticking out the bottom of the trunk!! We all dove haphazardly as low as we could get, and made it under the tree, a lost hat and a few minor scrapes the only damage. We couldn't even catch our breath before entering the big rapids--but we made it down without incident. We almost lost Mendy in another rapids when the raft was going sideways and a wave slammed us. She fell backwards off the side of the raft--her foot in the safety strap all that kept her from dumping in. Fred and Sandy grabbed her and hauled her back in, amidst a lot of yelling by some of us as the others kept paddling through the rough water. Mendy was amazingly calm considering it was her first experience on the Pike. We made it to the end of the trip, happy and excited by the adrenaline and the teamwork that got us there. (Not that I did anything but scream a lot.)
Then it was again dinner time and another campfire, but with over twice as many friends as the night before. It's amazing how you can have conversations around the fire with people you just met that day, and it feels like you've been friends a long time. I guess part of it is the lack of pretense in that setting--who's trying to be making an impression when they're sunburned, recently soaked with river water, and swatting mosquitoes?!
Someone suggested going around the circle and having everyone tell a story from their childhood/youth. Michael shared how his dad, the town cop, caught him and his friends in the local strip joint during a raid! Annie told about shopping with her family in Sears as a little girl, and pooping in one of the display toilets! Lots of laughing and joking, all the while gazing into the flames of the magical, ever-changing, fascinating fire.
It was another successful get-together: nobody drowned, perfect weather, and great friends. As my grandma used to write in her local "news" column in the weekly paper: "A good time was had by all."

News Briefs from Silver Lake Road

With Monday being a holiday, this week has flown by. I did write a few letters, but for those of you who aren't receiving one, here's the scoop.
--I looked out the window Wednesday and discovered a row of blooming lilac bushes and a flowering crab along the edge of the yard! The two days of rain must have brought out the blossoms--I'd thought they were just scraggly, nondescript bushes. I had all the windows open yesterday, and the lilacs smelled like heaven! Two hummingbirds also showed up around my birdfeeders, so I quickly put some nectar out for them and can watch them when I'm working in the kitchen.
--The cats have discovered that if they eat grass outside, they can come in and puke it up on the rugs later.
--I met another neighbor when I was walking the dogs. He told me that bobcats and cougars have been sighted around here. Great. Bears are starting to sound downright cuddly.
--Our entry forms for the Rump Roast Run are still sitting here. I meant to send them in last month, then got sick...then started getting cold feet. Are Fred and I really ready to do this? It's called a RUN, not WALK--I have to think on it some more.
--The personalized grave markers that I ordered for Beatle and Kimo, our dogs who died last year, arrived this week. They say "Pets leave paw prints on our hearts" along with their birth and death dates. I'll take them to the cabin to put on their graves in the red pine. We still miss them!
--There is a brand spanking new shiny red riding lawnmower sitting in our garage. The lawn desperately needs mowing, but Fred doesn't want me to use it until he gets back from the cabin and checks it over. I'm supposed to be studying the manual for my quiz, but I haven't even looked at it yet. Maybe I'll become such a good driver that I can enter the lawnmower races in Amberg on Labor Day Weekend (or is it 4th of July?) That's what Ambergers consider to be a swell time. It is probably a lot easier than running a 5K!
--Today I head back to the cabin for our annual canoe/kayak weekend with people Fred knows from work. The Pike is a foot higher than it was last weekend after an inch and a half of rain, so he's not sure it will be ok to take novices down the river. I don't do the canoeing part anyway because rushing, foamy water sort of terrifies me! I canoed with Fred a few times before we were married, just to show him I was adventurous and fun-loving--and when I heard the roar of a rapids ahead on my first trip, I practically wet my pants. I think I've only canoed once since the wedding. Fred calls it "the facade." He says once a woman takes a bite of wedding cake, the facade starts to crumble and we stop doing a lot of things we supposedly enjoyed before. (Oh yeah?! Well men conveniently forget how to make their own sandwiches and share the remote!) But that's another blog...
This Just In: Nothing too exciting is happening on Silver Lake Road. But that's ok--we like it that way.

Clutterflies

I sit down at the table to eat my morning bagel and have to push aside the pile of mail that Fred hasn't gone through yet. I go upstairs to change clothes and trip over the basket of clean laundry that I'd meant to put away the last time I was up there. I search fruitlessly through the layers of customs forms, soldier letters, greeting cards, and address labels that is the top of my desk, not finding the tiny piece of paper I'm looking for.
Clutter. How does an innocent little stack of magazines suddenly obscure the coffee table and swallow the remote? Why is the chair in the bedroom only sat in by cast-off clothes and a cat or two? I guess I do know why, but it means admitting to a smidgeon of laziness. I thought the situation would improve once the girls moved out, but it hasn't much. Guess what?! Fred and I are "clutterflies", too. He takes a tape measure out of the junk drawer to measure something and then leaves it sitting on the entryway table. He might need it again in a week or six months, right? Why put those black shoes by the front door back in the closet when I know I'll eventually have to go to another funeral? I gradually make a little pile of stuff on the stairway to take up on my next trip--which I repeatedly forget to do. I've always wanted one of those step baskets, and now would be a great time to get one as my CRS (Can't Remember S***) worsens.
The recyclables need to go down to the basement, the computer desk is covered with paid bills that need to be filed, the guest bed is covered with pictures and other stuff I've used for my blogs. Hey, I'm an artiste! When the creative muse is upon me, do I have time to put everything back where it came from?!
Besides the laziness factor, clutter tends to develop when it's an especially busy week of being in and out of the house. A two-day trip to Elk Mound, a weekend at the cabin--not enough time in between to sort the mail and clear off the counter--just to add to what's already there.
There are people who actually get paid to declutter other people's homes. What a racket! There is a simple solution to clutter, duh: a place for everything and everything in its place. Until we take the time to faithfully practice that axiom, no amount of education from an "expert" will make a long-term difference.
I'm really going to try to be better about putting things away. Maybe I'll write a greeting card about it: "Live with a cluttered house no more. Throw it all in the closet and shut the door."
In the meantime, please don't drop in unexpectedly. And remember, a little clutter never hurt anybody--unless Fred trips over my growing pile on the stairs!

You Gotta Have Friends

Yesterday I had lunch with Cindy, whom I had never met before. We have a mutual friend in Eau Claire who gave Cindy my address when we moved to Rhinelander. She sent me a card to welcome me to the area, and after a couple phone calls we made plans to meet for lunch.
Meeting a stranger for a meal is kind of like a blind date, without the stress of worrying I'll be cute enough. But there's still the fear of having nothing to say but awkward small talk, having little in common, or getting something caught in my front teeth.
Fortunately none of those things happened. At times our conversation was so lively that I noticed other people in the small cafe listening in. (especially one guy when I was talking about the Harley!) Cindy and I both attended UW-Eau Claire, were teachers, have kids and grandkids, like walking and reading, and are afraid of heights and meeting up with a bear on our walks. You get the idea...there was no shortage of things to talk about. We plan to meet again soon to go walking and share books we've enjoyed.
Does hitting it off with someone new come more easily the older we get? Or do we just click with certain people? It's probably a little of both. I think at our age, we care less about making impressions and just enjoy the moment--and we're lucky when we make a connection that has the potential for friendship. I've had friends who were/are in their 70s and 80s, and others who are in their 20s and 30s; friends I see regularly and others I know solely through e-mails and letters. The link is obviously not based on chronological compatibility or proximity, but rather a connection between outlooks, humor, and hearts.
It's comforting to know that we can leave the familiar, move to new places, and there are still friends out there we just haven't met yet.

When You Care Enough to Write Your Own

I mentioned before that I sold some greeting card ideas in the '90s--one of which is pictured at right. I wrote the sentiment, and an artist did the drawing and got the credit on the back of the card. I sold 3 ideas, and for every one I sold, I'd say I had 25 or more rejected. You'd think it would be easy to write them--they're short! It's not like thinking up a book or a screenplay. But it's actually the brevity of the idea you're trying to convey that creates the challenge: you need to get your message across in just a few words, for a specific occasion, in a way that will appeal to as many buyers as possible. Women between the ages of 18 and 50 are the prime senders of greeting cards, and most of my ideas were aimed at them.

O: You know you're getting old when your husband suggests getting some action in the sheets...
I: ...and you go do the laundry. Happy Birthday!!

I thought that one was amusing and could definitely relate to it, but it was a reject. I also liked this one:
O: I figured out why I can't lose weight.
I. Lettuce doesn't come in 33 flavors.
The editor was probably skinny and didn't get the humor--and truth--in that statement.

O: Happy birthday to a woman who's a gale force at work and a whirlwind at home.
I: No wonder your house looks like a cyclone hit it. (Maybe the Good Witch of the North will stop by and vacuum!)
I'd guess this might have been too long--or insulting? Unfortunately, when they return your rejected ideas, they don't tell you what they didn't like about them.
Another guideline usually suggested is not to write rhyming verses. I followed that rule, but I think it's the companies' loss that they didn't give my iambic verse a try.

"You're not the one I'm looking for; I've changed the locks on all the doors.
Your stuff is piled in the yard, but I will keep your credit card."
Wouldn't that have mass appeal?! Or, "Sorry your marriage went down the tubes; but now you can afford new boobs."
Another criteria is that the occasion the card is recognizing must be a common one; if it's too limited, there's no commercial value in buying the idea. There's likely not much demand for this sentiment:
O: You have given "the change" a whole new meaning!
I: Congratulations on your sex reassignment surgery!

So, I guess I will invest in a new Writers Market, see how the guidelines have changed in the past 15 years, and try my hand at this again. I may just decide to freelance on my own, too, since silliness is constantly running through my head--especially when I'm walking. Here's my ad:
"If you need a card for a special occasion--birthday, retirement, tubal ligation--
Send me an e-mail with all of the facts, the inside jokes, the smart-aleck cracks;
To roast, to toast, be nice or rotten; I'll write you a card that won't be forgotten!
So get me your order for Jane, Sue or Tom. Write cherbearem@yahoo.com!"

9.5

That's the number I'm giving my weekend at the Amberg Hilton. Half a point was lost for the ticks, mosquitoes, and no-see-ums that were "bugging" us whenever we were in the woods or anywhere away from the campfire. I just pulled a tick off my leg as I sit here!
Saturday Fred and I headed to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan around noon. We have taken several trips around the U.P. in the past 5 years, and we like it because the border is only six miles from the cabin--and most Yoopers are Packer fans, too! The original plan was to ride to Lake Michigan (Green Bay--the body of water, not the city) but we ended up going to Marquette on Lake Superior instead. We have a fascination with the big lake, its mystique, the lives lived and lost in its cold waters. I hum the "Edmund Fitzgerald" to myself as we head north from Escanaba. It was 69 degrees when we stopped there for gas, and 48 when we got to Marquette! We were freezing, so stopped for lunch and to warm up for awhile. After a quick ride along the lakefront, gazing out across the seemingly endless water to the horizon, we hurried back inland to warmer temperatures. I dozed off once and pulled back on Fred--he yelped and woke me up before I could fall off. Seven hours, 250 miles--great day. We capped it off with a campfire and a couple beers back at the Hilton.
Yesterday was another beautiful day weather-wise, and we had friends from Rhinelander come for a visit. While Fred and Mike dug a big rock out of one of our roads through the woods, Bonnie and I checked out the "Biggest Rummage Sale Ever" just a few miles down the road. I bought some games to send to soldiers, great deal for $4.50! After lunch, we headed to Dave's Falls Park to trek around the waterfalls. "Dave" was a logger who died in a logjam in the fast-moving gorge long ago, when they still used the Pike River to move timber. We always take first-time friends who come up for canoeing to see this falls--and tell them that's where we put the canoes in! There are shocked pale faces when they see the rushing water and hear that. We hiked through the park, crossing the railroad bridge over the river. Somebody always yells "TRRAAIIN!" as I'm practically crawling across it on my hands and knees, paralyzed with fear of heights AND water! From there we headed to Piers Gorge, another falls near Norway, MI on the Menomonee River. We got to see two big rafts go through the rapids, and some young guys in kayaks were about to go down after them. I definitely missed out on the adventure/courage gene along the line--no way would I attempt that!
Mike and Bonnie left after supper, and we drove to the cemetery to visit Fred's family's graves and make sure they looked nice for today. There are numerous veterans buried there, and the flags decorating all the graves are a sight to behold. We walked around--which we've done many times--reading the stones. I like wandering through cemeteries, but I don't plan to be buried in one.
This morning early, we did a load of firewood. Fred made pancakes for breakfast, and I did a huge batch of dishes before leaving for home. He is staying there all week, and we'll have people up for our annual canoe trip next weekend. I was the big winner in gin, taking $5.00 from him in 2 days!
We're grateful to the veterans and military members who made our 9.5 weekend possible. May they all stay safe and come home soon.

Remember Their Sacrifice

Many of us will be doing something special with this 3-day weekend--but how many people really think about what Memorial Day recognizes? As far as patriotism is concerned, I was just the average person who didn't give it much thought--until 9/11/01. After that day, I felt a real connection to other Americans and to the military that protects and defends us, both now and in the past. That feeling made me want to take action, and led to my using anysoldier.com to support as many troops as I could. I learned that it's possible to care for and worry about people I've never met who put their lives in danger every day on behalf of me, my family, and our country.
My great-uncle Charlie was a POW of the Germans in World War II. He didn't share much of that experience with the family when he returned. Fred's dad, Lester, was in a tank division at the Battle of the Bulge and was awarded the Bronze Star. He never talked about what he did and saw there either--all that history lost when he died in 1987.
Few of us think of the hardships endured by the men and women who have ensured our freedom for the past 200+ years. We take their protection for granted until it affects us personally--which for most people, it won't. Two parents from the anysoldier.com forum have lost sons this year in our current wars. CWO Matthew Kelley, son of my friend Cathi from Osborn, MO, was killed in Iraq on Jan. 26 when his helicopter was shot down. He was 30 years old, married, with two children. Cathi and I haven't met, but our relationship through e-mails and letters was enough to make Matthew's death very personal to me. Last month, Bob, another forum member, received the news that his 21-year-old son Rick DeWater had been killed in action in Afghanistan. Deployed to the Korengal Valley, one of the most dangerous places in the country, Rick died from wounds sustained in an IED explosion. For Cathi and Bob, Memorial Day will take on a whole new meaning as they cope with these tragedies.
For those without a personal connection, the holiday should still be more than picnics, ball games, and an extra day off from work. It doesn't take much effort to attend a parade, visit a cemetery, or thank a veteran or current service member--before the opportunity is gone. If it weren't for all of them, all of our lives would be very different--and not for the better.
Thank you to all who have served, are now serving, and to their families for sharing them with us. We will remember. www. anysoldier.com

Back at the Ranch

I thought I'd write a quick report of my time back at the Elk Mound house so far--before getting back to my "lawn girl" job! Mowing the lawn yesterday just about killed me. I found out later that it was 89 degrees, so that explains why! The hill in the back yard is always tough, but the first mowing of the year is the worst. I took many more rest breaks than I normally do, and fortunately the mower started up easily after each one. Before I head back to Rhinelander, I'm going to buy a riding lawnmower at Fleet Farm to use there--it's too hilly for it here.
There are 5 little eggs in the bird nest on the light outside the front door!! I saw the parents as soon as I arrived yesterday, so they will keep me company today while I plant flowers out front.
HB, one of the outside cats we had to leave here because he's not tame enough, was in the back yard this morning! He was afraid when I called him, but I put food on the deck for when he comes back. I'm so glad he made it through the winter without us here to feed him.
We got Katie's internet set up, bought a new fridge, but no TV yet--she needs an antenna. Today I am going to plant flowers and rake, then vacuum up the billion ladybug carcasses that accumulated since I last did it in March. I "slept" on Katie's futon, with Jasmine bugging me all night, and now I have a stiff neck. Too old for college-style furniture!!
I can't believe someone hasn't bought this house yet. I knew it was "the one" as soon as I saw it. The view from the deck down the valley is so pretty, and the back yard is green, shady, and peaceful. Oh well, that just means we can still enjoy it for awhile. Better get back to work--my "boss" just left for her housekeeping job at the hotel. Ironic, since her bedroom again looks like the disaster area it always was when we lived here.

The Life You Have Imagined

We often hear people say "stop and smell the roses" or "live each day as if it were your last." I'm all for the philosophy of enjoying life, but I'd like to know who is going to handle all the daily drudgery while I'm out tripping through the tulips? While I'm smelling roses, who is going to be smelling--and cleaning--the litterbox? If I live each day like it's my last, there will be no clean laundry, dishes, or toilets in our house ever again.
Most of us know that we have to balance the fun things in life with the work that needs to get done. Getting something constructive accomplished usually provides more satisfaction than a day spent on the couch reading a book--and feeling guilty about it. Even the proponents of living life to the fullest have to earn money and see to the practical side of daily existence.
I guess I'd rather live in a way that if I died tomorrow, I'd have few regrets. To that end, I try to meet several goals every day:
--Do something for myself. It might be as small as reading the paper or as big as spending a couple days away with my college roommate--but it's something for me that I enjoy.
--Do something for someone else. I might hold a door open for an elderly lady, send a package to a soldier, or put a note in Fred's lunch bag. Knowing that someone else will get a smile from something I did makes my day better.
--Do a task I don't want to do. Ironing shirts, mowing the lawn, going to the dentist--I don't want to do it, but it's the discipline of accomplishing those things that gives me the most satisfaction.
--Communicate with the important people in my life-on regular days, special days, for no particular reason. By phone, text, e-mail, in person--any contact at all. I put this one last, but it's really the biggest priority to me, my favorite way to smell the roses.
So if I die tomorrow, I will feel pretty good about the way I'm leaving things. But just in case, I'll keep eating dessert first.

**I will be off for a day or two--heading to Elk Mound to be Katie's lawn girl!

Nest Sweet Nest

Last week the realtor showed our house in Elk Mound to some people who complained about the bird nest on the light fixture outside the front door. Their comment was that the nest showed the house "wasn't well-cared for and gave a bad first impression."
There is a story behind this unsightly nest. Five or six years ago, a pair of green birds with crested heads started building a nest on the light. (I've looked in my bird book, but can't find a picture that resembles them) The birds would swoop away whenever we opened the front door, scaring the heck out of us! I took the nest down a couple times at the beginning, but the pair would doggedly start over and rebuild it. We finally gave in and let them stay there. Soon there were baby birds in the nest, so crowded that they would hang over the sides. Our outside cats would sit beneath it, waiting for an accident to happen. By the end of the summer, the whole family had flown the coop and the nest fell into disrepair over the winter.
The next spring, the birds were back and rebuilding on the light for another family. We got used to them swooping in and out and looked forward to the litle bird heads peeking out of their home. One summer a bad odor seeped from the nest, and I stood on a stool to take a look. All of the baby birds had died. I pulled the nest down, the bird parents fluttering in the tree nearby and chirping in what I assume was grief. They did this for a whole day--and then started building again. Within a few weeks, there were five new babies--the ones in the picture. I saw all five fly out together one day and leave home for good.
The birds returned last year as usual and raised another family. We moved in October, leaving the nest on the light. When I go over there tomorrow to do yardwork, I could knock the nest down--but I won't. There were eggs in it on Mother's Day weekend, and possibly babies by now. I am a bird watcher/lover/feeder, and I don't want someone who isn't to buy our house anyway. So bad impression or not, the nest stays until fall.

Congratulations, Erica!!

Tomorrow Erica will graduate from the University of Wisconsin. Five years, three majors--biology, communications, Spanish--Medical Scholar, Phi Beta Kappa. She will start medical school in Madison this fall, her goal to be an ob/gyn. Forgive my bragging--we are just so proud!
She was on the forensics team for three years, competing at Nationals three times. She has worked four jobs simultaneously: document delivery for Primate Center researchers, facilitator with Sex Out Loud, spin class instructor, and babysitter for Harry and Jack, her forensic coach's kids. She ran four marathons, and based on her Facebook photos and giggly late-night phone calls from her, crammed a lot of fun into those five years as well. She met Craig her freshman year, and they'll get married next June.
I don't claim any credit for her academic success or motivation, though she may have gotten the ability to multi-task successfully from me. She has her dad's work ethic and the belief that if it's worth doing, do it right.
When she graduated from high school, she made a video for us of herself from birth through graduation and presented it with this letter:
"I cannot imagine the effort you have poured into my upbringing, the thousands of hours you devoted to me in hopes that I would turn out all right. I only hope that I have been to you everything you imagined a daughter could be. I know how proud you are of me, and I know you love me; you have made sure that I never doubted any of that. I, however, am sometimes less expressive. When I was younger, I used to picture what life would be like if I could pick different parents. I was too young to realize that I am the way I am solely because of you. You have given me the confidence to become everything that I've become. I believe in myself because I know that whether I fail, whether I succeed, my parents will never stop believing in me. You are my reasons for everything I have done and will do. You are all of my reasons. I know that with the two of you behind me, things will always turn out all right. I love you, Mom and Dad."
We love you too, kid. As you leave college for the next challenge in your life, we hope you know we're still here, cheering you on to achieve all your hopes and dreams. Congratulations!!

She was a Keeper

Last night I heard a guy on TV telling a story about a fish he'd caught. The excitement, the drama, the little bit of exaggeration...it reminded me of how women tell their stories of labor and childbirth. We may not be able to recall what we had for breakfast today, but we remember every detail of our babies' arrivals.
My water broke at 4:30 A.M. the day after Labor Day, 1986. This was it! My contractions were mild and infrequent, so Fred and I waited around a few hours and then went to school to make sure we had things ready for our substitute teachers. Fred made me sit on a garbage bag because we had just gotten a new car! We stayed at a friend's apartment in town until the contractions became regular, then headed to the hospital in Merrill. For some reason I was craving graham crackers, so we bought a box of them on the way. At the hospital, we checked in, they weighed me--OH MY GOD!!--and got me into a gown. Then the labor began in earnest.
I walked the halls, laid on my side while Fred massaged my back, sat on the toilet--which oddly offered some relief from the pain. The "birth plan" I'd idealistically written up ahead of time called for natural childbirth with no drugs. Was I CRAZY??! I did my Lamaze breathing and gazed at my focal point, wondering how I'd ever let this happen to me.
Around 5 P.M. Marilyn, our friend from school, stopped in to see how I was doing. I was now in hour 12, and told Fred "NO ONE but you and the nurses get to see me like this!!" Snarl! Hiss! I sent him off to eat something since he'd skipped lunch and might miss supper.
The evening dragged on, and still no baby in spite of the never-before-experienced-by-any-woman-EVER pain I was in. Around 9:30 P.M. the doctor ordered an IV of pitocin to "increase the quality" of my contractions. I thought they were pretty darn spectacular the way they were. Soon I was dilated to 10 centimeters and able to push. Aaaagghhhh! Fred had discovered the box of graham crackers we'd bought that morning--I never even ate any--and was munching on one as I closed my eyes and pushed through another excruciating contraction. "Would you swallow that damn cracker??!!" I growled in a demon's voice from hell. To this day he swears that cracker went down his throat with its corners still intact.
After four hours of pushing, I was threatening to jump out the hospital window if they didn't do a C-section, and the fetal monitor showed the baby was in some distress. The decision was made for surgery, and I decided that drugs are heavenly as the epidural took effect. Fred was seated by my head, with his very own nurse in case he passed out. In no time at all we were presented with an 8 lb. 14 oz. baby girl who had a full head of black hair. "She looks like Gary Behnke!!" (a friend of ours) were my first words. She arrived at 2:47 A.M. September 3rd, in the 23rd hour after my water had broken.
It didn't take long for the memories of the pain to fade--until 2 1/2 years later when Katie was about to arrive. When the doctor asked if I wanted a repeat C-section, I said YES!! And we did not stop for crackers on the way to the hospital.

What the Heck's a Hodag?

Throughout my life I have been many different entities, depending on where I was going to school or living at the time. I started out as a Melrose-Mindoro Mustang, then became a Blugold at UW-Eau Claire. As a student teacher I was a Rice Lake Warrior, then spent 15 years teaching as one of the politically incorrect Rib Lake Redmen. Our move to Elk Mound made me a Mounder--a source of embarrassment when the cute produce guy at the grocery store looked at the word across my chest and asked "what are Mounders?" (I didn't have an answer, but wasn't it obvious?!)
Now I live in Rhinelander, which officially makes me a Hodag. "What the heck is a Hodag?" you ask. The postcard pictured here (from D & S Enterprises in Phelps, WI) explains on the back that "On the first night of the arrival of lumber camp novices, an Indian from the camp would go out in a nearby swamp and make the most blood-curdling and terrifying noises. The tenderfeet were told that this was the Hodag, wandering in his native wilds. Many a tale was spun by the loggers about this mythical animal and a great number were taken in by the hoax." Kind of like snipe hunting, only scarier.
As you drive around Rhinelander, you will see Hodags of various looks and sizes on signs, businesses, and clothing. Starting next week, however, you will be able to see Hodags on Parade in the downtown area. Borrowing from the famous Cow Parade idea that originated in Chicago, five fiber glass Hodags have been painted by local artists and will be on display through the end of September. Then they will be auctioned off to the highest bidders with the money going to revitalization projects downtown.
Any of you friends and family who visit us this summer are guaranteed a tour of the Hodags, something you won't see anywhere else! So plan to make a trip to Rhinelander--and we promise not to send you out in the woods alone.

The Hard Reality

Watching TV with your husband while he flips through the channels is not just annoying--it can give him ideas. First there is a couple, each in his/her own bathtub, gazing into the sunset as the announcer extolls the merits of Cialis. The next channel has Smiling Bob, the Enzyte guy. This "natural male enhancement" product not only makes Bob grin like a maniac, it does the same for his wife and all the neighbor women. Next we see a couple in the kitchen, relieved that his Levitra works for 36 hours because the water faucet exploded just as they were getting frisky. Finally, a group of pathetic middle-aged guys singing "Viva Viagra," guitars strategically placed in their laps.
Why is it that wives weren't consulted before all these products hit the market? When we are going through the unpleasant symptoms of menopause (see blog April 30th) do we really want husbands who are feeling 18 again?? I don't think so! It's clear that men are heading up the research and development departments of the pharmaceutical companies. When there are so many real diseases out there with no cures, why do we have this multitude of choices for "E.D"? They could have at least come up with a corresponding pill for us women. Instead they are creating horny older men who are either going to make retirement hell for their wives, or suddenly think they are Hugh Hefner.
Then there are the side effects. What is a woman to do if her partner suddenly says "I can't see anything! And my ears are ringing!!" Chest pains and heart irregularities are the scariest possibility, but the most embarrassing is the BIG ONE: he 's still "up" for the occasion after 4 hours. The ads recommend that he call his doctor in this situation. I wonder what Doc's advice would be--"visualize Barbara Bush naked"??!
Maybe women should form a lobbying group, LIMP (Leave It Mushy, Please) We would demand a ban on performance enhancing drugs, just like in baseball and other sports. Or, at least get a law that men can only use these drugs with their wives' consent, between hot flashes and night sweats.
In the meantime, we will just have to keep a stiff upper lip--haha! But if I ever hear Fred humming "Viva Viagra," I know I'll get an immediate headache.

"Does God Eat Candy?"

As every parent has experienced, little kids ask a million questions about everything. The questions are often embarrassing, too, and spoken in their loudest voices within earshot of strangers. "Why can't I have purple eyes? Can I give you a movie star kiss, Mom? Do frogs pee? What's a tam-pon?" "Why does poop stink?"--this one asked by my friend Lauri's granddaughter in a bathroom stall. And of course, there's the big one: where do babies come from? I'm sure I lied the first couple times this one was posed to me. I would try to be patient with all these questions, answering to the best of my knowledge, even when whatever I said would just elicit another "Why?"
But now I find myself in a strange role reversal where I'm asking the questions and the girls are the (im)patient ones. On Sunday Katie and I were driving back to Eau Claire from my mom's, listening to Katie's choice of radio station. "Are Guns and Roses still together?" I asked. She gave me a weird look, and I know she was doing an internal eye roll: oh no, Mom's trying to be cool. "What's a Hollaback Girl?" was my next question. I had asked Erica that one before, but didn't remember what she said. "Who sings this song?" was asked multiple times. (Katie did question me once: who's more annoying, John Tesh or Ryan Seacrest? I say John Tesh, hands down. I'll take my music without a lecture, thank you.)
Katie gets annoyed watching movies with me because I always recognize an actor/actress but can't recall their names. "What else has he been in?" I'll inquire. "Mom, you ask that every time we watch this!!" Like, write it down!
On Facebook, I ask Erica "What is kefir?" when she writes that she drank a whole carton of it. She works for Sex Out Loud, the campus sexual health organization, and I might have questions about some of the stuff she writes in her weekly sex info column for the student newspaper, but do I really want the answers?
They have suffered through my struggles with technology: how do I text message? Can you show me how to take a picture with my phone? How do I change the ring tone? How do I get a picture from my Facebook album to be my profile picture? Can I put pictures on the computer without using a USB cord? How do I make the DVD player stop playing the movies in Spanish?
So now they know what it's like. Dealing with inquiring minds is not easy. If there comes a day years from now when I ask "Do frogs pee?" I hope they will smile at me kindly and come up with a satisfactory answer.

BFF

Last week I found out that my best friend since we were 5 years old is moving to China this summer for her husband's job. I'm still in shock--over the news, and her bravery at taking on this huge adventure on the brink of our 50th birthdays.
Mary and I met in kindergarten and quickly became best pals. Throughout elementary school we played together, attended birthday parties, and became bad clarinet players. We took swimming lessons, neither of us learning much, but looking hot in our rubber swim caps. She lived in town and I was a country girl, so we rode our bikes to get together and became members of each other's families.
During high school we belonged to the same organizatons, took the same classes, had behind-the-wheel driver's ed together, and double-dated. We were freshman extras in "Penelope, Pride of the Pickle Factory"; made up a cha-cha routine for our phy ed dance test, wrote notes in class , and talked for hours on the phone. We were on the local High Quiz Bowl TV show, and Mary was so intimidated by the cameras that she didn't say a word. (Sorry, Mare, it still makes me laugh!!) She was valedictorian, I was salutatorian, and we went to colleges only 30 miles apart. We visited often during those years, seeing each other through the disco era. During summer vacations, we worked together at a factory that always made school look like a welcome alternative again in August. We hit a deer (she was driving) and got a flat tire (I was driving.)
Mary lost her dad in high school and her mom in college, losses that we grieved together. Right after college graduation, Mary married Bill and they soon moved to Knoxville, TN for her job. We still saw each other fairly often, mainly because of their trips back to Wisconsin. We were pregnant together in 1989, she with her first of 3 daughters and me with my second. I talked to her on the phone the night before her C-section with breech baby Erin, having been through one myself with Erica. She had Emily in 1993, and in 2000, she and Bill navigated the red tape of adopting Elly from China.
In 2005, Mary surprised me by using Bill's frequent flyer business miles to bring me down to Knoxville so we could celebrate our September birthdays together. No matter how many years had passed or how much distance there was between our homes, we still laughed like we'd been together the whole time.
A year ago, Mary had successful breast cancer surgery. It was the time I most wished we lived within hugging distance. I tried to be her cheerleader with letters, packages, and phone calls, and her healthy recovery was the answer to many prayers.
She reads my blog, and and an entry I posted last month about writing letters immediately guilted her into sending me one! It wasn't my intent, but whatever works!!
And now she's moving to China, for at least three years. Even though we've lived far apart for a long time and relied largely on written and phone communication, it will still be different knowing she's on the other side of the world. I have always admired her for her humor and positive attitude, and now she's amazing me with her willingness to pull up roots and take on a new culture "at our age".
Good luck with all of the challenges ahead, Pal! You may think you're a crummy pen pal, but I have saved a bunch of the numerous letters you've sent me over the years. Here's part of one:
"Thanks for being such a wonderful, lifetime friend and for staying in touch. Among the wishes that I have for my girls is that they'll have someone like you in their lives. Whenever I see the word 'friend,' your name enters my mind and I smile."
All I can say is "Ditto, Mare!" And how do you say "write soon" in Chinese?!

Motherhood

Mother's Day brings about many feelings and memories, both of having a mother and being one. Maybe the fact that I have a wonderful mother made it important to me to be the best myself. As soon as those babies were put in my arms, I knew that I would do whatever was required to keep them safe and raise them right. It didn't matter to what lengths I'd have to go--whether it be a swat on the butt or a kidney transplant, I would give it to them if that's what they needed.
But being a mother is hard. There are times when you hate yourself for not having the patience, humor, and understanding to get you through sleepless nights and days of tantrums. I don't remember the circumstances, but one time when the girls pushed me past my limits, I lost it and called them "little shits." This certainly had an effect on them, because from time to time they've said to me over the years, "Mom, remember the time you called us...?" No, I don't remember. It shames me to think I would say that, no matter what they were doing. That's another thing moms do well: guilt. I do remember standing in their bedroom doorways, watching them sleep like angels, as tears poured down my face for not being a good mom. My mother has told me she used to do the same thing when my sisters, brother, and I were little. I know if I took a poll here, we'd have plenty of company.
The rewards and good times, if we're lucky, far outnumber the doubt and regret. I think I've been extraordinarily lucky, in spite of my stumbles. We have succeeded when our kids grow up to be decent, productive, happy people who think we've been a good parent more often than not.
I have a box full of notes and cards that the girls gave me when they were growing up...essays by each about why lying is bad, misspelled apologies for something they did, Erica's treatise on why she should be allowed to get a snake. Most of the cards are home-made and express sentiments as only a kid can.
"Happy Mother's Day, Mom! I love you, even if you are mean sometimes. Love and kisses, Erica."
"To my dream mom: You are the best mom I ever had. Happy Mother's Day. I have a suprise for you. Roses are red, violets are blue, I hope you like the letter I wrote for you. Love, Katie Nicole Andrist, your dream daughter"

Happy Mother's Day to all you mean dream moms out there!!

No Fun on the Run

I hate running errands. You'd think that going to town for a few hours would be preferable to staying home and staring at the cats. Not for me! I'm not sure what it is--the numerous stops and starts, the waiting in lines, not finding what I want...I always end up cranky.
At the bank it's faster to go inside than use the drive-through, where I never pull in right and end up hanging out the door to put my stuff in the tube. Even though there's usually a line at the post office, it's my favorite stop. The clerks know me by name now because of the soldier packages I send, and always comment on the stickers I apply to my boxes and letters. Grocery shopping is the worst job--if I wing it without a list, it takes twice as long, but making a list requires meal planning ahead of time. Many of these meals won't get made because Fred is seldom home for supper, and I'm too lazy to cook for myself.
Yesterday I went to town, the main reason being to mail Mother's Day cards that required extra postage. I stopped at Walmart first--the store I like the least--but where I get my dog and cat supplies. I also looked in the pharmacy department for Fred's niacin, but they didn't have the right kind. On to Kohl's to pick up one thing I needed for a birthday gift--where I waited in line behind a woman with 20+ items. Next was the P.O., in and out in five minutes. From there I went to the Hallmark store for birthday cards. After picking them out, I stood sweating profusely at the counter from a hot flash--or annoyance--as the clerk rang up my purchase wrong and had to get a manager to fix it. The grocery store was next, to pick up the things I forgot when I shopped on Monday. I was already grabbing a cart when I realized I'd left my canvas bag in the truck, so I trudged back out for it. Shopping done there, I drove to Walgreens to get the niacin. They didn't have the right kind either, and what they did have cost $4 more than the same thing at Walmart. Aarrgh!! Was it worth $4 not to have to go back to Wally World?? Crap! Back I went, marched in for the niacin and used the new self-check-out lanes--a big plus to the recent store remodel. Finally, back home after 2 1/2 hours of putzing around.
I know there are other people out there who must hate doing errands as much as I do. Maybe I should start a business and do their running for them--at least I'd get paid for the aggravation. And then I could complain about my job, too.

If Mothers Got Paid

We all know that mothers are priceless, but there are people out there who actually place a value on what we would be worth if we got paid. NBC did a story about it Monday on the evening news, and I've heard about it other years as well. The "compensation experts" at www.salary.com figure it out based on your location, whether you stay at home or work outside it as well, and the various tasks that a mother performs. Cook, chauffeur, gardener, psychologist, housekeeper, laundress, shopper, referee, accountant, CEO...they rate the value of the job, the hours spent doing it, and what it would cost to outsource the job to someone else.
This year the experts determined that the average stay-at-home mom works 56 hours a week (I think that's low) and would earn $122,732--a 5% increase over last year. They say that a woman who puts in a 40 hour week elsewhere works an additional 17 at home (also low!!) and should be paid $76, 184--an 11% increase over last year.
Since I'm not a full-time mom anymore--just a very low-paid consultant--I went to the "calculator" at www.nightly.msnbc.com and used the Mom Salary Wizard to determine what I would have been worth 20 years ago. I was teaching full-time then and had two kids under 5 years old. The "mom" salary for Westboro, WI would range from $51,834 to $82, 525 today--I would have earned less in the late '80s. But still, those amounts would be considerably more than I earned as a teacher. Those years are such a blur in my memory because I was ALWAYS busy, and I also had to get by on a minimum of sleep. Getting paid for what I did at home wouldn't have changed much, except maybe allow me to hire somebody else to do the jobs I didn't want to do.
Should knowing we are worth so much make us feel valued? Or just resentful that we don't get paid for it? They don't suggest who should be paying us these imaginary salaries. The government? I'm sure all moms could use a stimulus package right now. But is this really a good idea? If there were money involved, mothers everywhere might be lured to different families by "headhunters" who promised them a bigger salary. There would be job evaluations, wage negotiations--maybe even a union: MOM (Moms Owed Money) The next thing you know, your kid would call you and be connected to someone in India asking if they can help.
I can only speak for myself, but I would be willing to do my 22+ years of motherhood all over again without being paid a cent. It's the toughest and most important job in the world--which is why God gave it to women.

No Rent, Just 'rents

Having more homes than we need can come in handy once in awhile. This weekend I'm going to help Katie move stuff out of the dorm and into the Elk Mound house for the summer. She'll be working in Eau Claire, and it would be dumb to pay rent when she can have her parents as landlords. So, I'm loading up things that we moved over here six months ago, never even unpacked, and heading back west with it.
Trying to make a cozy living space out of a big empty house will be a challenge. Let's just say there will be an "eclectic" look to the furnishings. I'm boxing up household items, groceries, and cleaning supplies--(who am I kidding??) Since the realtor will still be bringing prospective buyers through, it will be our tenant's job to keep things nice or she won't get her security deposit back.
I will be bunking with her every few weeks since I'm her summer lawn girl. When we moved, I hoped I'd mowed that steep lawn for the last time. Guess not. I also want to do some painting in a couple rooms--if Fred trusts me to do it without his supervision. Any friends over there who like to paint are welcome to help! But I digress. Our rules for Katie will be no different than for anyone else who would inhabit our house. Really.
1. Dishes will be done at least once a week, and dishwasher can't be used unless it's full.
2. Dirty clothes go in the basket, not left on bathroom and bedroom floors.
3. One in every two meals must contain a vegetable.
4. You can have friends over for popcorn and Hawaiian Punch.
5. Parents/landlords reserve the right to drop in unannounced at any time--usually bearing cookies.
6. House should remain clean enough that a major overhaul isn't required when the realtor calls to show it.
7. If Jasmine is your roommate, clean the litterbox every two days and do a hairball room check before bedtime.
8. Use caution going down basement stairs and when in the shower. Maybe we should get you an "I've fallen and I can't get up" alert.
9. Don't plug up the toilet--the plunger is in Rhinelander.
10. Be careful and safe. We'll have neighbors watching out for you.
We'd hate to evict you, so mind the rules. If the house sells, you and your cat will have to find new digs. We have a tent we can lend you.

On the Road Again

Yesterday dawned sunny and beautiful, a perfect day to be outside. After narrowly avoiding a skunk in gin, I went out to walk the dogs while Fred planted two apple trees in the yard. Then I helped him put back together some scaffolding that had come apart. That done, he suggested trimming branches off a tree--and the lawn needs mowing, there are pine boughs to stack for burning...I clucked my tongue in disgust at the tree trimming idea, looking pointedly at the bike sitting lonely in the garage. It didn't take much persuading--we grabbed our jackets and helmets and hopped on the Harley for our first ride of the season.
Having exhausted all of the routes north, south, east, and west of Elk Mound long ago, it was fun having some new roads to ride. Everything looks different here, too. In western Wisconsin, we rode past farm fields and over hills, while here in the Northwoods we pass many gorgeous lakes and thick pine forests, close to both sides of the road. As always, I'm on the lookout for deer--but now, for bears, too!
We went to Eagle River and had breakfast meals for lunch, then checked out a couple antique and gift stores. From there we headed toward Florence, turning on 55 to Argonne. I dozed just a little, but not even close to tipping off the bike! From Argonne we drove on 32 toward Three Lakes, having to make a U-turn to check out a tractor for sale on the side of the road. $3000?! I don't think so.
Right before Three Lakes, I got hit in the face by what I thought were stones. My right cheek really stung, and it was wet when I touched it--blood? Was I going to have a scar from the road to mark me as a biker chick?? No, it wasn't blood from a rock--it was sticky bug guts from a now-deceased insect. Eww!! We stopped at a little food place so I could wash the slime off my face and warmed up with a snack. On the way out of town, we made a stop to buy husband and wife fishing licenses. I haven't gone fishing in years, and it's something I want to try again.
Back home after four hours and 105 miles. Didn't see any wildlife at all. My butt hurts a little, but not bad--just really tired from all the fresh air. I pretty much dozed on the couch the rest of the night. Born to be wild, huh?!

The News You Can Use?

Every morning and evening, I try to catch the national and local news, even though it's usually a depressing litany of all the things that are going wrong. I want to be informed about what's happening, but lately I just seem to get annoyed. The "talking heads" continually make mountains out of molehills, trying to whip the viewers into a frenzy with their hyperbole and drama over everything. Last night as I listened, I made some notes on the stories I heard and am now recording them for posterity. What would a visiting alien think, discovering this chronicle of our society's "news"?
10. Dogs and cats have no rhythm at all, but birds do. Birds recognize the beat in music and move accordingly. I'm really glad I know that now because I can cancel my planned dance lessons for our dogs and cats.
9. Condoleezza Rice argued with a college student, saying that Alqaeda is worse than the Nazis were because Alqaeda attacked us on our own soil. I'm sure the Jews, among others, would beg to differ.
8. Barbie, the 50-year-old doll, now has tattoos. There's a tramp stamp and one on her arm--though they are movable. According to NBC's Brian Williams, it may be a mid-life crisis or "because Ken finds it attractive."
7. Now that Chrysler is bankrupt and Pontiacs will no longer be made, there is a fear (created by the media) that some of us who drive those cars will suffer from "brand stigma"--the embarrassment of driving a car that's in the poorhouse or obsolete. I don't plan on getting rid of my Grand Prix any time soon. I'll just wear a bag over my head when I drive it.
6. In March 2010, the World Ice Fishing Championships will be held in Rhinelander, WI!! It will be the first time the competition has ever been held on U.S. ice. The Hodag is going international!!
5. Happy the Hippo is leaving the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. and coming to the Milwaukee County Zoo. There he will have a chance at love with the two females, Puddles and Patty. A multi-million dollar expansion of the hippo habitat will enable zoo visitors to view the hippos underwater--hopefully not when they're courting.
4. The two psychologists who were paid $1000 each per day by the CIA to mastermind the waterboarding torture technique had no prior experience in interrogations. They also had no evidence that it was medically safe. This one speaks for itself.
3. Miss California, who during the Miss USA Pageant said she was against legalizing gay marriage, now sees it as her life's mission to defend traditional marriage. She has joined an anti-gay marriage group, and the Miss California pageant committee has revealed that they paid for her breast implants. If you have heard her talk, you might guess they also paid for her lobotomy.
2. Vice-President Joe Biden said he'd keep his family away from confined spaces like airplanes and subways during the swine flu "pandemic." This prompted the Dept. of Health and Human Services, Homeland Security, Center for Disease Control, and White House damage control to spend the day assuring us Biden meant to say that "sick people shouldn't fly." Hmm. So far in the U.S. the H1N1 virus hasn't acted much different from seasonal flu viruses, but the media wants to make sure we take it seriously. Fox News graphic: THE NEW BLACK DEATH??
1. Finally, my absolute favorite. This comes from WJFW, the local Rhinelander TV station. Right after the chief meteorologist announced that it is Air Quality Awareness Week and stated that adults breathe 3400 gallons of air per day, the anchorwoman launched into this story: Wednesday night the Antigo Police Dept. and Langlade County Sheriff's Dept. had a bonfire and burned 800 marijuana plants and 300 lbs. of pot ready for sale. The drugs were worth a half a million dollars, and they also "threw in" some methamphetamine, Ecstasy, and cocaine. I kind of thought that the winds from the south that night were making me feel unusually mellow, and I got up at 1 AM to eat some potato chips. I'm sure a lot of people are now definitely aware of the above-average air quality around here this week.
Have a great weekend, and watch the news!!