tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90734479588048988562024-03-12T16:51:33.015-07:00Gail Grenier HereA look at life by a writer who is glad to be hereGail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.comBlogger246125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-24823396935242634002022-04-30T10:36:00.004-07:002022-05-02T16:10:12.149-07:00Fractal Fest - or, Chicago 2022 Reunion of Loyola Rome Center 1970-71<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41WvMYNW30NWlo5oDKDAOyPfK8mkinaDIo1wCkkwdyLFVIVN0aT_ABibRiUoEFH9UkLdtdbvDS23dGNB934mGNHzZM7Al7On8JL_MKaXSQcfIDy-T3wgV__pVAbU6aBOaVlemjFMnEwtPOkD45jGcWpCS8tdGgz-afdaviyT29Nw4XJLTYjo3Gcyl5g/s1369/rome%20chicago%20gail%20and%20carol.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1369" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41WvMYNW30NWlo5oDKDAOyPfK8mkinaDIo1wCkkwdyLFVIVN0aT_ABibRiUoEFH9UkLdtdbvDS23dGNB934mGNHzZM7Al7On8JL_MKaXSQcfIDy-T3wgV__pVAbU6aBOaVlemjFMnEwtPOkD45jGcWpCS8tdGgz-afdaviyT29Nw4XJLTYjo3Gcyl5g/w301-h640/rome%20chicago%20gail%20and%20carol.jpg" width="301" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Carol LaVesser Salinger and me -<br />friends since age 8, and Rome roommates</span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhplCAe2EPRS-13r2wiq_tWySnQPCPKPjpoyZzIcVZsotQHitVjfZwQxzUpqeVzfRnXfQZ9wjufBU_B9eZ81fGOJep3mLZPuul_JFkkGx7Ek7B3Emb1_qhCvgMobz_t5Ebrx8ovxhpj0KfYH7zzS78bKQfwmVqmml0xIhfGhKLrIfeQy9vKYHy0tRKA-g/s846/rome%20chicago%20gail%20as%20italian%20mama.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="526" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhplCAe2EPRS-13r2wiq_tWySnQPCPKPjpoyZzIcVZsotQHitVjfZwQxzUpqeVzfRnXfQZ9wjufBU_B9eZ81fGOJep3mLZPuul_JFkkGx7Ek7B3Emb1_qhCvgMobz_t5Ebrx8ovxhpj0KfYH7zzS78bKQfwmVqmml0xIhfGhKLrIfeQy9vKYHy0tRKA-g/w249-h400/rome%20chicago%20gail%20as%20italian%20mama.jpg" width="249" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This is the picture I sent home a week into living in the dorm </span><span style="font-family: arial;">in 1970.</span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I had wrapped myself in pillows and added a big towel, trying to look like I'd already had too much pasta and vino. I captioned the photo "I've changed." Those Italian ladies in the cafeteria could </span><i style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">really </i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">cook!</span></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><p> </p></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Last week, when I joined a
reunion of <a href="https://www.luc.edu/" target="_blank">Loyola University’s</a> Rome Center, I became part of a living human example
of an abstract mathematical construct. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span></span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">The first day of the
gathering, I shared my puzzlement with a classmate: “I’m trying to figure out why I feel so
comfortable here, even though I never met most of these people in Rome.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">She explained: “It’s
like fractals. We’re a self-selecting set. It all started in 1970 when a bunch
of kids were willing to study in Rome even though they didn’t know Italian.”</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">I had to look up the word “fractal.”
Now it makes sense. Even though most reunion attendees didn’t know each
other a half-century ago, we are part of a group that has gotten tighter and tighter.
By our own choices and a bit of luck through the decades, we selected our own set.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">In human terms, we created
our own similarity that made us kin. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixRdcxWHA8pjqAm9ibx-Tbv3qp90Qm65AXI60_dmKyM5plFfcG_bXykKuNB662Ho4aG7cP21NOb6rPMTuCAXyl9It8n9miHGSfJcXvPnfkVr_U6SLPz7jrOJ6rHqeYKoQI1s3qwBSZEPCPkJmFcqJ7c7kzRPSADInxMBBZVmD4z1yF2M2X6UowTvVYw/s773/rome%20chicago%20julie%20and%20me%20as%20statues.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="773" data-original-width="526" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixRdcxWHA8pjqAm9ibx-Tbv3qp90Qm65AXI60_dmKyM5plFfcG_bXykKuNB662Ho4aG7cP21NOb6rPMTuCAXyl9It8n9miHGSfJcXvPnfkVr_U6SLPz7jrOJ6rHqeYKoQI1s3qwBSZEPCPkJmFcqJ7c7kzRPSADInxMBBZVmD4z1yF2M2X6UowTvVYw/w436-h640/rome%20chicago%20julie%20and%20me%20as%20statues.jpg" width="436" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My dorm neighbor Julie Michuda and me, posing as statues in an alcove in the wall.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We had seen a lot of classical statues!</span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">So, how our "set" came to be, and how it got smaller and smaller: </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">In 1970, drawing from 81
different U.S. universities, there were 338 of us students, mostly 19 or 20 years old, who chose the Rome Center. For most, it was our junior year in college.
We studied for one or two semesters there, taking the humanities classes
offered (it was challenging for business/science majors). Over the years we stayed accessible despite
not always keeping in touch, with active phone numbers, email addresses, and/or
social media accounts 51 years later. We responded positively to an invitation
to an April 2022 class reunion in Chicago, home to the main campus of Loyola’s Rome Center.
We remained alive and physically able to travel to Chicago. Then 51 of us alums (and 19 partners/spouses) traveled
to Chicago for the gathering.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 45.1pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I felt a kinship there that
cannot be explained by any mathematical theory, and others told me they experienced
the same feeling. I can only describe what it felt like. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">It began with travel. . .
. <o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWEo2iPEUzbULAyowD58lZx5V8bjUHP16HfmQA2Exa9AwuiA88SQmZ8KcYA1iifmeRoG4YF_OTNJWEOnylBF_B9gV0GvGntYnG5Fq5oPQTIW2KBur4o-gRHN57KJNPi3cRTLP-mzQuERUSdSli4-yWxFySDTepi8sU16Vd85dzsxWW7hFO6nCl9QgrBA/s701/rome%20chicago%20train.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="526" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWEo2iPEUzbULAyowD58lZx5V8bjUHP16HfmQA2Exa9AwuiA88SQmZ8KcYA1iifmeRoG4YF_OTNJWEOnylBF_B9gV0GvGntYnG5Fq5oPQTIW2KBur4o-gRHN57KJNPi3cRTLP-mzQuERUSdSli4-yWxFySDTepi8sU16Vd85dzsxWW7hFO6nCl9QgrBA/w300-h400/rome%20chicago%20train.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Our Amtrak train pulling into Milwaukee's Mitchell Field<br />station; sleek, nothing like days of yore.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">I went by Amtrak from
Milwaukee to Chicago with my husband, Mike. He already knew four of my Loyola compatriots:
my childhood friend Carol, who was my roommate in Rome; our dorm neighbor Lynn Ferrone; and two other classmates - Mike Corso and Mike Matre (Michael was the most popular boy’s name of the 50s).</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">In the hour trip from
Milwaukee to Chicago, the sounds and rhythms of the train took me back to those
days in Europe when our lives depended on the railroad. The sleek Amtrak train zoomed
along smoothly and quietly, unlike the clunky boxes that carried us along in the olden days; only in my own mind could I hear the click-click, click-click, click-click
from a half-century ago. I was lulled to sleep as always. The
nap was sweet although I couldn’t snooze in the luxury I once knew. In the
private little compartments on European trains, I’d clamber up into the
hammock-like luggage rack above one of the two bench seats that faced each
other. There I’d rock, rock, rock to the click-click, click-click, click-click.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Somewhere along that short
Amtrak route, memories started rolling . . . . <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9XsnKIa4SLSnsZ_588SdUwmXYK8sHysLHPl9WLeAhDI-2wKHko0LUpAc6GMkHpM6dVsv8VD-2ZMZaqXf4GMjaOZWkwlKT7bZw4vPeUSgcHx4W-G2EKj-u9zsyFykxyeVNs26AuCoxnT6Vm-MG9zeakyh01rHnGUe9spf6b_529Bhb_--nxL6WA-3Lw/s2047/rome%20beloved%20map.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="2047" height="568" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9XsnKIa4SLSnsZ_588SdUwmXYK8sHysLHPl9WLeAhDI-2wKHko0LUpAc6GMkHpM6dVsv8VD-2ZMZaqXf4GMjaOZWkwlKT7bZw4vPeUSgcHx4W-G2EKj-u9zsyFykxyeVNs26AuCoxnT6Vm-MG9zeakyh01rHnGUe9spf6b_529Bhb_--nxL6WA-3Lw/w640-h568/rome%20beloved%20map.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My beloved, bedraggled map of Rome. This is how we got around...<br />or in my case, how I got around after getting lost a lot.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Official Rome Center
policy was: <i>Go man go!</i> Campus administrators encouraged us to get away
from our English-speaking bubble and, go, go, go meet the people of Rome and
beyond. To facilitate this education by travel, we had two three-day weekends
every month plus three long holiday vacations. I remember sitting in the
cafeteria having dinner one Thursday evening, turning to the friend next to me
and asking “Wanna go to Freiburg this weekend?” The answer was “S<i>ure, why
not?”</i> I tossed some clothes into my avocado green Naugahyde shoulder satchel,
and we jumped on a bus that took us rocking down Monte Mario and to the train
station. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Off we go!</i> was the theme of that year. Everything was cheap. Loyola’s
Rome Center was not unique in that respect. Thousands of American kids migrated
abroad, and you’d bump into an acquaintance wandering the Louvre as naturally as if you were back
in your home town. Study abroad programs like ours cost about the same as, or less
than, college back home. Our bible was <i>Europe on $5 a</i> <i>Day</i> by Arthur
Frommer. A night at an Italian <i>pensione</i> set us back less than $2.00, and
we could enjoy a restaurant entrée for about a dollar. I don’t know what that train
ticket from Rome to Freiburg, Germany cost, but it certainly wasn’t expensive. I
have a ticket in my Rome scrapbook for a train ride from Rome to Venice – it cost
4,950 lire, or about $9.00. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ZTrGotREFK0iVvGxUmcZ_C7gKvmyYCqmH3m5pBCE_zWouL1qWHkrLFZZiyMnoEeY9Nd-S3kEjfJD9yOmRmkWWta-v0MrR6-izPPLaGy6BXW5r6JV9OBPCbSp9y_9Ihsro6H4pAvbuMsasCSYFI21Gv4wRQ4hqyKgYtgX2cmNhgYjq1SeGND6IC0qNw/s960/rome%20menu%20cover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="588" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ZTrGotREFK0iVvGxUmcZ_C7gKvmyYCqmH3m5pBCE_zWouL1qWHkrLFZZiyMnoEeY9Nd-S3kEjfJD9yOmRmkWWta-v0MrR6-izPPLaGy6BXW5r6JV9OBPCbSp9y_9Ihsro6H4pAvbuMsasCSYFI21Gv4wRQ4hqyKgYtgX2cmNhgYjq1SeGND6IC0qNw/w392-h640/rome%20menu%20cover.jpg" width="392" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Menu from a favorite restaurant in Rome</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMMpBXO77tG2q3i4IvPEo0GWVHPRlgNQ2_yl5mtS28I9jJ1S5p92hLrZ45JIMki-Lq8gQNucEedPrTf0_ewPfm5v8NeQYoYgAPUKBtE3diO80PZ8wqAuZRxnPvZwsGnXIScJCh5Z5Akg2fYbjer8ayGD-5fgpPnOxN-vzs9y3P-vHE-iG4_0ZxFvutw/s960/Rome%20menu.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="960" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMMpBXO77tG2q3i4IvPEo0GWVHPRlgNQ2_yl5mtS28I9jJ1S5p92hLrZ45JIMki-Lq8gQNucEedPrTf0_ewPfm5v8NeQYoYgAPUKBtE3diO80PZ8wqAuZRxnPvZwsGnXIScJCh5Z5Akg2fYbjer8ayGD-5fgpPnOxN-vzs9y3P-vHE-iG4_0ZxFvutw/w640-h469/Rome%20menu.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Inside the menu. You can see how cheap everything was<br /> when you figure 1,000 lire equaled about $1.80.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">To put money in
perspective, when Mike and I got married in 1972, a $5 wedding gift was not
uncommon. In his first job after graduation, Mike earned about $8,000 as an
accountant, and I made the same as a teacher. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Even factoring in cost of
living, our travels were indeed cheap, and far from fancy, sometimes . . .
um . . . gritty. We were young, strong, and agile, and could handle, for
instance, squatting over hole-in-the-floor toilet “facilities.” Sometimes
trains were crowded, and we stood for a whole trip. But no matter how we got
there, we had most sites to ourselves. I don’t recall long lines of tourists any
places I visited, all of them wonders of my world.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">That was our unique travel
life. Back on campus, we learned from teachers we’re still talking about – with
awe – today. The teachers cracked open our minds and the travel cracked open our
hearts. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">We knew we were lucky. Now
we know that just by being there, we captured lightning in a bottle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">So. Chicago. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">We walked the town through two days of sun and
two days of rain. How appropriate; the first Italian sentence I ever learned was
<i>Piove spesso a Roma</i> (It rains often in Rome). We saw spring burst in
Chicago, trees in blossom all white and pink. Ninety miles south makes a difference
– nary a tree was blooming in Milwaukee when we left. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">My first impression, the
same feeling I’ve had at all reunions past the two-decade mark, is “Who <i>are</i>
all these old people?” No one’s age is a secret at a reunion of peers. We are
all about 71 or 72 years old.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">And no one cared. I didn’t
hear the euphemism “senior” once, all four days . . . but I did hear folks call themselves <i>old</i>. We laughed at ourselves – a lot. Laughter is
a celebration of lasting this long. </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">About a half-dozen of us had a sing-along after dinner at the home of classmate Cathy Bjork Marquis and her husband Oscar. A highlight of our gathering was singing "Old Man" by Neil Young and snickering every time we <i>loudly </i>sang "and I'm gettin' old." </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">And I'll never forget Jack Norton singing "Great Balls of Fire." <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JKpg9x7-SkAyaG3CdkX6gwFW1IEqhFk_OwLsBN9DOrDcal5B7LVte2-5M_fiIUPzTIq_d0O5JUlLEy7IAIQZtwboisyhxe7YWUnK-dqCXGV48Et1GGTBIpuEF3Ip1mBRUC9-cZ6cw_uRfcNHFdFUB8HcdUa2C7ozh68RfX6OfqjSGbyQec6ukoUQJw/s643/rome%20chicago%20sing%20along.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="643" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JKpg9x7-SkAyaG3CdkX6gwFW1IEqhFk_OwLsBN9DOrDcal5B7LVte2-5M_fiIUPzTIq_d0O5JUlLEy7IAIQZtwboisyhxe7YWUnK-dqCXGV48Et1GGTBIpuEF3Ip1mBRUC9-cZ6cw_uRfcNHFdFUB8HcdUa2C7ozh68RfX6OfqjSGbyQec6ukoUQJw/w400-h281/rome%20chicago%20sing%20along.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Me singing with classmate Joe Williams as <br />Bill "Johnny Cash Junior" Garcia looks on.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">At Chicago landmarks and restaurants,
staff took one glance at us and said, “Loyola reunion?”</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">With big smiles, we asked,
“Is it the white hair?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">“No, the name badges,”
they said, straight-faced.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i>Right</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">A committee of 17 alums
worked for years on this reunion as well as one in Rome last fall (I wasn’t at
that one). </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfq30f1AD6mfR9lFFfiS80rRFc2e_axlt6SN8qH-JbYEwrp3JjuxZ7StVGCNMPm25d1W0pVGj1mY82ub_H3mWZ3vxZUR1E-ImXMtWxrUGzZknWmUE-OxrRWkOfVsRCzFkre9FPkUamXEI7ulwmeZA3FM-sn9HK7GoLvKEwUWc4ptbucFpIu2Q9NeaDvg/s1024/rome%20chicago%20the%20committee.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="446" data-original-width="1024" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfq30f1AD6mfR9lFFfiS80rRFc2e_axlt6SN8qH-JbYEwrp3JjuxZ7StVGCNMPm25d1W0pVGj1mY82ub_H3mWZ3vxZUR1E-ImXMtWxrUGzZknWmUE-OxrRWkOfVsRCzFkre9FPkUamXEI7ulwmeZA3FM-sn9HK7GoLvKEwUWc4ptbucFpIu2Q9NeaDvg/w640-h278/rome%20chicago%20the%20committee.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Part of our organizing committee. God bless 'em all. They herded cats!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank goodness they designed name badges that included our yearbook
photo on front and our personal reunion schedule on back. (Participants could
fashion their own Chicago activities from a plethora of choices.) We grabbed each
other’s name badges without hesitation . . . “Now who are you again?” . . . “Are
you a classmate or guest?” There was no sly glancing down at badges and
pretending you knew the person.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">We are past pretending.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">The daunting thing was
that I could only recognize the few classmates I’ve kept in contact with. I
counted only one man and one woman whose faces looked exactly like their yearbook
pictures.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpC-U5zhbebrv241GsqLHNWr-okmnBiVuHYs5Vs3zxzIY3_134Ci9aUcCiHdRmnida98S2t2fQFcodf3G-WRuHP0TQ0i1dxuPycjzmHiJ4HKtmzXbzHkD0eMsZG_yqTCAa_sQmtere9X-Aq1deQptR2XyNIR9nMx-A259TNRtKDG1oU0z1n4xG-wMyA/s600/rome%20chicago%20group%20shot%20with%20me%20at%20cathy%20bjorks%20house.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="600" height="349" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpC-U5zhbebrv241GsqLHNWr-okmnBiVuHYs5Vs3zxzIY3_134Ci9aUcCiHdRmnida98S2t2fQFcodf3G-WRuHP0TQ0i1dxuPycjzmHiJ4HKtmzXbzHkD0eMsZG_yqTCAa_sQmtere9X-Aq1deQptR2XyNIR9nMx-A259TNRtKDG1oU0z1n4xG-wMyA/w400-h349/rome%20chicago%20group%20shot%20with%20me%20at%20cathy%20bjorks%20house.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Classmates and their partners at the home of Cathy Bjork Marquis and Oscar Marquis. </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;">It took no effort at all to get Bob Hamilton to pose theatrically with me in the front row, </span><span style="font-family: arial;">as we did for a photo in 1971. (My poor husband is stuck between us.)</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Below is the slide from our trip to Sicily, where Bob and I originated the pose.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>I don't remember singing "Camelot" but that's what I wrote on the slide. You can just make out my hand above Bob's head and his hand above mine. That's the Mediterranean Sea beyond.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWQ068uZgdFjzeHYtKUknYZkPPg7TWWy8LWveIGCN1n5zH3K_9xPoZTkyPxtztSvgI-cyfPfp6hpZKZ4ACX-PUm-1T6YXnW5zdim069AAJBmtA8pw9loOaMoWWWDVFTehf_b_-NV9WQjUCHu5VFJk4rvIPv40ufyKuJIP2spdBAWrfX7zpMp_03BQcA/s552/rome%20chicago%20bob%20and%20gail%20in%20sicily.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="552" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWQ068uZgdFjzeHYtKUknYZkPPg7TWWy8LWveIGCN1n5zH3K_9xPoZTkyPxtztSvgI-cyfPfp6hpZKZ4ACX-PUm-1T6YXnW5zdim069AAJBmtA8pw9loOaMoWWWDVFTehf_b_-NV9WQjUCHu5VFJk4rvIPv40ufyKuJIP2spdBAWrfX7zpMp_03BQcA/w400-h373/rome%20chicago%20bob%20and%20gail%20in%20sicily.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ00GQuDCP7NkADaZ4cwqc8lwmrBhLvULYJH8aWhi7_poDlg0Qr1bGJNanRpGw8viB_WjWzoxfVfDLroO4UicXR5K2BbL32Q_rH6BXEvs93-rlaj6wiAv-4boWSjmv28WpZFgG51rIDosgK5HRxgZNn2gp6KFQgCgECrserAqmk0yThzLp0j-UCUga_Q/s640/rome%20chicago%20whole%20group%20not%20me%20looking%20up.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ00GQuDCP7NkADaZ4cwqc8lwmrBhLvULYJH8aWhi7_poDlg0Qr1bGJNanRpGw8viB_WjWzoxfVfDLroO4UicXR5K2BbL32Q_rH6BXEvs93-rlaj6wiAv-4boWSjmv28WpZFgG51rIDosgK5HRxgZNn2gp6KFQgCgECrserAqmk0yThzLp0j-UCUga_Q/w640-h480/rome%20chicago%20whole%20group%20not%20me%20looking%20up.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Classmates the last night, at Osteria Via Stato</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">I had four evenings of conversations
with people who were nearly all new to me. Everyone agreed that 90
percent of us didn’t know each other back in Rome. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">We talked about the old days
and new days as well. We reminisced about teachers who shocked our minds
open with their passion, especially Dr. Michael Fink. We mourned the fact that
he died young. We discussed every topic from gut health and playing piano to marriage
and divorce, gardening and retirement, drugs and alcohol, children thriving,
children and spouses dying, beloved grandchildren and the great cities of Chicago and Milwaukee. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">During the days, we gathered by foot and boat to experience some of Chicago’s
“must-see” places. The food, marble, mosaics, stained glass and bridge
statuary transported me right back to Europe.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY7lMuhCgsmHxfMVOA97EwDkxurjPK0fcZs4TFDsh8xADbPTP_VAkXbpjmE7gTD5jwhUECSN3IP7L6p7NyG2uf8GYyY4ZIxJzGR8rDbjg5BRupwaPwvdFBw-NPORxpl3ObV1FSp3YhAz8-UwaLlIe30ZpGsBhv7D2n3I3qHL9a6W1JtIivebllpjMWcQ/s2048/rome%20chicago%20ceiling%20-%20palmer%20house.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="2048" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY7lMuhCgsmHxfMVOA97EwDkxurjPK0fcZs4TFDsh8xADbPTP_VAkXbpjmE7gTD5jwhUECSN3IP7L6p7NyG2uf8GYyY4ZIxJzGR8rDbjg5BRupwaPwvdFBw-NPORxpl3ObV1FSp3YhAz8-UwaLlIe30ZpGsBhv7D2n3I3qHL9a6W1JtIivebllpjMWcQ/w640-h288/rome%20chicago%20ceiling%20-%20palmer%20house.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The ceiling of the Palmer House eating area. (We stopped in to snoop.)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9BWq3xBgWNon4-0Zw8ySqXrs75wz1BFnnJpIPRBhKlD18yxW8u963vzLExgC1EtD_wbSgFofptWPxsUatjXH1TFX9GACgbCaj6zbmOXb9yjUK08JyEzpR1uWG4fnCa0eKTy3b9IzRtSopEPKV_a6LIiB-XNUXAF_xFCFVsxLPnQOV4rNFCRB5weDedg/s1420/rome%20chicago%20old%20library%20cultural%20center.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1420" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9BWq3xBgWNon4-0Zw8ySqXrs75wz1BFnnJpIPRBhKlD18yxW8u963vzLExgC1EtD_wbSgFofptWPxsUatjXH1TFX9GACgbCaj6zbmOXb9yjUK08JyEzpR1uWG4fnCa0eKTy3b9IzRtSopEPKV_a6LIiB-XNUXAF_xFCFVsxLPnQOV4rNFCRB5weDedg/w288-h640/rome%20chicago%20old%20library%20cultural%20center.jpg" width="288" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Mosaic arch at the <a href="https://www.chicago.gov/city/en/depts/dca/supp_info/chicago_culturalcenter.html">Chicago Cultural Center</a>.<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi84AhFpD-D-MdYs_MBHhkrli7tNLzP6zPGcs8il-_p6u6NH3iEQCNVHY61ZMVI5WVGy77iS4em-sJtN4Lwuda0_djEUtu0GeKegtNXFW8ba6hs63UqFsN46vSpisfosgjRmneYhpTIb4vQTbXipUpI7u8Gfj2x1XDLgp4lX9P979FK2PXpWMkREq3uJw/s2048/rome%20chicago%20beautiful%20staircase.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="922" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi84AhFpD-D-MdYs_MBHhkrli7tNLzP6zPGcs8il-_p6u6NH3iEQCNVHY61ZMVI5WVGy77iS4em-sJtN4Lwuda0_djEUtu0GeKegtNXFW8ba6hs63UqFsN46vSpisfosgjRmneYhpTIb4vQTbXipUpI7u8Gfj2x1XDLgp4lX9P979FK2PXpWMkREq3uJw/w180-h400/rome%20chicago%20beautiful%20staircase.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">A stairway at the Palmer House</span></td></tr></tbody></table>.<span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6YJtpPwJBUN_oR7xkxbfbRBS_9c6OCTxOufRPPx5ovFPm-BI8jekpPS4lPCK5rqrMMbDBteJojWJ3zPPHEkE5gdcfiwvJTFU4S1T_p7AtcWmJGGpceyhmzMZdkg5nuHzCjXHfyEhEHXryyrrw076aEND_OSx_wib9oVjQaGusd8I1-cWqIMbNMDHGLQ/s2048/Rome%20chicago%20beautiful%20door.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="922" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6YJtpPwJBUN_oR7xkxbfbRBS_9c6OCTxOufRPPx5ovFPm-BI8jekpPS4lPCK5rqrMMbDBteJojWJ3zPPHEkE5gdcfiwvJTFU4S1T_p7AtcWmJGGpceyhmzMZdkg5nuHzCjXHfyEhEHXryyrrw076aEND_OSx_wib9oVjQaGusd8I1-cWqIMbNMDHGLQ/w288-h640/Rome%20chicago%20beautiful%20door.jpg" width="288" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The peacock gate at the Palmer House </span><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><br /><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZt_cz8K1VwTgohKTLVJvewXikurHyvZL_mHxGfGpLtZ0zRDC_Hlq9V4JIb8iSGxf3kmEvkd1SAzm2H77mLuuI1AOTeepjIXzB87eqRspxP4Wdq7RULlqAOma-f0jKDaE60SHfbfVj59f7-0d6ctkLPF_-_kpbf79EPSSCZ4iH_gKnroCEADSOYcYi8Q/s1199/rome%20chicago%20tiffany%20dome%20of%20chicago%20cultural%20center.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="1199" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZt_cz8K1VwTgohKTLVJvewXikurHyvZL_mHxGfGpLtZ0zRDC_Hlq9V4JIb8iSGxf3kmEvkd1SAzm2H77mLuuI1AOTeepjIXzB87eqRspxP4Wdq7RULlqAOma-f0jKDaE60SHfbfVj59f7-0d6ctkLPF_-_kpbf79EPSSCZ4iH_gKnroCEADSOYcYi8Q/w640-h288/rome%20chicago%20tiffany%20dome%20of%20chicago%20cultural%20center.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The Tiffany-designed dome at the Chicago Cultural Center. . . . <br />The glass panels were assembled by a team of women.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was surrounded by classmates who are up on current events, who care</span><i style="font-family: arial;">
</i><span style="font-family: arial;">about our world and the people in it. Perhaps some of that passion for
others started when we studied the great ideas, art, music and architecture of
Western civilization at school . . . and then grabbed the chance to go beyond,
roaming Europe, Africa, and Asia. The “great conversation” of the world’s
thinkers came to life for us that year, and stayed alive. These are people who love learning.</span></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwJaJtT6u3R1y8oHrfQKHbTNNNxWKtB0Tma2tpQDUPdy8jRIlUHuG48fAzvanFdH1lO4vmus3BXt589hVt3UAP5flZXXk9OnIbYqsdxmwV3YwXDS4MMRSTDXPYMkWDgnpsd5Qd0h7V6iJdzG7EN8rXtATx5yHYl1maKOlv0ZcvJGOlvdhTRaOGSKVnwA/s2048/rome%20chicago%20the%20bean.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="2048" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwJaJtT6u3R1y8oHrfQKHbTNNNxWKtB0Tma2tpQDUPdy8jRIlUHuG48fAzvanFdH1lO4vmus3BXt589hVt3UAP5flZXXk9OnIbYqsdxmwV3YwXDS4MMRSTDXPYMkWDgnpsd5Qd0h7V6iJdzG7EN8rXtATx5yHYl1maKOlv0ZcvJGOlvdhTRaOGSKVnwA/w640-h288/rome%20chicago%20the%20bean.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It wasn't only classical art and architecture in Chicago - we loved THE BEAN!...</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGt6c95eCkZRpGWKXL_UXsxaRVIP9P95gciMwfjEuB_UU0UZvz1hbLsfjN5BqjYkDtV3zHEhllNerzr7SXNoUxRxCeXcOsCa0kD2fHwLQH6u90a8L6btTZUiCXX-PnLdjiI_up9wxTQysVE96fPsRd6thL63L7gVqg-9Z1JVTtoZXGUqQ5TovWWkOBJA/s1199/rome%20chicago%20oscar%20maier%20wienermobile.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="1199" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGt6c95eCkZRpGWKXL_UXsxaRVIP9P95gciMwfjEuB_UU0UZvz1hbLsfjN5BqjYkDtV3zHEhllNerzr7SXNoUxRxCeXcOsCa0kD2fHwLQH6u90a8L6btTZUiCXX-PnLdjiI_up9wxTQysVE96fPsRd6thL63L7gVqg-9Z1JVTtoZXGUqQ5TovWWkOBJA/w640-h288/rome%20chicago%20oscar%20maier%20wienermobile.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">...and the Oscar Mayer wiener-mobile!</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">We all agreed how
important that year was; there were no theories why. “Life-changing” was a term
I heard often. That was true for me. I remember feeling shocked in May 1971,
getting ready to return to the States, when I realized I didn’t have to maintain
the persona I had adopted since high school.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18Vlw4Z62LhMXv8GwRkhC0c6AG09enH_EcvpjYm-oYsyKFaVg0RT936ewGFdnxnZOQOo8zYYkxRAb0mr9tpVPJqy8N-FhwqE6JyFfNI1SuJxYQ5UfRu50MLU_T3N9WJqd6TVOvGItCVLmoYwUn5E7jJzSQpCvcAOCeZtsLOdp4mblUsvclM5kVH1aHg/s1909/rome%20chicago%20boat%20tour%20you%20are%20on%20potawatomi%20land.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="1909" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18Vlw4Z62LhMXv8GwRkhC0c6AG09enH_EcvpjYm-oYsyKFaVg0RT936ewGFdnxnZOQOo8zYYkxRAb0mr9tpVPJqy8N-FhwqE6JyFfNI1SuJxYQ5UfRu50MLU_T3N9WJqd6TVOvGItCVLmoYwUn5E7jJzSQpCvcAOCeZtsLOdp4mblUsvclM5kVH1aHg/w640-h162/rome%20chicago%20boat%20tour%20you%20are%20on%20potawatomi%20land.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">A sign between the river and the skyscrapers </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">acknowledges</span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: left;">that native people were there first.. . .</div><div style="text-align: left;">We saw the sign from our <a href="https://www.tiqets.com/en/chicago-architecture-center-tickets-l162377/?&utm_source=bing&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=326418254&utm_content=1242448650881776&msclkid=07199b8ef1dc16deaf5bf9e39963dc6a&utm_term=Chicago%20Architecture%20Center&gclid=07199b8ef1dc16deaf5bf9e39963dc6a&gclsrc=3p.ds">Chicago architectural tour boat</a>.</div></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkG_SkJspDMZz7BKd5lZGsPJyQz18hm12fDd1_wM3mEhQPaDOomM_21bVDI9AXj-IHsqQ74K1egy_IsQrvYsr2yd5b3LV57wwzbvdBdoRX4PslzfNmjghTxM2ylqX4R1rTeczPJP8UrvAlRnetrr7EOsUfaPs3tq4ZTpzMAmkiwVUIdFGZGFxjQx6Bpw/s960/rome%20chicago%20skyscraper%20designed%20by%20a%20woman.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="675" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkG_SkJspDMZz7BKd5lZGsPJyQz18hm12fDd1_wM3mEhQPaDOomM_21bVDI9AXj-IHsqQ74K1egy_IsQrvYsr2yd5b3LV57wwzbvdBdoRX4PslzfNmjghTxM2ylqX4R1rTeczPJP8UrvAlRnetrr7EOsUfaPs3tq4ZTpzMAmkiwVUIdFGZGFxjQx6Bpw/w281-h400/rome%20chicago%20skyscraper%20designed%20by%20a%20woman.jpg" width="281" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The curvy skyscraper was designed by a woman named Jeanne Gang.<br /> I learned a lot about skyscrapers on our <a href="https://www.tiqets.com/en/chicago-architecture-center-tickets-l162377/?&utm_source=bing&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=326418254&utm_content=1242448650881776&msclkid=07199b8ef1dc16deaf5bf9e39963dc6a&utm_term=Chicago%20Architecture%20Center&gclid=07199b8ef1dc16deaf5bf9e39963dc6a&gclsrc=3p.ds">architectural walking tour.</a></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">The songs we sang back then give clues
to why this year was a watershed. I remember walking through ancient cobblestoned cities
with my roomie Carol, belting our slightly-off version of lyrics to a
Steppenwolf song:</span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>“America, where are you now?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>Don’t you care about your sons
and daughters?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>Don’t you know we need you now<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>To protect us from all the
monsters.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">In Chicago, Carol and I
once again sang the song wrong and loud.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Another lyric we loved to sing in Rome was from Simon and Garfunkel: </span><span style="font-family: arial;">“We’ve all gone to look for
America.”</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">It’s strange to think we
were searching for America when we lived thousands of miles away. But it’s
true. We were asking all the questions you’re supposed to ask when you’re 19 or
20 . . . “Who am I really?” “What do I belong to?” The people we met – on
campus and in our travels – helped us answer that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">At the reunion, I learned that at least 42 classmates have died. Their searching – on this earth – has ended. The committee
hosted a memorial for them and for teachers and staff who have died. We recited
Psalm 23 and sang “Amazing Grace” and part of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” Carol
Loverde sang “In paradisum: Mode VII.” We listened in silence as Kevin O'Connor slowly read the name of
each deceased person. This was the only somber time during the
whole gathering, and everyone seemed to feel it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">By the fourth day of the
reunion, I could finally recognize most classmates and some partners. It was then I realized
that I saw something in their eyes that I don’t see every day: a light, a
twinkle, a spark. I’m not even going to try to posit a theory on that. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWITOQicJ_9gZRf6KoCzmRzf69usxfJ5r-C42m3YaKehgBHffJ3fk5c5jQXLLUjB01b4KqvEkQ02CM0t8KKd8-ff8rDqipKzQ6wt5JHxV_GMqOsKB59ntwqZdI1JBZHau8GgNzU4duUZsg4I_oI5OS5GmwCIB967ZEoZt620tuVtL8yDBxHWsr6ec4yw/s2048/rome%20chicago%20typical%20reunion%20scene%20-%20me,%20kieren,%20corso,%20bob%20hamilton.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWITOQicJ_9gZRf6KoCzmRzf69usxfJ5r-C42m3YaKehgBHffJ3fk5c5jQXLLUjB01b4KqvEkQ02CM0t8KKd8-ff8rDqipKzQ6wt5JHxV_GMqOsKB59ntwqZdI1JBZHau8GgNzU4duUZsg4I_oI5OS5GmwCIB967ZEoZt620tuVtL8yDBxHWsr6ec4yw/w300-h400/rome%20chicago%20typical%20reunion%20scene%20-%20me,%20kieren,%20corso,%20bob%20hamilton.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Typical reunion scene - <i>LAUGHTER! </i>- <br />Keiren O'Kelly, Mike Corso, me, Bob Hamilton</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Also by the last day, the
hugs were tighter than the first day. Were fractals at work?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFE3hArmfsT-6BwxjZNWx4H1n3rMz5OqrNauGNS9ymfG2L7VpH0cCQ5W-4F1u62MjTI9IvDkAXqvdz9zF3Be_zDncSU8yW5uv9fkSp8RG3A_UircmxLEnhd483PnWKWIqcwD5ptLXIxPhlHUxIzriK2IlbEKVBNkHAookO9ycR6Y1wVW5UbceV82VQA/s584/Rome%20chicago%20tort%20and%20mac%20on%20bus.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="584" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFE3hArmfsT-6BwxjZNWx4H1n3rMz5OqrNauGNS9ymfG2L7VpH0cCQ5W-4F1u62MjTI9IvDkAXqvdz9zF3Be_zDncSU8yW5uv9fkSp8RG3A_UircmxLEnhd483PnWKWIqcwD5ptLXIxPhlHUxIzriK2IlbEKVBNkHAookO9ycR6Y1wVW5UbceV82VQA/s320/Rome%20chicago%20tort%20and%20mac%20on%20bus.jpg" width="288" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mike and I loved meeting Tort and Mac for the first time.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: left;">Like so many others at the reunion, they were warm and fun.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I nominate them as organizers of our next reunion - in San Diego -</div><div style="text-align: left;">so we can visit family nearby!</div></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I will never forget my conversation
with Tom McGrath. My grandmother’s name was Edna McGrath, so I call Tom cousin
(also his wife Kathleen, another McGrath by birth). Tom and I are retired writers
and we commiserated about feeling a lack of inspiration these days. I bemoaned
losing my writing mojo and told Tom I finally understand what Jack Kerouac
meant when he said, “I don’t know, I don’t care, and it doesn’t make any
difference.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Tom nodded knowingly. Then
he quoted Thomas Aquinas: “It’s all straw.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I’d never heard that one. Later
I looked up the exact quotation attributed to Aquinas: “The end of my labors has come. All
that I have written appears to be as so much straw after the things that have
been revealed to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">But on Sunday, the day I had to pack for the train home, I woke up at 5:00 a.m., unable to sleep. . . .<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">. . . . And wrote the notes for
this.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">The End</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Gail Grenier is the author of </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier+books&crid=17P97LUH4LAK3&sprefix=gail+grenier+books%2Caps%2C190&ref=nb_sb_noss"><i style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee, Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, </i><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">and </span></a><i style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier+books&crid=17P97LUH4LAK3&sprefix=gail+grenier+books%2Caps%2C190&ref=nb_sb_noss">Calling All Horses</a>,</i><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"> all available on Amazon.com.</span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-36474957665182236292021-04-13T10:00:00.006-07:002021-04-13T11:05:43.626-07:00New Piano, Old Questions - How do we Learn? How do we Remember?<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FOR9CLtzNXc/YHCRPg1yz-I/AAAAAAAACmM/3mC-BLeTGBUW2PuVBa8k2_ge0ahJdItIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/blog%2Bpiano.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1376" data-original-width="1440" height="613" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FOR9CLtzNXc/YHCRPg1yz-I/AAAAAAAACmM/3mC-BLeTGBUW2PuVBa8k2_ge0ahJdItIgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h613/blog%2Bpiano.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt;">How do we learn? How do we remember? And what has that got to do with “Pipeline,” the Chantays hit from 1962? My head has been full of such wonderings since I bought a piano this spring, and started playing again after decades away from the instrument.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Right before we moved to a smaller home in 2015, I gave my century-old player piano to a carpenter who planned to repurpose its beautiful mahogany wood to create furniture of his own design. I'd learned the hard way that old pianos, unlike old violins, do not sound sweeter with age. No one wanted my ancient, heavy piano as an instrument; I couldn't give it away.</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">I never thought I'd miss a piano, since it’d been at least twenty years since I plunked a note. But after five years in a piano-less home, my mind became invaded by thoughts of sitting down and twiddling on some keys.</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Maybe my interest was spurred by the fact that finally, in retirement, I have the luxury of <i>time</i>. During those two decades I ignored my piano, I was busy with kids and work. </span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Perhaps my interest was spurred by an excess of time at home during the Covid-19 lockdown.</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Whatever it was, my piano-playing urge was real, and insistent. I shopped the local online marketplaces, where free pianos are plentiful as dandelions in spring. I went online and found tutorials on what to look for in a used piano - essentials like an intact sound board, for instance. I researched companies that move pianos. My husband and I tried to "adopt" a free piano from a woman who lived nearby, but the woman’s work schedule never allowed her to be home when the movers were available (this was pre-Covid).</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">My brother David encouraged me to consider an electronic piano. "They never need tuning," he said - a very appealing attribute; yearly tuning costs add up. But I'm old-school and couldn't imagine purchasing a non-acoustic instrument. I'm also cheap and was afraid I'd spend a bundle for a brand-new instrument that would sit in my living room untouched.</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt;">It was my son Charlie who unintentionally pushed the "buy" button in my brain. He bought an electronic piano when keys broke on his old acoustic one. He and his whole family are delighted with the purchase. When I heard Charlie play "Werewolves of London," I was amazed that the instrument sounded just like a "real" piano. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Then I sat down and tried it myself, and found that the keys felt right; they are "weighted" to give the feel of an acoustic instrument. Charlie's kids love operating the extra doodads the piano provides - special sounds and beats and such. I told him I wasn't interested in all those doodads. I'm old school, after all. He laughed at me and said I'd have to ignore the special features because you can't find an electronic piano without them.</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">It was hard to find a piano store with an in-person showroom during the pandemic, but I located one and was immediately pleased with the instrument I found there. I bought it, and made a promise to my cheap self, to prevent buyer's remorse. The promise was "Play every day, even if only for a minute."</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt;">It's been great. I've mostly kept my promise to myself, and my husband is teaching himself, using some beginner piano books. He'd started learning to read notes from a friend in college but never had a piano for practice. Now he does.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aSQxWpaDmns/YHS6M12-CSI/AAAAAAAACmg/rBA9IEOFPIQYXR8-HhxBxY5XtgCk_jyjACLcBGAsYHQ/s1316/blog%2Bpiano%2B3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1316" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aSQxWpaDmns/YHS6M12-CSI/AAAAAAAACmg/rBA9IEOFPIQYXR8-HhxBxY5XtgCk_jyjACLcBGAsYHQ/w312-h640/blog%2Bpiano%2B3.jpg" width="312" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My husband, Mike, practicing.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">I'd given away all my song books and sheet music when I got rid of my old piano. With the new instrument sitting in my living room, I had to rebuild my musical library. That, thanks to the Internet, was easy.</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt;">I remembered with great affection what my piano teacher called the "lettuce" books: a series called "Let Us Have Music for Piano," by Maxwell Eckstein. The books were published back in the early 1940s, and they must have been printed on quality paper because the ones I found through E-Bay are still in great shape. Eckstein's memory is a blessing to me, because he created easy and pretty arrangements of classical melodies and American folk tunes we've all heard. The songs are irresistible and, much to my surprise and delight, I can still sight-read many of them. My left hand jumps to chords deep down on the piano. I'm not looking at my hand; it finds the chords by itself. How can that be? I know I played through those books many times in the old days. Still, I feel like my ability to easily play through the books nowadays is due to more than "muscle memory."</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="1440" height="486" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UbIpFDOjQjc/YHCZLlcGv6I/AAAAAAAACmU/zgeVppfUQt0iULVc965-QW3WmUJ_d40vwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h486/blog%2Bpiano%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I found these old beloved "lettuce" books on E-Bay.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UbIpFDOjQjc/YHCZLlcGv6I/AAAAAAAACmU/zgeVppfUQt0iULVc965-QW3WmUJ_d40vwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/blog%2Bpiano%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"></span></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">And <i>that's </i>what got me thinking about learning and remembering. How does it all happen? Becoming a student of piano again brought back the years I spent teaching elementary school children, where I beheld the phenomenon of students learning to read. I'm pretty sure that no one has figured out exactly how we learn to read. It's some kind of magic.</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt;">I was never a great piano player, in fact I was mediocre at best, but I always loved it. I struggled to read notes (those <i>darn </i>black keys!!), and I struggled keeping proper time, but I never struggled to "play with feeling." The “lettuce” books are mostly easy for me. I can <i>feel</i> a logic to how the right-hand and left-hand notes go together, a mathematics of music I’ve never understood in a way I can explain. I’ve heard that mathematics and music go together, and math has always been a mystery to me. But there is nothing like the <i>feeling </i>when my fingers press the correct keys and the chords blend together just right - it's miraculous. (I've heard that drumming has been used to help people heal, and that purring cats self-heal their broken bones incredibly swiftly . . . maybe the vibration of harmonious chords works a healing magic on my soul?)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Unlike the "lettuce" books, the <i>new</i> books of music are another story. They’re <i>hard</i>!! I labor to find the notes, sometimes by counting down the scale from the one note I know. Then I grab a pencil (like my old piano teacher always did) and scribble the names of the notes, right onto the page. During this plodding process, the memory files in my head have opened and spilled out . . . </span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">From third grade through eighth grade, I took lessons from Sister Patrice at Mother of Good Counsel School in Milwaukee. My folks paid seventy-five cents per half-hour lesson. I shared the lesson with a girl named Janice Goff. In my memory, she sits on the piano bench, twelve years old; she has short hair and is thin and freckle-faced. She’s nice and she can really play (much better than I can). </span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt;">As I've been going through the “lettuce” books, I can hear Sister Patrice's voice in my head. I see her placing my hand around a cowrie shell and explaining, “<i>That’s</i> how your hands should be shaped at the piano – round, not flat.” She's saying, "<i>Count</i>, Gail. Don't rush through the parts you know well." I hear her say, “Learn the right hand first, and then you can add the left hand.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt;">I can see her black habit, the way the white wimple cut into the flesh under her chin. I see her stern face, her eyeglasses - she wore wire-rimmed glasses before John Lennon made granny glasses cool. I smell the starch in her habit, I hear the click of the wooden rosary beads she wore around her waist, and I see her reach sometimes for a handkerchief that was always tucked inside one of her voluminous sleeves. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">I can see the long narrow piano room where Janice and I shared our lessons - an oversized closet, really. It was a pie-shaped room on the third floor of the old school building, off a dark hallway with a wooden floor that squeaked when I walked on it. The lesson room was just big enough to hold two upright pianos. On one piano sat a cage with a parakeet inside - Sister's pet. She must have spent hours with him because the bird readily hopped onto her finger and "talked" to her, his beak close to her lips. I loved Sister's framed picture of Saint Cecelia. "She's the patron saint of music and musicians," Sister told us. </span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt;">In 1981, when I purchased our old player piano, I bought and framed a Saint Cecelia picture to keep nearby. Today I found the old dusty picture in my basement; I'll hang it near the piano soon - it will feel right.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-li6VRRJM_R4/YHTAvPf9W-I/AAAAAAAACmo/S7Ju1OHmlw4eLoBjoi7OhQslSMfu8vswgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/blog%2Bpiano%2B4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1102" data-original-width="1440" height="490" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-li6VRRJM_R4/YHTAvPf9W-I/AAAAAAAACmo/S7Ju1OHmlw4eLoBjoi7OhQslSMfu8vswgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h490/blog%2Bpiano%2B4.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My picture of Saint Cecelia</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 25.68px;">The funniest thing about playing piano again is discovering what's stored in my brain box: like "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L6zR7qJ9frA">Pipeline</a>," for instance. For Christmas 1962, I begged for a transistor radio, and glory be I got one. Like everyone else in sixth grade, I walked around holding the little radio against my ear. It was the size of a deck of cards, had a cool black leather case, and emitted the tinniest of tinny sounds. The hit tune playing repeatedly that winter was “Pipeline” by the Chantays, a huge instrumental surfing-inspired hit in an era of huge instrumental surfing-inspired hits. I remember feeling joy as I held that radio against my ear and listened to the tinny sounds of “Pipeline” in the thin frosty air. I hummed along, ice skates flung over my shoulder, as I walked to the city skating rink a few blocks from my house.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 25.68px;">It was easy to find the sheet music to “Pipeline” at the music store. I worked on that song until I memorized it. The family piano was an old upright, with a non-functioning player feature, that my mom had found second-hand for thirty bucks. My folks put it in the basement rec room that they had finished under the guidance and expertise of my Uncle Jerry, a carpenter. There, in the corner of the room, I played “Pipeline” for myself and for anyone who came into our house. My sister would cry, “Gail! Not ‘Pipeline’ again!” I think she was kidding, but I’m not sure.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 25.68px;">So, was “Pipeline” still up there in my memory? You bet it was. It took me just a few minutes to find it. So now, on the days when I don’t have time to play anything else, I play “Pipeline” and fulfill my promise to myself to play at least a minute a day.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 25.68px;">How do I remember “Pipeline,” really? How does my left hand find those hard far-away keys in the “lettuce” books, yet I struggle to find the same keys in my new sheet music? How is it that after playing from my ancient “lettuce” books for a time, I find it easier to play songs in my brand-new books? I know that “practice makes perfect,” but I suspect that something else is going on here, some mysterious element in the art of learning.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 25.68px;">The most amazing thing . . . this piano work seems to have shaken something loose in my head: an urge to compose music. The other morning while I was drinking coffee and doing my crossword puzzle, a song came to me – one that spilled out of my head, complete with words. It was just a couple of verses, but that hasn’t happened since I was a young teen and invented a (very embarrassing) song about two boys I liked.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 25.68px;">Argh. I don’t plan to become a composer in my eighth decade of life. I’ll be happy to just plunk merrily, and imperfectly, on the keys. Yet it all amazes me - the breadth of the mind and the power of music to plumb its depths.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 25.68px;">It’s fun.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 25.68px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="line-height: 25.68px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gail Grenier is the author of<i> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier+books&ref=nb_sb_noss_1">Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, Calling All Horses, </a></i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier+books&ref=nb_sb_noss_1">and <i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee</i></a>, all available on Amazon.com. Author royalties are shared with charities.</span></span></p><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"> </span></p><p><span></span></p><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p></div>Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-26096764956880720332021-02-10T14:59:00.003-08:002021-02-10T14:59:51.882-08:00"Poldark" Bingo<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FyHz6u-B88Y/YCRhCKkbddI/AAAAAAAACjU/WFBps-cAhPsGWJ14mI-ubJ5UY0grgJDqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s720/poldark%2Btv%2Bactor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FyHz6u-B88Y/YCRhCKkbddI/AAAAAAAACjU/WFBps-cAhPsGWJ14mI-ubJ5UY0grgJDqQCLcBGAsYHQ/w426-h640/poldark%2Btv%2Bactor.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">My dear niece Ashley
suggested I try “Poldark” on Amazon Prime and here I am, well into season three,
caught like a wiggling fish in a net. I may turn up my nose at
bodice buster novels and soap operas, but PBS magic plus the beautifulness of
actors Aiden Turner and Elinor Tomlinson have me in their grip. Sometimes I even
find myself saying “t’is” and “t’was,” for heaven’s sake.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">There’s no stopping me now; I have to know how all the threads unwind.
If this were a book I could jump to the last page, which I often do (don’t
judge). I realize I could untangle all the show’s plot webs with a little digging
on the Interweb, but then I couldn’t watch those pretty people and pretty horses
for another few seasons.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">To console myself, I’ve
invented a Poldark Stock Shots Bingo. I may feel like less of a hostage while I
play along . . . .</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">“Poldark” Stock Shots Bingo<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
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<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ross’s black curls blowing </span><span style="font-family: arial;">in the wind</span></span></p>
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<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 116.85pt;" valign="top" width="156">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Giant waves crashing </span><span style="font-family: arial;">after a disturbing </span><span style="font-family: arial;">scene</span></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sunset/sunrise </span><span style="font-family: arial;">over a beautiful landscape</span></span></p>
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<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 116.9pt;" valign="top" width="156">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">A quaint streetscape
with the Red Lion sign<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 116.85pt;" valign="top" width="156">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">A horse galloping on top
of a cliff<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 116.85pt;" valign="top" width="156">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Close-up of flowers, cattails, </span><span style="font-family: arial;">weeds, or kelp</span></span></p>
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<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 116.9pt;" valign="top" width="156">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Violins swelling at a
really dramatic scene<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">A sneer on a character
you love to hate<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 116.85pt;" valign="top" width="156">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Ross gazing into the
distance as he stands on the top of a cliff<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 116.85pt;" valign="top" width="156">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">A drone view of a seascape
with a cliff and a path on top<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Ross frowning<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Picturesque old-fashioned
brickworks atop a mine<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 3; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 116.85pt;" valign="top" width="156">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Demelza’s red curls
blowing in the wind<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 116.85pt;" valign="top" width="156">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Demelza gazing into the
distance as she stands on the top of a cliff<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 116.9pt;" valign="top" width="156">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Long skirts billowing in
the wind<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 116.9pt;" valign="top" width="156">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Guns or swords, pitchforks or </span><span style="font-family: arial;">shovels used in a fi</span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">ght</span></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Teasing his wife, a lover of soaps, my friend Gary invented his own cosmic rules of soap operas
for contemporary TV daytime dramas. “Poldark” is a lavishly-produced PBS
historical drama that follows the series of books written by Winston Graham, yet
I’ve seen some evidence that “Poldark” may follow these exact rules . . .</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Gary’s Cosmic Rules of Soap Operas<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">1. No one can have
ordinary names like John and Susan. If you’re a soap opera character, your name
is something like “Blaze” or “Eden.”</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">2. You will always get
pregnant from a one-night stand.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">3. If you start telling
someone a really deep, dark secret, somebody else will always come by just then
and take a step back, but hear everything.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">4. All soap opera
characters are complete slaves to their emotions. If you’re “Blaze” or “Eden,”
it doesn’t matter that you have a happy life and marriage. If you’re attracted to
someone who walks into a room, you’ll risk throwing it all away for a chance to
“be” with that person.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">To Gary’s Cosmic Laws, I’ve
added my own: </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Everything is always
Very Dramatic.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">In spite of my poking fun
of the show, it’s onward I shall go, living my very un-dramatic life during the
day and watching two episodes of “Poldark” every night before bed, until at
last I’m released. I thank God the show didn’t have the staying power of “The
Simpsons,” or this would be a long, long siege.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">***</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gail Grenier is the author
of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss_1" target="_blank"><i>Don’t Worry Baby, Dog Woman, Dessert First, Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee, </i>and <i>Calling All Horses</i></a>, all available on Amazon.com</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /></p>Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-89339869684475079232021-02-01T17:55:00.008-08:002021-02-10T15:15:44.793-08:00Gifts from the Waters (Or How I Learned to do Sea Glass Crafts in Spite of Myself)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i2tJz90c02A/YBXI1W_JsEI/AAAAAAAACeg/tzabSaqivgw78VJr2zq7t2s7o-YmL15RQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1999/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bbetter%2Bshot%2Bof%2Bmy%2Bchimes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1999" data-original-width="1782" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i2tJz90c02A/YBXI1W_JsEI/AAAAAAAACeg/tzabSaqivgw78VJr2zq7t2s7o-YmL15RQCLcBGAsYHQ/w576-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bbetter%2Bshot%2Bof%2Bmy%2Bchimes.jpg" width="576" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Sometimes,
when life throws you trash, you can turn it into treasure. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">In
2015, my husband and I moved to the south side of the City of Milwaukee, across from </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Kinnickinnic River Parkway. I was a transplanted north sider with no clue to the name of that green space; I was content to see it was full of trees. Shortly after moving in, I was pleasantly shocked to discover a river rippled,
hidden within, edged by footpaths that I swear must have been started hundreds
of years ago by Native American men, women and children.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">The </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Kinnickinnic R</span><span style="font-family: arial;">iver, once grand in these parts, was named by those
native peoples. It's been diverted so many times downriver that it's a quiet
stream in my neighborhood. Some folks call it a creek.</span></span></p><p><span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><span><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ddWINxnnDUc/YBmq1VgQdvI/AAAAAAAACig/iBMw38nNuXYtZlkQhpkjbWrVTRRra_gTwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1316/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2Bkk%2Briver%2Bscene%2Bwith%2Bwater.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1316" height="312" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ddWINxnnDUc/YBmq1VgQdvI/AAAAAAAACig/iBMw38nNuXYtZlkQhpkjbWrVTRRra_gTwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h312/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2Bkk%2Briver%2Bscene%2Bwith%2Bwater.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> The Kinnickinnic ("KK") River gurgles along in the woods across from my house.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Because
it's only a stream, sections of riverbed sand and pebbles are exposed. That riverbed
has become a playground for my grandchildren and me. It’s our place for
skipping stones, creating cairns, making rock bridges, mining clay for pots, and
dubbing one area “Worm City.” We’ve done our own informal cartography,
naming different areas after the ones discovering them.</span></span></p><p><span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><span><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T1ZaHTsHWT4/YCRmRR7xUcI/AAAAAAAACjg/9dJQ-twMOHg-LN7rvegL6V1fMs6C5bgdgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bliam%2527s%2Bcairns%2B-%2Bsummer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="1080" height="312" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T1ZaHTsHWT4/YCRmRR7xUcI/AAAAAAAACjg/9dJQ-twMOHg-LN7rvegL6V1fMs6C5bgdgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h312/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bliam%2527s%2Bcairns%2B-%2Bsummer.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My grandson Liam built these cairns in the KK riverbed.</span></div></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">While
we play, we gather litter. For five years, we collected broken pieces of glass
among candy wrappers, aluminum cans, and plastic bags. We tossed it all, plink
and plunk, into the litter pail. Strangely, we never cut ourselves as we
scooped up the glass pieces. I stopped warning the children against grabbing it
after I realized that even the youngest one managed the task without being nicked.
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">That
should have been my clue. It was sea glass, or better described, river glass.
The glass shards didn’t slice us because they’d been ground down for years by water action. It took me five years to realize the glass was smooth, and more,
that it was beautiful. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">We
stopped throwing it away.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Starting
last fall, we began collecting it. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">For all of us, the hobby was a fun diversion as Covid-19 months dragged on.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">We found there was always new glass to gather after a
storm, because the water dragged more to us. I searched as often as I could; the
hunt fascinated me. For my daughter Anna and her son Max,
who live across the street, picking glass became their thing to do outside the
house. Many days during fall and
early winter I’d find a gift on my front porch: a bag full of river glass Anna and Max had picked on their walk that day.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Our
scavenging has become the oddest treasure hunt – for garbage instead of gold. Our
most common finds are clear glass, then brown (beer bottles) and green (beer
and soda bottles). Rare colors are light blue, light green, cobalt blue, and finally
red, the rarest. The children and I have our own favorite colors as well as favorite types of glass – thick or thin, textured or smooth, curved or flat, stamped with
writing or embossed with letters, numbers, and patterns.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I read up on sea glass and learned a lot. The glass becomes cloudy and almost gemlike from decades of pounding by sand, water,
pebbles and water debris. I bought a
little rock tumbler to finish the process for the pieces that hadn’t
“clouded up” sufficiently to achieve that mysterious gemlike appearance.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">It
didn’t take long before I figured we could make something from the glass. You
Tube provided directions on creating a suncatcher or a set of wind chimes,
which interested me most.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Only
problem: I am a lifelong hater of crafting. I mean HATE. I will fuss for minutes
over finding just the right word in a blog post like this. But fuss for minutes
over a decoration that must be slowly glued together and then held until dry, leaving
glue on my fingers? Ick.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">It
took me two months to finish my wind chimes, mostly due to my own avoidance.
The You Tube lady did her demonstration in a fast-action video of about a
half-hour of work (Youtubers have magic powers).<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">When
I told a friend about my new hobby, she waxed poetic about “receiving an
unexpected gift from the waters.” I could wax poetic too, but I’ll tell you
the truth – this is just fun. My favorite part is the gathering. Besides scouring
various sites along the river, I’ve picked glass on the shores of Lake Michigan,
our beautiful inland sweet-water sea. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I
took my neighbor Judy to Lake Michigan to try it out. At first, she couldn’t
see the glass. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">“Look
for something that resembles ice cubes,” I told her. “When the sun hits, they
sparkle.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Finally,
Judy began to see. We searched, stooped, and scooped, over and over. We
encountered another sea glass lover who had attached a sieve to a stick so she could
grab without stooping. She laughed at the buckets we carried. “You won’t find
that much glass,” she said. We told her we picked up litter too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">It was during my hunt with Judy that I realized I felt still while I searched, stooped and scooped. I thought about nothing and I felt calm. Very Zen! I had an active meditation practice for five years during my thirties, when I struggled to chill my monkey mind. That day, I chilled it without trying. And so it's been for me ever since.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">One
day shortly after introducing Judy to the hunt, I found a bag left
on my front porch. It didn't look like one of Anna's and Max's contributions. I opened it: river glass. Judy later told me that her
partner Mike had left it for me after gathering it. The fascination spreads!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I
took an eight-year-old friend named Kaylee searching in the riverbed. She
quickly became frustrated. “I can’t see it!” she complained. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">“Keep
looking,” I told her. It took about eight minutes before she out-Sherlocked me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">My
journey toward sea glass awareness reminds me of a story uncovered by a journalist
friend of mine, Sharon Roznik. She wrote about the prehistoric petroglyphs
discovered by a man on the farm he had worked for 50 years. There they were, beautiful
Native American markings on big stones he had passed for decades. Sometimes a
treasure is right under our feet. We just have to open our eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Here
is a photo diary of our process, plus accidental finds along the way, including the creation of crafts by my niece, my grandsons and their parents, and me. . . .</span><o:p style="font-size: 14pt;"></o:p></span></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LS43s9E95ws/YBXJrLUoJII/AAAAAAAACeo/R7mHDy5vcaQOFLVHlcdlOFSXlUARcisoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2015/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B2%2B-%2Bin%2Briverbed.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2015" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LS43s9E95ws/YBXJrLUoJII/AAAAAAAACeo/R7mHDy5vcaQOFLVHlcdlOFSXlUARcisoQCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B2%2B-%2Bin%2Briverbed.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The riverbed - see the green glass? <br />Your eyes get sharp when you're hunting glass.</span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2cZpp9GK9ho/YBXKQrTtOrI/AAAAAAAACe0/jh7XUh4jf_44z80d4BhwZ7bDLUBQQgEcwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1316/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bchildren%2Bhunting%2Bin%2Bfall.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1316" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2cZpp9GK9ho/YBXKQrTtOrI/AAAAAAAACe0/jh7XUh4jf_44z80d4BhwZ7bDLUBQQgEcwCLcBGAsYHQ/w312-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bchildren%2Bhunting%2Bin%2Bfall.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Grandchildren Max, Simon, <br />Nora and David playing and hunting for glass.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RVALbyITqjw/YBXKZj2yW9I/AAAAAAAACe4/QpURQLKIKMYYjAUL-M5PRxaiROpXDn34wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1316/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bdavid%2Band%2Bdragonfly%2Bwing%2B-%2Bfall.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1316" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RVALbyITqjw/YBXKZj2yW9I/AAAAAAAACe4/QpURQLKIKMYYjAUL-M5PRxaiROpXDn34wCLcBGAsYHQ/w312-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bdavid%2Band%2Bdragonfly%2Bwing%2B-%2Bfall.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">While looking for glass, <br />David found a dragonfly wing!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7vRfOyOZwFI/YBdQh6z9bkI/AAAAAAAACfg/TnzmPvRkzEY1mNqgpbTw8XVpetbneZiHQCLcBGAsYHQ/s932/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bdavid%2Band%2Bdragonfly%2Bwing%2Bcloseup%2B-%2Bfall.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="932" data-original-width="662" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7vRfOyOZwFI/YBdQh6z9bkI/AAAAAAAACfg/TnzmPvRkzEY1mNqgpbTw8XVpetbneZiHQCLcBGAsYHQ/w454-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bdavid%2Band%2Bdragonfly%2Bwing%2Bcloseup%2B-%2Bfall.jpg" width="454" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">A close-up of the dragonfly wing.<br />I couldn't believe he found it!!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QkL4h-EZOFY/YBig0y4YFKI/AAAAAAAACf0/65hZhx8hmisg591C_ZchulVRcr6TSy1-gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2015/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bfall%2B%2B-%2Bmax%2Bwith%2Bbag%2Bof%2Btreasures%2Bincl%2Bfeather.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2015" data-original-width="1161" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QkL4h-EZOFY/YBig0y4YFKI/AAAAAAAACf0/65hZhx8hmisg591C_ZchulVRcr6TSy1-gCLcBGAsYHQ/w368-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bfall%2B%2B-%2Bmax%2Bwith%2Bbag%2Bof%2Btreasures%2Bincl%2Bfeather.jpg" width="368" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My grandson Max with a bag of treasures he found <br />while picking glass: feathers, stones, and marbles.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uW0oYN8NPz8/YBiiJ1rUCrI/AAAAAAAACgM/hVe2RXtl3-keSg0M4lxomxWVaXNK9KA_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1316/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Blake%2Bmichigan%2Bshore.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1316" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uW0oYN8NPz8/YBiiJ1rUCrI/AAAAAAAACgM/hVe2RXtl3-keSg0M4lxomxWVaXNK9KA_gCLcBGAsYHQ/w312-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Blake%2Bmichigan%2Bshore.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Besides the Kinnickinnic River, we love to pick gl</span><span style="font-family: arial;">ass along Lake Michigan's shore at Milwaukee's Grant Park. T</span><span style="font-family: arial;">his beach is at the end of the Seven Bridges Trail there.</span></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z__gx-jtY-U/YBikJlTioUI/AAAAAAAACgY/eKnoPSu1m6cAi46ki6nQN9YQQlNNWSyAACLcBGAsYHQ/s2015/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B3%2B-%2Bstooping%2Bto%2Bgather.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2015" data-original-width="1511" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z__gx-jtY-U/YBikJlTioUI/AAAAAAAACgY/eKnoPSu1m6cAi46ki6nQN9YQQlNNWSyAACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B3%2B-%2Bstooping%2Bto%2Bgather.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> Glamorous me hunting glass: hunt, stoop, scoop.<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WoR1TMe8i8s/YBikwx1kP2I/AAAAAAAACgg/EYcGOE4soq8nMWcir_467_GncMrZQLMLwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2015/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B5%2B-%2Banother%2Bglass%2Bin%2Bhand.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2015" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WoR1TMe8i8s/YBikwx1kP2I/AAAAAAAACgg/EYcGOE4soq8nMWcir_467_GncMrZQLMLwCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B5%2B-%2Banother%2Bglass%2Bin%2Bhand.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> A rare find - light blue glass - my favorite.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rB2j4ut65uU/YBilHO35tbI/AAAAAAAACgo/XPe93xDOldckdoAcPork6fzDQuiih3fFACLcBGAsYHQ/s1287/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B6%2B-%2Bcobalt%2Bblue%2Bglass%2Band%2Bsmile.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1287" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rB2j4ut65uU/YBilHO35tbI/AAAAAAAACgo/XPe93xDOldckdoAcPork6fzDQuiih3fFACLcBGAsYHQ/w318-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B6%2B-%2Bcobalt%2Bblue%2Bglass%2Band%2Bsmile.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">An even more rare find: a big chunk of cobalt blue. </span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Makes the old lady smile.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bx-_Mvb4dug/YBilygetHNI/AAAAAAAACg0/q6zKtHZZt5oFSFHffpp7auQxYUhYhal4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2015/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Btumbler.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2015" data-original-width="1204" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bx-_Mvb4dug/YBilygetHNI/AAAAAAAACg0/q6zKtHZZt5oFSFHffpp7auQxYUhYhal4ACLcBGAsYHQ/w382-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Btumbler.jpg" width="382" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The rock tumbler I use<br />when glass needs "aging."</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bd7eOljgcOI/YBimSUkkUoI/AAAAAAAACg8/aFCg1UEv-qUmkn5zBYwb6lE5VMPCWW0MwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2015/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Btumbled%2Bglass%2Bnice%2Bcollection.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2015" data-original-width="1295" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bd7eOljgcOI/YBimSUkkUoI/AAAAAAAACg8/aFCg1UEv-qUmkn5zBYwb6lE5VMPCWW0MwCLcBGAsYHQ/w412-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Btumbled%2Bglass%2Bnice%2Bcollection.jpg" width="412" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">A nice batch of glass cleaned up after tumbling.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i09uhiKrOl8/YBim6e4Iw7I/AAAAAAAAChM/NmP_A4jbIoc5415Hf83ah6Sf_ooc79YjACLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/blog%2Bsea%2Bglass%2Bashley%2Band%2Bchimes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1243" data-original-width="1440" height="552" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i09uhiKrOl8/YBim6e4Iw7I/AAAAAAAAChM/NmP_A4jbIoc5415Hf83ah6Sf_ooc79YjACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h552/blog%2Bsea%2Bglass%2Bashley%2Band%2Bchimes.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My niece Ashley with the suncatcher/wind chimes she made for her sister-in-law.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7snEqGOofOs/YBinPWKYcLI/AAAAAAAAChU/R5qV3iyx_cwI_jkYqIR1CEOK0BUX_ldNACLcBGAsYHQ/s1316/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2Bashleys%2Bwind%2Bchimes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1316" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7snEqGOofOs/YBinPWKYcLI/AAAAAAAAChU/R5qV3iyx_cwI_jkYqIR1CEOK0BUX_ldNACLcBGAsYHQ/w312-h640/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2Bashleys%2Bwind%2Bchimes.jpg" width="312" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Ashley's wind chimes</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DKGVQVSn1g8/YBinqkuFa3I/AAAAAAAAChc/bDVlBSjFNeQqN38dou_T53pxwtwS2xTeQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1624/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2Banna%2Band%2Bmax%2Bwith%2Bcreations.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1624" data-original-width="1338" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DKGVQVSn1g8/YBinqkuFa3I/AAAAAAAAChc/bDVlBSjFNeQqN38dou_T53pxwtwS2xTeQCLcBGAsYHQ/w330-h400/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2Banna%2Band%2Bmax%2Bwith%2Bcreations.jpg" width="330" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: left;"> Daughter Anna and grandson Max the day they</div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> worked on a Christmas tree and ornament.</span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-78pdOwkCiug/YBin-dQZcHI/AAAAAAAAChk/r3m48PvemQQNi-jLIrmZXeumMKSb3K_0QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1316/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bboys%2Band%2Bsons%2Bwith%2Bcreations.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1316" height="312" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-78pdOwkCiug/YBin-dQZcHI/AAAAAAAAChk/r3m48PvemQQNi-jLIrmZXeumMKSb3K_0QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h312/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2B-%2Bboys%2Band%2Bsons%2Bwith%2Bcreations.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Sons Charlie and Brian with grandsons David, Isaac,</span> Liam and Oliver plus ornaments.</div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Adx1Ygu6jak/YBioX82rM7I/AAAAAAAAChs/SIkOTeqzSl0f6mAb9YMQA30-ZEv2MvmnQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1316/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2Bornament%2Bin%2Btree.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1316" height="312" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Adx1Ygu6jak/YBioX82rM7I/AAAAAAAAChs/SIkOTeqzSl0f6mAb9YMQA30-ZEv2MvmnQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h312/sea%2Bglass%2Bblog%2Bornament%2Bin%2Btree.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">A grandson's ornament in the Christmas tree</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nixVZgqBAvQ/YCRops4BQ4I/AAAAAAAACjs/7mnXD_046jI9dYgv2uEd7_zfFNKjZpX0gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2015/blog%2Bmy%2Bchimes%2Bwith%2Bsunshine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2015" data-original-width="1182" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nixVZgqBAvQ/YCRops4BQ4I/AAAAAAAACjs/7mnXD_046jI9dYgv2uEd7_zfFNKjZpX0gCLcBGAsYHQ/w376-h640/blog%2Bmy%2Bchimes%2Bwith%2Bsunshine.jpg" width="376" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It was excruciating work for me, but I finally finished my suncatcher/wind chimes. I love when the sun shines through, especially on the cobalt blue pieces.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H-CFWDJTAhE/YBiprkKpkWI/AAAAAAAACiM/WVc644UxnScnaCUd-oqT7RYygq8xCON6wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/box%2Bof%2Bsea%2Bglass%2Buntumbled.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="1440" height="386" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H-CFWDJTAhE/YBiprkKpkWI/AAAAAAAACiM/WVc644UxnScnaCUd-oqT7RYygq8xCON6wCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h386/box%2Bof%2Bsea%2Bglass%2Buntumbled.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My store of sea glass waiting to be cleaned up. Who knows what it will become?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">***</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&ref=nb_sb_noss">Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, Calling All Horses, and Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee</a>, all available on Amazon.com.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-21034763177291831142020-07-22T19:02:00.002-07:002020-07-22T19:02:51.102-07:00Creating with words or boxes<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background: white; color: black;">Q. When is it especially fun to write a
blog? </span><span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background: white; color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A. When you
get email like this one I received last week:</span><span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="background: white; color: black;"> Gail, I was surfing in a waiting room today
and ran across your blog. I pretty much spent the last three hours
reading your different posts and wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your
writing. It's hard to describe, but I just felt a lot of peace reading
through the different pieces you compiled. I know we haven't spoken in
years -- I'm sure you remember me; I am an executive recruiter and was a friend
of your neighbor Mark.</span></i><i><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="background: white; color: black;">My life has slowed down a little and it felt good
to take the time to enjoy all your thoughtful writings.</span></i><i><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="background: white; color: black;">I hope you and Mike are in good health. I live on five
wooded acres near Holy Hill and have a huge garden ... keeps me busy since the
economy kinda stinks right now.</span></i><i><br />
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<span style="background: white; color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">I
subscribed to your blog. Thank you for putting your writings out
there! I'm looking forward to seeing more.</span><span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="background: white; color: black;">Kate D.</span></i><i><span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I haven’t seen Kate in
almost 30 years. I received her letter through my website. I think I can live
off her words for a year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’m 69 years old, retired
after a lifetime of teaching and writing for the public. But I still think of
myself as a writer. For me, writing is more than an occupation; it’s a passion.
If I’m not writing, I’m not myself. When I’m writing, I’m doing hard work that
is thrilling and rewarding in itself. Recognition like the letter from Kate is unexpected
frosting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Before a couple of months
ago, I was writing every day and feeling exhilarated. The COVID-19 lockdown had
emptied my calendar and I was working not only on blog posts but also on journal
entries to submit to the Wisconsin Historical Society’s COVID-19 journal
project. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So why haven’t I written a
darn thing for a couple of months? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The answer is simple. I’ve
been distracted by different work that is thrilling and rewarding in itself: re-creating
a home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is how my new project
evolved. . . . During the summer of 2016, my daughter Anna and her son Max moved
into the home I share with my husband, Mike. Last month, after nearly four
years, they moved out. Well, they didn’t exactly move <i>out</i>; they moved <i>over</i>.
Anna bought a house across the street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was the oddest move
I’ve ever seen. Thanks to COVID, there was no one big moving event with a
passel of friends, packed vans, beer and pizza. Instead, day after day in the
evening after work, Anna carted boxes across the street in a coaster wagon or walked
with belongings piled in in her arms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">To complicate matters, Anna
is combining households with her boyfriend, Steve. He had a house to empty and packed
his vehicle for many, many trips. They got to a stopping point because certain
chores had to be completed before they could stuff more inside their new
dwelling. At that point, their focus became painting and repair rather than
schlepping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That meant there was still
a mountain of orphan boxes in my basement, a basement I was eager to reclaim.
So, about a month ago, my life took on a passion far different from writing:
clearing out the crowded <i>old</i> and making way for an emptier <i>new</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mike and I loved having
Anna and Max here. But during their stay, I learned something about myself that
I never knew: I am a minimalist. My style of minimalism doesn’t mean my house
is bare; it means that my rooms have bare horizontal surfaces and you’ll find
some sparsely-settled cupboards and closets. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When Anna and Max lived
with us, we combined two complete households into one three-bedroom ranch.
Anna’s domain included all the equipment needed to raise a child from newborn
to age three and a half. That’s a lot of <i>stuff</i>. Plus, Anna is an avid cook,
so our kitchen cupboards and fridge became crammed with foods unfamiliar to me:
hot hot Mexican and Thai sauces, a variety of gourmet vinegars and olive oils, labels
with exotic-sounding names like Thai peanut Satay, chili garlic sauce, Sriracha
and Hoisin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The project to go from
full to spare was hard work, but I felt elated the whole time I carted boxes
out of the basement and food containers out of my pantry. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first step was to load our garage. This
effort was like playing a giant game of “Jenga,” where you carefully remove pieces
from a tower of long wooden blocks. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y32j8TTq7vo/XxjsFBKLZkI/AAAAAAAACXQ/5xdHGIIPr3Mf0f8A25yT0j9Lf5lLy8IRACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Jenga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y32j8TTq7vo/XxjsFBKLZkI/AAAAAAAACXQ/5xdHGIIPr3Mf0f8A25yT0j9Lf5lLy8IRACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Jenga.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jenga</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But instead of removing things, I was assembling
a tower – packing boxes and baskets </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">tightly</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">. For one work week, Mike and
I dragged things from the basement to the garage every morning before he left
for the office. Lugging stuff replaced our usual early morning walk or bike
ride. I looked at it as simply another form of exercise, one we sorely needed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Did I say “sorely”? Um,
yep, we both got sore after a few days. Legs, mostly. I swear my legs have
hardened up in the process, but dang. Plodding up those steps, I flashed back on
learning about muscle fatigue in biology class and I swear that sometimes I
could feel the lactic acid leaving my body. However, there was consolation:
every box leaving the basement gave me a feeling like a satisfying sneeze after being congested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After half of our garage
was Jenga-d, it was time for transport across the street. I decided to forsake
the coaster wagon and pull out the big guns: my car. At this point, Mike had to
work long days finishing the 2020 tax season, whose filing deadline had been
extended by COVID-19 to July 15<sup>th</sup>. I was on my own. It took four carloads
to empty most of my garage into Anna’s. My “sneezes” got more and more
satisfying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Anna now has a properly
Jenga-d half-garage, and I can pull my car inside my garage – a blessing on
90-degree days. The remaining boxes can wait clustered around my lawn mower until
she and Steve complete their painting and repairs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The next step was to
re-organize the basement. I re-fashioned a bunkhouse for my grandsons to stay
overnight. Our old bunkhouse had disappeared while Anna and Max lived here, and
the new one is even better. Making the bunkhouse, I think, was my adult version
of making a fort when I was a kid. (See the photo at the start of this post.) After finishing the bunkhouse, I
moved the grandkids’ play area so our rec room has become larger. It’ll be fun,
once the lockdown is over, to invite my fellow choir members for a glass
of wine after rehearsals. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am elated. I feel like I
have a brand-new house, with all the creativity that entails, but without all
the chaos of moving. I’m just about done with my back-to-minimalism project,
which means I’ve made room in my life to get back to writing my blog.
Re-creating my home was luscious, but writing is always more luscious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thanks to my friend Kate, this
blog is getting attention sooner than later. I’ve tried to reach her by email
and phone, with no luck. I’m hoping she’ll see this and we can catch up on three
decades of life. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UUPBZPa6p_s/Xxjs2tkg1ZI/AAAAAAAACXc/XwQSoNi_YRcc7F_HnOxly-R9qAYbJg0OgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/max%2Bin%2Bsuper%2Bhero%2Bcostume.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1315" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UUPBZPa6p_s/Xxjs2tkg1ZI/AAAAAAAACXc/XwQSoNi_YRcc7F_HnOxly-R9qAYbJg0OgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/max%2Bin%2Bsuper%2Bhero%2Bcostume.jpg" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Max assembled his super hero costume today.<br />Lucky me to see him every day!!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gail Grenier is the author of </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Dog Woman, Dessert First, Calling All Horses, Don't Worry Baby, </i>and <i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee</i></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, all available on Amazon.com. Book sales benefit local charities.</span></div>
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Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-58712604122262257422020-06-10T17:06:00.001-07:002020-06-12T08:44:10.872-07:00Hügelkultur and our raised vegetable garden bed<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tGRYaqIn49k/XuAAIpRAfGI/AAAAAAAACT8/E5YO02BOpbY_eciOnJw3b-Oz7pfKi41PACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/garden%2B16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1440" height="478" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tGRYaqIn49k/XuAAIpRAfGI/AAAAAAAACT8/E5YO02BOpbY_eciOnJw3b-Oz7pfKi41PACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/garden%2B16.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’m not sure what started my husband’s venture
into raised-bed gardening and </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">H</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">ügelkultur</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">, but I’m going to blame YouTube and our
neighbors Josiah and Iman. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the years since we bought our first home in
1974, Mike has planted many vegetable gardens. I cheered him on and helped
him eat the food.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Our high tide of gardening was during the
1980s, when we canned 300 jars of applesauce, tomato sauce, and
various fruits. We lived on 10 acres in Menomonee Falls, and Mike’s
gardens spanned an area 120 feet long by 15 feet wide. He divided that space
into three 40-foot plots, rotating two sown and one fallow. He religiously followed the precepts of his “bibles” of organic gardening: Ruth Stout’s <i>No-Work</i> <i>Gardening
Method</i>, Mel Bartholomew’s <i>Square Food Gardening, </i>and his favorite,<i>
</i>Samuel Ogden’s<i> Step by Step to Organic Vegetable Growing.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In time, I asked Mike to please stop planting.
Our family had grown to three children and our summers were consumed with kid
stuff. Mike’s gardening method had become simple, as he described it: throw
some plants in the ground and say, “See ya in fall.” The result was that we
grew a lot of weeds . . . not recommended by any of his gardening gurus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In 2015, we downsized from our mini-farm to the
City of Milwaukee, where we both grew up. Our lot is large for the city,
nearly a half-acre, but tiny compared to what we were used to. Maybe it was the
smallness of our “land” that got Mike back into gardening. In the flower beds
along the sides and back of our house, he planted tomatoes, chives, cucumbers,
and rhubarb. This was a controlled – and controllable – area. The beds were
skinny and weeds few.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Meanwhile, we noticed some chickens in a back
yard just down the street. Feeling nostalgic for the chickens we used to keep,
I introduced myself to our neighbors Josiah and Iman. They raise hens for eggs,
along with a lot of vegetables, on a lot smaller than ours. I admired their
raised vegetable beds and composting system. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I realize now that our neighbor’s gardens started me on what has become a five-year gardening project-creep. . . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]-->I asked my son and his wife for a composting
bin for Christmas. Thanks, Charlie and Katie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]-->I took a free composting class through
the City of Milwaukee and the Sixteenth Street Community Health Center. Thanks,
City and Center.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]-->I became obsessed with the science and
adventure of composting. Thanks, micro-organisms that turn garbage into soil.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>We got a free rain barrel and rain
barrel class through the Milwaukee Metropolitan Sewerage District. Thanks, MMSD.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>I asked our handyman if he could build
us a raised bed. (Mike is beyond busy with his job, and I'm no carpenter.) Thanks, Handyman Jeff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mike was all for my forays into what was
previously his exclusive organic gardening territory. Little did I know that while I
busied myself with compost and rain barrel and raised bed
construction, Mike was up to his own intrigue, one he hid from me. For weeks each
evening before he fell asleep, he snuggled with his smart phone and surfed the
Web for information about raised garden beds. No longer a disciple of Ruth
Stout, Mel Bartholomew, and Sam Ogden, Mike had become a YouTube man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">By the time the 200 lbs or more of raised-bed lumber had been bolted into place, Mike was prepared to dive into a new way of growing
vegetables: </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">H</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">ügelkultur</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">H</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">ügelkultur </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">is a centuries-old system of
gardening based in Germany and Eastern Europe. The word means “mound culture” or “hill
culture.” The theory, as Mike explained to me, is simple: you build your garden
on a bed of logs, sticks and leaves. That base becomes a “well” that tends to hold water. As the logs and sticks decompose, they release nutrients into the
garden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">H</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">ügelkultur </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">is controversial. It doesn’t
always work, for a number of reasons. Sometimes the mound breaks apart, freeing the logs to roll down the hill and smash into buildings. Some argue that
the logs rob nutrients rather than build them. And the wood could harbor insects that
infest your vegetables. But the theory is logical, based on the rich and varied ecosystem that springs from organic debris on a forest floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Once Mike explained </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">H</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">ügelkultur </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">to me, I felt excited
to try it. He was eager too, maybe in part because, like many men, he loves gadgets and gimmicks.
He told me he hadn’t felt this excited about gardening in decades (probably since
I begged him to <i>please stop</i> back when our kids were young).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">We were working within a wooden framework, not
building a garden on a hill, yet the basic principle of H</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">ügelkultur is at work
in our new garden. Like traditional <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">H</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">ügelkultur </span>done on a hill, the roots in our garden have enough room in the topmost layer. Vegetable roots don't go down very deep, Mike explained to me. The wood in the bottom level is good for worms and other creatures that help create healthy soil. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">H</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">ügelkultur does not traditionally include the trench we added, but Mike got sold on the idea after seeing a YouTube video about it. He likes the fact that if the soil becomes saturated after days of torrential rain, excess water can drain out of the trench from the sides.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here is a photo diary of the steps we took:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. The small area between our house and the house next door gets the most sun in our yard, so we set the garden there. We designed the beds as big as we could while leaving room for the lawn mower to pass; that gave us two beds each measuring 3 feet by 8 feet. We decided to use the height of two 2x12s. At first Mike wanted to go just one board high, but decided on two boards after opting for </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">H</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">ügelkultur </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">- we'd need the bottom level for logs and sticks. Plus the higher bed would make gardening easier for our old backs. The bottom level is comprised of treated lumber. The top level is untreated, to avoid having the chemicals interact with our vegetables. I rubbed linseed oil all over the top boards to protect the wood (raw linseed oil was recommended but we could only find boiled linseed oil).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. We dug a trench in each bed, about one foot deep. We saved the soil for later.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. We had trimmed a tree last year, and saved the logs for firewood. They were a perfect fit for our trench.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. We added sticks that were lying around the yard after winter.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> 5. We lined the box with plastic to protect the wood from moisture, and to protect the vegetables from any chemicals from the boiled linseed oil I had rubbed on. We got the idea to use plastic from our son Brian, who has a raised bed. You'll notice that we added a 4x4 belatedly along the bottom of the box, as a support against warping. Thanks, Handyman Jeff.</span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">6. We nailed furring strips along the top of the boxes, to hold the plastic. Then we wrapped the extra plastic down over the furring strips for extra protection for the wood and veggies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">7. We started to drag bags of debris we had gathered from a neighbor's curb,14 bags in all. Thank you neighbor, and thank you little red wagon. We weren't sure what was inside the bags the neighbor had set out for City pick-up, but we figured they contained usable sticks and leaves. Mike was originally planning to take our trailer and pick up branches left out by neighbors, then break them up himself. Hauling bulging lawn-and-leaf bags was much easier than creating our own debris.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">8. The 14 bags were indeed full of usable leaves and twigs. Once we dumped them, we stomped them. It was strange to come upon pockets where we'd sink down. I wondered if stomping grapes might feel a bit like this. (Sorry there are no pix of Mike. He was determined to document our effort and now I'm glad he did, so I could share this.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">9. Stomped!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">10. A little more stomping by our grandson Max.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">11. Next, we added the dirt we had taken out when we dug the trenches. We mixed peat moss with that soil.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">12. We topped it all off with </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">another layer of peat moss to retain moisture.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">13. Adding our own compost as he went along, Mike planted peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, broccoli, beans, radishes, and "companion plants" marigolds, basil, cilantro, dill, and parsley. He used a modified square foot garden approach, setting the plants fairly close because we don't need a path between them; we can reach them from each side. He surrounded the veggies, herbs and flowers with shredded mulch from our neighbors' felled tree, to hold moisture. (Thank you Gretchen and Jim!) Last, he painted some rusty metal cages red, orange, and blue and propped them around the tomatoes. Adding bright bits of color is based on his Romanian ancestry, not any advice from YouTube.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's only been two and a half </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">weeks</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">since Mike planted the garden, and it's going great. The bean seeds he and our grandson stuck into the ground sprouted and grew like something out of "Jack and the Beanstalk." I haven't seen a weed yet, but the garden is right outside our side door and high off the ground, so it'll be easy for me to attack interlopers. I may not be a planter, but I really like weeding.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">If we had needed to buy gardening soil to fill those two big boxes, we would have spent a bunch of money and done a lot of back-breaking schlepping. The frame cost about $385 for lumber, bolts, and our handyman's labor. Add some bucks for linseed oil, peat moss, seeds and starter plants. We won't harvest $400 worth of vegetables this season, but at 70 years old, we two have some years of sowing and reaping ahead of us, Lord willing and the Kinnickinnic River across the street don't rise. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Anyone who does gardening knows you don't plant a garden just to save money. You do it to eat the freshest, most delicious organic food. You do it to watch beautiful plants grow. You do it to be a partner in God's creation. There's a lot of satisfaction in that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thank you, Josiah, Iman, and YouTube.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&ref=nb_sb_noss"><i>Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, Calling All Horses, </i>and </a><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&ref=nb_sb_noss">Young Voices From Wild Milwaukee,</a> </i>all available on Amazon.com. Proceeds are shared with local charities.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-63968711196014885602020-05-11T15:20:00.000-07:002020-05-13T17:23:05.401-07:00Music brings us all together<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Little did I realize, when
I accepted a seemingly-simple Facebook challenge, that I’d be prompting an
informal vote on my favorite music. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">My friend from Northern
Ireland, Michael Uprichard, challenged me to post ten days of covers of albums
that had a big impact on my life – with no commentary, no notes, no reviews. I got to know Michael 27 years ago when he lived with us as part of the <a href="https://www.ulsterprojectmilwaukee.org/">Ulster Project</a>, and he's become a son/friend to me. He likes vinyl and has a broad taste in music. He introduced me to R.E.M. and Nirvana when I didn't know the bands. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Michael's list of albums on Facebook included a couple of oldies that I could relate to, plus a bunch I'd never heard: Stone Roses, Doolittle, Moon Safari, Joy as an act of Resistance, Dummy, and Little Fictions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In non-COVID-19 days, I may
have said no to Michael's Facebook challenge. But I have time on my hands, and I love music, and I love
Michael. So...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Once I started, the
project was an enjoyable trip down Nostalgia Lane. I don’t have most of the
albums anymore, so I roamed the Internet to search out which ones held my
most beloved songs. I reviewed one disc I played a lot and found that I can
hardly stand it now – no wonder I bequeathed it to a friend back in 1975. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In making decisions on
what to post, I tried to not overthink it. I love almost every kind of music. How could I
select favorites from such a big bunch? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">What helped me was the request to choose albums that had a big impact on my
life . . . . that meant I could eliminate those I love but don’t pull me from the gut. In
going with emotion, I chose albums I played “through to the other side,” some
of which I purchased more than once – on vinyl, tape, CD. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I posted album covers in no particular order, for ten days, with no commentary, as instructed. I was amazed
at the number of emoji reactions and written-out comments from my Facebook
friends. Some had never sent me a message before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I suspected my classical
choice would garner the least reaction, and I was correct. I know that some people
will buy a $300 ticket to see a live performance by an arena-filling rock star.
Yet anyone can pay less than $35 to behold an ageless masterpiece performed by more than
100 world-class musicians in a symphony hall. Classical audiences are comparatively
small, so the classical response was no shock. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">But there were some surprises;
see what you think. Below is my list of albums, with the tally of reactions, beginning
with the low-response classical album cover (my beloved Johannes) and ending with the one that garnered
the most reaction (surprisingly, not from an arena-filler). I weighed all
emojis the same, even though it takes more effort to register “love” rather
than a simple “thumbs up;” even with time on my hands, I’ll only
toil so far as a statistician. In cases of tie scores, I weighed actual written
comments heavier than simple emoji reactions.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>My top ten albums </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>in order of Facebook response, </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>from <i>least </i>reaction to <i>most </i>reaction:</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v6t4wZ1cdLc/XrHKEelTS1I/AAAAAAAACSw/oN_A48jB1gEQDdrpZ4yNGb-7XMSlQPaegCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/brahms%2B4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="292" data-original-width="300" height="194" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v6t4wZ1cdLc/XrHKEelTS1I/AAAAAAAACSw/oN_A48jB1gEQDdrpZ4yNGb-7XMSlQPaegCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/brahms%2B4.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">10. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Brahms Symphony #4: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">eight emojis, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">no written conversation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Total score: 8.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y2oEKe8WWDo/XrHJZZgRg7I/AAAAAAAACSo/DW0lWC27_M4Mmx6_KL_S-_JJNIWZP308gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/rhapsody%2Bin%2Bblue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="600" height="198" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y2oEKe8WWDo/XrHJZZgRg7I/AAAAAAAACSo/DW0lWC27_M4Mmx6_KL_S-_JJNIWZP308gCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/rhapsody%2Bin%2Bblue.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">9. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">George Gershwin
“Rhapsody in Blue”: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">seven emojis, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">three bits of written conversation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Total
score: 10.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-En3qUCDF8yE/XrHIWDfGbwI/AAAAAAAACSg/rojoICRtxl0-CTx4IaLYwr2oHUo36HJQACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/bon%2Breve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-En3qUCDF8yE/XrHIWDfGbwI/AAAAAAAACSg/rojoICRtxl0-CTx4IaLYwr2oHUo36HJQACLcBGAsYHQ/s200/bon%2Breve.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">8. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Steve Riley and the
Mamou Playboys, “Bon Rêve”: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">five emojis, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">five bits of written conversation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Total score: 10.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xHJLuwjvwbg/XrHGmYcl5eI/AAAAAAAACSM/3KQhRgZ2Ib8S9tZNPfojS1RLG3tRf6xvACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/bruce%2Bborn%2Bto%2Brun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="595" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xHJLuwjvwbg/XrHGmYcl5eI/AAAAAAAACSM/3KQhRgZ2Ib8S9tZNPfojS1RLG3tRf6xvACLcBGAsYHQ/s200/bruce%2Bborn%2Bto%2Brun.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">7. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bruce Springsteen,
“Born to Run”: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">13 emojis, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">no conversations. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Total score: 13. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(<i>THIS IS THE
SURPRISE OF A LIFETIME</i>. . . Bruce Springsteen!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GzpL1DmMsQ0/XrHHIeyfspI/AAAAAAAACSU/nKySAGd8kl4GLPP3SWQ9e_2gQarerEo4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/meet%2Bthe%2Bbeatles.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GzpL1DmMsQ0/XrHHIeyfspI/AAAAAAAACSU/nKySAGd8kl4GLPP3SWQ9e_2gQarerEo4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s200/meet%2Bthe%2Bbeatles.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">6. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Beatles, “Meet the
Beatles”: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">12 emojis, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">three bits of written conversation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Total score: 15.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FoEz3GBL2zE/XrHFkTGT7EI/AAAAAAAACSA/Ao650dApr8QmZmBJ2ue22rGAL5QoIBd8ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/melanie%2Bborn%2Bto%2Bbe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="220" height="196" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FoEz3GBL2zE/XrHFkTGT7EI/AAAAAAAACSA/Ao650dApr8QmZmBJ2ue22rGAL5QoIBd8ACLcBGAsYHQ/s200/melanie%2Bborn%2Bto%2Bbe.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">5. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Melanie, “Born to be”: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">seven emojis, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">eight bits of written conversation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Total score: 15.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0gPtbQ-PANg/XrHFA1zuKOI/AAAAAAAACR4/4fTMBRb6xJ0wYaeG7IZ8dWhdacGcGtcVwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/pink%2Bfloyd%2Bdark%2Bside%2Bof%2Bthe%2Bmoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1199" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0gPtbQ-PANg/XrHFA1zuKOI/AAAAAAAACR4/4fTMBRb6xJ0wYaeG7IZ8dWhdacGcGtcVwCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/pink%2Bfloyd%2Bdark%2Bside%2Bof%2Bthe%2Bmoon.jpg" width="199" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Pink Floyd, “The Dark
Side of the Moon”: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">12 emojis, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">seven bits of written conversation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Total score:
19.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NGv2dtvWZcY/XrHEK6ZPsWI/AAAAAAAACRs/wWmy7mNPTuUUIkAE9pmEnJJvCLniGcrMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/carousel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NGv2dtvWZcY/XrHEK6ZPsWI/AAAAAAAACRs/wWmy7mNPTuUUIkAE9pmEnJJvCLniGcrMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/carousel.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Carousel” movie
soundtrack: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">10 emojis, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">16 bits of written conversation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Total score: 26. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(“Carousel”
beat out Bruce Springsteen?! <i>What</i>?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_oGDfJRbUAo/XrHDd_XKvUI/AAAAAAAACRk/w7G1MBCNczYpLEZretlVAXko8Y6TFfhHACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/neil%2Byoung%2Bharvest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="989" data-original-width="1000" height="197" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_oGDfJRbUAo/XrHDd_XKvUI/AAAAAAAACRk/w7G1MBCNczYpLEZretlVAXko8Y6TFfhHACLcBGAsYHQ/s200/neil%2Byoung%2Bharvest.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Neil Young, “Harvest”:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">20 emojis, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">12 bits of written </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">conversation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Total score: 32.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oJo6QdselOw/XrHCM-wDR5I/AAAAAAAACRc/IwJxipmE0csopNgXZ7X8kvgbbUQA5Qd7wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/judy%2Bcollins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="303" data-original-width="300" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oJo6QdselOw/XrHCM-wDR5I/AAAAAAAACRc/IwJxipmE0csopNgXZ7X8kvgbbUQA5Qd7wCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/judy%2Bcollins.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">1.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Judy Collins, “In My
Life”: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">16 emojis, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">20 bits of written conversation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Total score: 36.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I wondered if responses
may have been influenced by the order in which I posted the covers. Could
people have developed “album cover fatigue”? I don’t think so. The reactions
seem random. The order, with scoring, was: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Day
1. Beatles (score 15)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Day
2. Pink Floyd (score 19)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Day
3. Gershwin (score 15)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Day
4. Judy Collins (score 36)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Day
5. Carousel (score 26)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Day
6. Neil (score 32)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Day
7. Brahms (score 8)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Day
8. Steve Riley (score 10)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Day
9. Bruce (score 13)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Day
10. Melanie (score 15)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was a fun
exercise rummaging through file cabinets in my noggin. The effort has enriched my constant brain sound track with cherished old tunes
I hadn’t thought of in years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I challenged a young friend named Max Metscher to post his favorite albums on Facebook. Like Michael's list, his included some I've never listened to - Prime Prine, Bright Eyes, Black Sheep Boy, Townes Van Zandt, and The Strokes. It was fun to respond to Max's list, and to Michael's. They commented on my choices, as well. Music brings us all together.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss_1"><i>Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, Calling All Horses, </i>and <i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee</i></a>, all available on Amazon.com. Portions of book sale profits are shared with local charities.</span></div>
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Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-86586986812167731112020-04-30T17:44:00.001-07:002020-05-11T14:32:40.836-07:00Share your COVID BIG history!!<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tu_AXglwfvM/XqtjIHR8UPI/AAAAAAAACRM/FTwPtWsOj3MiRu-yOe4Uv9Ah3OwchGYrACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/rachel%2Bcovid%2Bproject.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tu_AXglwfvM/XqtjIHR8UPI/AAAAAAAACRM/FTwPtWsOj3MiRu-yOe4Uv9Ah3OwchGYrACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/rachel%2Bcovid%2Bproject.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">During the COVID-19
pandemic, there’s a unique way we can be helpful: your state's historical society
could be seeking your thoughts. Mine is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">On April 2, 2020, the Wisconsin
Historical Society launched its COVID-19 journal project. They’re asking us to
record our thoughts and experiences during the pandemic. I intend to be a part of this effort.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Historical Society requests 30-, 60-,
or 90-day journals in whatever format works best for us – writing on paper, using a digital format, even through art, video or audio blogs - anything you wish. This is
an open call to residents of any of Wisconsin’s 72 counties as well as former
residents now living in other states during the pandemic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Why, you might wonder,
would a state organization care about the thoughts of a resident? The answer is
easy: ordinary people are <i>original source material</i> for present and
future historians. We are not newspapers, official records or indexes. We’re
the real thing, living through real history unlike any we’ve experienced.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Here’s a great example of
how diaries helped record history, from the Wisconsin Historical Society
website: </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In 1861, Wisconsin
Historical Society founder Lyman Draper asked soldiers stationed at Camp
Randall in Madison, Wisconsin to help document the Civil War by keeping a
diary. After the war, those diaries were mailed back to the Society, where
today they are regarded as one of the most valuable collections in the
Society’s archives.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="border: 1pt none; color: #333333; padding: 0in;">This simple act of recording
daily thoughts not only documented the events of the war but provided an
intimate and captivating window into the experience as it was happening</span></i><i>.</i><i>
Today, more than 150 years later, people from all over the world use these
journals to understand the impact of the Civil War on the local community, the
state, and the world.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">If we join the COVID journal project, students of history will take
lessons from our everyday experiences. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>They will want to know, for instance: </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>What was it like to
work from your home? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>How did you
homeschool your children (or not)? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> During quarantine, w</span></span>hat good and bad
effects did you observe in your family? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> W</span></span>hat happened to
you when you lost your job? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]-->What was it like
to work in health care, in the grocery store, or in another business that
stayed open? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]-->How did you adapt
your routine or your business to the pandemic? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Have you used
your ingenuity to create an innovation during this time?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; text-indent: -0.25in;">- Have you been moved to help others? How?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; text-indent: -0.25in;">- Has the "shelter at home" mandate allowed you to take a step back and reconsider and change aspects of your life?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Wisconsin Historical
Society Director and CEO, Christian Overland, was quoted in the <i>Milwaukee
Journal Sentinel</i> as saying, “This is the part of the history that
disappears. Capturing it now is important.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Here is the <a href="https://wisconsinhistory.org/BIGHistoryIsHappening">link</a> to the project.</b><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>It
takes one minute to sign up, and the Historical Society provides guidance and prompts. My friend Rachel Theresa is part of the project - that's her photo at the top of this post. (I joined too, but Rachel is cuter.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I agree with Mr. Overland.
BIG history is happening now. As I said to my daughter the other day, “Things
will not be the same after this. Your son won’t know the difference, but some
day you’ll tell him how things used to be <i>before</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background: white; border: 1pt none; color: #333333; padding: 0in;"><b>Who should consider joining the COVID-19
Journal Project? </b>According to the Historical Society web page, “Every story is
important</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333;">.</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333;"> The Society is seeking individuals and
organizations from all walks of life, different backgrounds and cultures.
Perspectives from a retired couple or school-aged child are just as important
as those from front-line health care workers. Teachers or supervisors could
also make this an engaging group project!”<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>How do you
record a journal?</b> <i>Simply</i>. Just tell what you do and what you think and
feel each day. One day’s record could be one paragraph. Over time, your record will show how the pandemic has affected your family, your life, and your
perspective of the world. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333;"><b>The
Historical Society is not looking for any “big conclusions,”</b> but rather the
small bits of everyday life.</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333;"> </span><span style="background: white; color: #333333;">Your thoughts are gold! Now is your time to gather
them and share them. You’ll be genuinely useful to others – and you’ll have a
wonderful record for yourself.</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss_1"><i>Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, Calling All Horses, </i>and </a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss_1" style="font-style: italic;">Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee,</a> all available from Amazon.com<i>. </i>Proceeds from book sales are shared with local charities.</span></span></span></div>
<br />Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-8491394048080292952020-04-17T13:17:00.001-07:002020-04-17T13:20:55.951-07:00Making the most of lines and circles<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--PAEV_HEwTQ/Xo9zTUbHpdI/AAAAAAAACOA/IVY7CllrfTwM4JWZ_kqj676m_VLxSqxHACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Max%2Band%2Bdrawing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="682" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--PAEV_HEwTQ/Xo9zTUbHpdI/AAAAAAAACOA/IVY7CllrfTwM4JWZ_kqj676m_VLxSqxHACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Max%2Band%2Bdrawing.jpg" width="454" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The young have much to teach the old. My three-and-a-half-year-old grandson, Max, has proved that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I never expected to learn lessons from this small person who lives with me. Maybe, because we're in the thick of COVID-19 isolation, I'm alert for hidden meanings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here's the latest example. Max has been drawing for about a year, and he's really taken to it. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">To hold a pencil, he needs his thumb and three fingers. His grip is weak. He aims from above, almost hovering his hand above the pencil, so the image he creates looks as if it's falling from the pencil rather than being pressed onto the page. Surprisingly, he's never expressed frustration with this difficult process.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">At first, he scribbled. Then, very slowly, he worked on making circles. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Eventually he mastered a wobbly circle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">With more practice, he drew a wavy line.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">That's it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Circles and lines are all Max can draw. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">For the past six months, he has played with those two shapes. The more he played, the more he created. The more he created, the more elaborate his titles for those creations. Some drawings held whole stories. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Max's works fill him with glee. As soon as he finishes one, he shouts, "</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Look</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">!</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I look; he explains; I label the drawings at his direction. I had to watch</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> him toil over a bunch of pictures before the lessons emerged. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">His first opus was a jellyfish. </span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x-vjpZ5PU6s/Xpn8TxVogFI/AAAAAAAACPs/_NuW2wbPq9I5Twbxz_pb-YB0K6jqizswwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/max%2Bjellyfish%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="466" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x-vjpZ5PU6s/Xpn8TxVogFI/AAAAAAAACPs/_NuW2wbPq9I5Twbxz_pb-YB0K6jqizswwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/max%2Bjellyfish%2B1.jpg" width="153" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Next came the moon walking.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FMvz3AHM5Lc/XpoBzJeBAwI/AAAAAAAACQA/8uVYQut_Z-Qjhd9VeCLu5lzs4QhD-4hjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/max%2Bdrawing%2Bof%2Bmemere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="466" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FMvz3AHM5Lc/XpoBzJeBAwI/AAAAAAAACQA/8uVYQut_Z-Qjhd9VeCLu5lzs4QhD-4hjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/max%2Bdrawing%2Bof%2Bmemere.jpg" width="155" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">He has drawn me. And he has drawn a monster, which looks amazingly like me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">He drew illustrations for the nursery rhyme "There was a crooked man."</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1mvndY1gS6c/XpoDFIMDTsI/AAAAAAAACQM/VwsXMc24iuAn4XzGVOkS3fH8KLT5nvqZgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/max%2Bcrooked%2Bman%2Bdrawings%2B7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="730" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1mvndY1gS6c/XpoDFIMDTsI/AAAAAAAACQM/VwsXMc24iuAn4XzGVOkS3fH8KLT5nvqZgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/max%2Bcrooked%2Bman%2Bdrawings%2B7.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Look! A snake</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P2GavlvdNMI/XpoDeUUzmfI/AAAAAAAACQY/SdH_FA1UepkX8RqWL9eyel6K45QJeAHYgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/max%2Bsnake%2B5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="628" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P2GavlvdNMI/XpoDeUUzmfI/AAAAAAAACQY/SdH_FA1UepkX8RqWL9eyel6K45QJeAHYgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/max%2Bsnake%2B5.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">and an astronaut</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dw_HJc4VmDw/XpoDrDqfzYI/AAAAAAAACQc/_MUtdkV7w48yPMxZKlVvBLt-Eg2kNj3TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/max%2Bastronaut%2B10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="502" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dw_HJc4VmDw/XpoDrDqfzYI/AAAAAAAACQc/_MUtdkV7w48yPMxZKlVvBLt-Eg2kNj3TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/max%2Bastronaut%2B10.jpg" width="167" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Look! a robot</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ly7tyRnYXok/XpoD1Htb4zI/AAAAAAAACQk/HVGwXJCORCg0voNg_Ufhy_rb51X0-kdJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/max%2Brobot%2B12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="700" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ly7tyRnYXok/XpoD1Htb4zI/AAAAAAAACQk/HVGwXJCORCg0voNg_Ufhy_rb51X0-kdJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/max%2Brobot%2B12.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">and lightning bolts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">. . . and there's much more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">So what are the lessons here? All kids go through the circle-and-sticks stage, I know. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">But I see something important here, something Max is teaching me through his labor and glee:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. Don't get frustrated when things get hard; keep trying. Push past difficulties to find what's on the other side.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">2.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Make the most of what you've got. Combine or rearrange what you have in new, interesting ways.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. Use your imagination; you can do amazing things using your minor talents and small tool supply.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. Call it playing. Have fun with it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">People are applying these same ideas today to cope with the COVID quarantine. I've seen incredibly </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">creative face masks, for instance, made of old socks, a baby's onesie, a bra, a handkerchief and hair bands, and more. By the many pictures posted on Facebook, I'd say folks had fun doing these projects. Then they had the added joy of donating the masks and knowing they might help save lives.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Another example of using a small tool kit and imagination: a</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> family near me set up a free food pantry in their front yard, inspired by neighborhood little free libraries. "Give what you can and take what you need" is working for this pantry. The family sanitizes everything, and they're having a ball doing good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">If we look around, I think we'll see many other examples of people using creativity to help themselves and others survive. In the process, no matter how meager their skills and tool supply, I'll bet they're having fun - maybe even glee, like Max.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Max would say "Look!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss"><i>Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, Calling All Horses, </i>and <i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee</i></a>, all available on Amazon.com. Author royalties are shared with local charities.</span><br />
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Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-42619343662079655622020-04-15T11:19:00.002-07:002020-04-30T17:45:23.250-07:00Jayber Crow: a book to lift you up<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ft8NWXIAbsM/Xpc_FoR49dI/AAAAAAAACPI/i84U3NtyNKUk2sQPmxamIF28gSFTxKWDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/jayber%2Bcrow%2Bcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="329" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ft8NWXIAbsM/Xpc_FoR49dI/AAAAAAAACPI/i84U3NtyNKUk2sQPmxamIF28gSFTxKWDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/jayber%2Bcrow%2Bcover.jpg" width="262" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Need a book that will inspire you? <i>Jayber
Crow</i> by Wendell Berry is made for COVID-19 days. In fact, it's a book for <i>all</i>
days, for those who seek to remain human. I’ve never read a novel like this one<i>.</i>
If you were to ask me what it’s about, I’d have to pause. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I could tell you it’s the story of Jayber
Crow, a man who lives in a small Kentucky town – and it is. But that would be a
shadow on a shadow of what it’s really about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I could tell you it’s a love story – and it
is. But that would give “love story” a more powerful new definition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I could tell you it’s a slow-moving book about
a slow-moving man during a slow period in the history of the United States –
and it is. But that would be only a hint on a hint.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I could tell you I couldn’t put the book down
in spite of its leisurely pace – and that would be true, but I couldn’t tell
you why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I could tell you the author weaves together thoughts
about life and love, death and grief, marriage and family – and he does. But <i>Jayber
Crow</i> doesn’t weigh heavy on your brain, like a tome on philosophy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Wendell Berry is an American writer, now 85
years old, who</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> lives and farms in Kentucky. Readers of <i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Mother Earth News</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">know him as a champion of organic gardening and respect for the Earth.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And he is so much more than that. He is a man
of faith, doubt, logic and humor. His writing is pure poetry that glides along
like butter, a pleasure to read. How about if I share some of my favorite
quotations? You’ll get an idea of why I love this book so much – and why I love
Wendell Berry and want to meet him. I'll add my thoughts below the selections, on the right.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">On grief:</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
“Another new thing that happened to me after I came back to Port William was
the feeling of loss. I began to live in my losses. . . . And like a shadow
within a shadow, the time before my time came to me. I was old enough by then
to know and believe that the old had once been young. . . . I knew I had come
there out of kindness, theirs and mine. The grief that came to me then was
nothing like the grief I had felt for myself alone, at the end of my stay in
Lexington. This grief had something in it of generosity, some nearness to joy.
In a strange way it added to me what I had lost.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> <i>I agree that there is joy in grief; </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>we are blessed
if </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">we have loved someone enough </i><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">to grieve.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>On loving the dead:</i>
“I saw that, for me, this country would always be populated with presences and
absences, presences of absences, the living and the dead. The world as it is
would always be a reminder of the world that was, and of the world that is to
come.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Presences of absences! </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>This is someone who
understands </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>loving the dead.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>On an uppity person:</i>
“She felt that the entire population of Hargrave had failed to recognize her
innate superiority. . . . She was in favor of perfection and hated everything
that was not perfect. . . .” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Heh. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>I have met this person.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>A character speaking after her husband
dies: “</i>There are leftovers. . . . There are things I
did or said that I wish I hadn’t, and things I didn’t do or say that I wish I
had. When he finally got free of his sickness and awful clumsiness there at the
last, I was glad, and yet I was sorry I was glad, and yet I miss him. . . .” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>How familiar is the happy/sad feeling </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>when a
suffering person </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>finally dies.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>On a soul entering heaven:</i>
“I thought an unimaginable thought of something I could almost imagine, of a
sound I could not imagine but could almost hear: the outcry when a soul shakes
off death at last and comes into Heaven. I don’t speak of this because I ‘know’
it. What I know is that shout of limitless joy, love unbound at last, our only
native tongue.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Love unbound </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>as our only native tongue. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Fabulous thought!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>On the Vietnam War:</i>
“We were, as we said again, making war in order to make peace. We were
destroying little towns in order to save them. We were killing children in
order that children might sleep peacefully in their beds without fear. We were
raping and plundering a foreign land (and our own) for the sake of ‘love of
country’ . . . . We had waded halfway across a bloody mire and could not get
out except by wading halfway again, either forward or back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>And so it goes, </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>to quote Kurt Vonnegut.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>On modern humans seeking “relaxation”:</i>
“On those weekends, the river is disquieted from morning to night by people
resting from their work. This resting involves traveling at great speed, first
on the road and then on the river. The people are in an emergency to relax.
They long for the peace and quiet of the great outdoors. Their eyes are hungry
for the scenes of nature. They go very fast in their boats. They stir the river
like a spoon in a cup of coffee. They play their radios loud enough to hear
above the noise of their motors. They look neither left nor right. They don’t
slow down for – or maybe even see – an old man in a rowboat. . . .”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Ha! </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>This reminds me of </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Wisconsin lakes during
the summer.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>On earth and heaven:</i>
“This is a book about Heaven. I know it now. It floats among us like a cloud
and is the realest thing we know and the least to be captured, the least to be
possessed by anybody for himself. It is like a grain of mustard seed, which you
cannot see among the crumbs of earth where it lies. It is like the reflection
of trees on the water.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Like Jack Kerouac: </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>heaven is here.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>On wanting Christ to come back to
earth to end the war:</i> “Why hasn’t He done it at any one of
a thousand good times between then and now? I knew the answer. I knew it a long
time before I could admit it, for all the suffering of the world is in it. He
didn’t, He hasn’t, because from the moment He did, He would be the absolute
tyrant of the world and we would be his slaves. Even those who hated Him and
hated one another and hated their own souls would have to believe in Him then. From
that moment the possibility that we might be bound to Him and He to us and us
to one another by love forever would be ended.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Bound by love </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>rather than by awe. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Yes!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>On how we experience Christ:</i>
“. . . He must . . . be present only in the ordinary miracle of the existence
of His creatures. Those who wish to see him must see Him in the poor, the
hungry, the hurt, the wordless creatures, the groaning and travailing beautiful
world.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>More echoes of Jack Kerouac.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thank you, Wendell Berry. Maybe I’ll meet you
some day . . . or at least send you a letter of gratitude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And THANK YOU to my daughter-in-law Katie Sue
Sweet for lending me this book!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OoCLEDkxSUs/XpdP4kRG8bI/AAAAAAAACPg/MyN2R9NmB2Q9feistFpl6DJEjLx64M-TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/wendell%2Bberry%2Bpoem%2B3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="492" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OoCLEDkxSUs/XpdP4kRG8bI/AAAAAAAACPg/MyN2R9NmB2Q9feistFpl6DJEjLx64M-TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/wendell%2Bberry%2Bpoem%2B3.jpg" width="492" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&ref=nb_sb_noss">Dog Woman,Don’t Worry Baby, Dessert First, Calling All Horses, and Young Voicesfrom Wild Milwaukee</a>,<span id="goog_517695953"></span> all available on Amazon.com. Author royalties are
shared with local charities.<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-73208307523434327782020-04-14T18:06:00.000-07:002020-04-15T08:20:32.517-07:00Bill Bryson's Thunderbolt: It's to LAUGH!<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e3lBfMVCOhc/XpZbcLiMPQI/AAAAAAAACO8/KU1ctYQq31AnzDx3UEEYSk3buMrX388swCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/thunderbolt%2Bkid%2Bcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="596" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e3lBfMVCOhc/XpZbcLiMPQI/AAAAAAAACO8/KU1ctYQq31AnzDx3UEEYSk3buMrX388swCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/thunderbolt%2Bkid%2Bcover.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">If humor is what you’re
pining for, I’ve got the remedy. I have never laughed so hard and so often
reading a book as when I read <i>The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid</i>
by Bill Bryson. His memories of growing up in the Midwest during the 1950s are gutsy
and irreverent, true to life but often exaggerated for comic effect. The memoir
is a reminder that things <i>really, really were</i> <i>REALLY</i> different back then.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In spite of Bryson’s often
raucous humor, the book left me feeling nostalgic about America’s Main Streets
of old. I felt more moved than when I read <i>Travels</i> <i>With Charley</i>, where
John Steinbeck recalls his trek around the United States, and laments the fact
that thanks to the rise of chain businesses, cities had lost their unique
flavors and come to blandly resemble each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Even if you aren’t a
midwestern baby boomer like me, I think you’ll find <i>Thunderbolt Kid</i>
hilarious. I’ll share some samples below. They’re a bit gross, but Bryson grew
up a boy, and boys are made of greasy grimy gopher guts, you know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">[After hitting his head on
a stone retaining wall] “When I stood up, I saw that everyone was staring at me
with a single rapt expression and inclined to give me some space. . . .
Naturally I couldn’t see what absorbed them, but I gather from later
descriptions that it looked as if I had a lawn sprinkler plugged into the top
of my head, spraying blood in all directions in a rather festive manner. . . .
I bounded home in three steps and stepped into the kitchen, fountaining
lavishly. . . .”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t know how they managed it, but the
people responsible for the 1950s made a world in which pretty much everything
was good for you. . . . X-rays were so benign that shoe stores installed
special machines that used them to measure foot sizes, sending penetrating rays
up through the soles of your feet and right out the top of your head. There
wasn’t a particle of tissue within you that wasn’t bathed in their magical
glow. No wonder you felt energized and ready for a new pair of Keds when you stepped
down.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Most things that were
supposed to be fun turned out not to be fun at all. Model making, for instance.
. . . when you got the kit home and opened the box the contents turned out to
be of a uniform leaden gray or olive green, consisting of perhaps sixty thousand
tiny parts, some no larger than a proton, all attached in some organic,
inseparable way to plastic stalks like swizzle sticks. The tubes of glue by contrast
were the size of large pastry tubes. No matter how gently you depressed them
they would blurp out a pint or so of a clear viscous goo whose one instinct was
to attach itself to some foreign object – a human finger, the living-room
drapes, the fur of a passing animal – and become an infinitely long string.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“I probably wouldn’t have
gone [to school] at all if it hadn’t been for mimeograph paper. Of all the
tragic losses since the 1950s, mimeograph paper may be the greatest. With its
rapturously fragrant, sweetly aromatic pale blue ink, mimeograph paper was
literally intoxicating. Two deep drafts of a freshly run-off mimeograph
worksheet and I would be the education system’s willing slave for up to seven
hours.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“[At the amusement park] Even
the bumper cars were insanely lively. . . . The worst outcome was to be caught
in a car that . . . <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>broke down
altogether because forty other drivers, many of them small children who had
never before had an opportunity to exact revenge on anything larger than a
nervous toad, would fly into you with unbridled joy from every possible angle. I
once saw a boy in a disabled car bale out while the ride was still running . .
. and stagger dazedly through the heavy traffic for the periphery. As he set
foot on the metal floor, more than two thousand crackling bluish strands of
electricity leaped onto him from every direction, lighting him up like a paper
lantern and turning him into a kind of living X-ray. You could see every bone
in his body and most of his larger organs. Miraculously he managed to sidestep
every car that came hurtling at him – and that was all of them, of course – and
collapsed on the stubbly grass outside, where he lay smoking lightly from the
top of his head and asked for someone to get word to his mom that he loved her.
But apart from a permanent ringing in his ears he suffered no major damage, though
the hands on his Zorro watch were forever frozen at ten after two.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">That last anecdote is
classic Bryson. He tells you a story that is mostly true (definitely true
to life), then draws the tale </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">out</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">to a logical, often exaggerated – and always funny
– conclusion. There’s a rhythm to his telling that I find irresistible: he opens a scene, builds to a climax, then ties everything up with a satisfying
coda.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">You could do worse than
enjoy a few laughs with Bill Bryson during this oh-so-strange COVID-19 time of
life.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">THANK YOU to the person who left the book in my Little Free Library!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss"><i>Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Calling All Horses, Dessert First, </i>and <i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee</i></a>, all available on Amazon.com. Book sale profits are shared with local charities.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-64615005141236917012020-01-16T14:47:00.000-08:002020-04-09T11:38:51.121-07:00Shuffle<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xznHSO3zkQs/XiDiA9mB3yI/AAAAAAAACME/MZeoc-oekoULO3BkZepu1jwBs5mTqpyBQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/gail%2Bshirley%2Band%2Bvi%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="461" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xznHSO3zkQs/XiDiA9mB3yI/AAAAAAAACME/MZeoc-oekoULO3BkZepu1jwBs5mTqpyBQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/gail%2Bshirley%2Band%2Bvi%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="458" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Before my mother became "Mum," she was Audrey, the country cousin on a farm in St. Michael's outside Kewaskum. Shirley was her city
cousin in Milwaukee. They resembled each other, petite girls bubbling
with laughter. Shirley and Audrey had no sisters and over their years of visits, they
became more than sisters, the best of pals. They made their fun outdoors, exploring
the barn, ice skating on the frozen river near the farm, or roller skating on sidewalks
in Milwaukee. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When they became older teenagers, their joy was the jitterbug. Dancing led to romance for both of them. Audrey was maid of honor when Shirley married Al.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-74FaEuABcRQ/XiDbmT2tpFI/AAAAAAAACKw/4co9l62mn8Mc_ruG2Van0b0INBm99friQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/mum%2Band%2Bshirley%2Bat%2Bshirley%2527s%2Bwedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="960" height="310" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-74FaEuABcRQ/XiDbmT2tpFI/AAAAAAAACKw/4co9l62mn8Mc_ruG2Van0b0INBm99friQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/mum%2Band%2Bshirley%2Bat%2Bshirley%2527s%2Bwedding.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shirley is the bride, center, and Mum is immediately to the right.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">A young lady named Vi married
Shirley’s brother Ray, and the small circle of cousins widened. Elegant, taller
than Shirley and Audrey, and quieter, Vi had a dry wit. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">She liked to laugh and she
fit right in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Audrey married Ted, and the circle expanded. Audrey became my mother, eventually known to my siblings and me as "Mum." Shirley and Vi became young mothers. Now they made their fun indoors, playing cards – Sheepshead and Skat,
Canasta and Bridge. The players around the tables shuffled every time someone
married. Game nights expanded to two tables holding Mum and Pop, Vi
and Ray, Shirley and Al, Mum’s brothers and their wives.
Someone was always saying “Let’s go. Shuffle,” and they got down to business.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-APVEXHuWpmM/XiDguCUE_VI/AAAAAAAACLw/dtd1Ox31l64i-RQnA5wXOmjxiimvRISVwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/shirley%252C%2Bvi%2Band%2Bmum%2Bas%2Byoung%2Bmothers%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="459" data-original-width="807" height="364" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-APVEXHuWpmM/XiDguCUE_VI/AAAAAAAACLw/dtd1Ox31l64i-RQnA5wXOmjxiimvRISVwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/shirley%252C%2Bvi%2Band%2Bmum%2Bas%2Byoung%2Bmothers%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vi, Shirley and Mum as young mothers</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Shirley and Vi may have
been in the family line of first cousins to my mother, but to us kids, they
were simply aunts (we called Shirley “Aunt Shirley” and Vi was simply “Vi;” I
never understood why). We saw them nearly as often as we saw our true aunts and
uncles. And we played with our second cousins nearly as often as we played with
our first cousins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Talk about a gang! It was
wild fun to be a kid in the Fifties. Ray and Vi had five kids. Shirley and Al
had nine who survived. I was the oldest of five, and we had eight first
cousins. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">All those kids were spaced in age like steps in a stairway and there
was someone for everyone (although my brother David complained that there was
no one exactly on his “step”). We played hard and loud, tearing around the
house. One uncle always shouted, “Go outside!” And we did – ice skating in
winter, playing flashlight tag in summer. If our parents hosted, we had an
extra treat before breakfast the next morning, when we snitched whatever chocolate-covered
peanut </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bridge mix we found left over on the tables. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">We were all city kids
growing up in Milwaukee except for Ray and Vi’s kids, who grew up in a farm
house in Menomonee Falls. We had great fun exploring their big old barn, a
world unto itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The card games continued
as we oldest kids grew through our teen years and into young adulthood. The
aunts and uncles always got down to business, with plenty of “Let’s go.
Shuffle.” I married and had two children, like most of my cousins and second
cousins. All the aunts and uncles gathered at weddings for dancing and –
sometimes – games of cards. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Then in 1978, the games were
fractured when my folks were killed in a car accident, Mum at age 48 and Pop at
51. The grief of my uncles and aunts was so tender, so palpable, that I can
feel it even now as I write this, 41 years later. It was like something had
been taken from their own bodies. Unspeakable. The accident shuffled the
players abruptly, and I know it took my aunts and uncles a long time to get
their bearings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The accident had an unexpected
effect on my card-playing life. Unlike my parents and aunts and uncles, I had
no “card sense” and didn’t love cards. I never did master Sheepshead or Skat or Bridge, where you have to pay attention to the cards that have been played – and
remember them. After my folks died, I took my two sons and visited my grandmother
every week. Grandma was grieving her daughter and I was grieving my mother; it
felt right to be together. When Grandma offered to teach me Canasta, I
reluctantly gave it a try and found that I liked playing cards after all. Once
in a while I had the bonus of seeing my 80-year-old grandmother giggle like a
school girl when she got all four red threes in Canasta. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When the boys got old
enough, Grandma and I played Crazy Eights with them. She too liked to get down
to business, and no one could shuffle like Grandma could. The boys and I
watched mesmerized as the cards made gentle “woosh” sounds in her
swiftly-moving hands. They still remember, even though those games ended in
1985 when Grandma died. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the 1990s, our family
began having summer reunion picnics and I discovered that my parents’ cousin card
games had survived even if Mum and Pop had not. I felt glad about that. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2wD2kd5Ubnw/XiDhKhu6bRI/AAAAAAAACL4/rRmgPWb9VxMUbRqbnaWL-wWriP1tuPNrQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/shirley%2Band%2Bvi%2Band%2Bjerry%2Bplaying%2Bcards%2Bat%2Breunion%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="682" height="424" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2wD2kd5Ubnw/XiDhKhu6bRI/AAAAAAAACL4/rRmgPWb9VxMUbRqbnaWL-wWriP1tuPNrQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/shirley%2Band%2Bvi%2Band%2Bjerry%2Bplaying%2Bcards%2Bat%2Breunion%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Uncle Jerry, Shirley and Vi playing cards at a reunion</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Our
reunions got smaller as the old folks died – the men first – causing a
continuous and gradual shuffling of the players at the table. As of a year ago,
the only ones left of that older generation were one “true” aunt plus Shirley
and Vi.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">As they grew into old age,
their friendship blossomed into a love far beyond being sisters-in-law. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rz664RxO7-E/XiDdkeVMMqI/AAAAAAAACLM/4URZoWvz3TkUEtbK9pooJJaSxM0yiRVKQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/shirley%2Band%2Bvi%2Bon%2Bour%2Bdeck%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="457" data-original-width="439" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rz664RxO7-E/XiDdkeVMMqI/AAAAAAAACLM/4URZoWvz3TkUEtbK9pooJJaSxM0yiRVKQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/shirley%2Band%2Bvi%2Bon%2Bour%2Bdeck%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="383" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Vi and Shirley on our deck at a family reunion</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I
didn’t see Shirley and Vi often, but they’d show up from time to time at
reunions, where they’d join whatever card game was going on. I still heard the
echo (now quieter) “Let’s go. Shuffle.” </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--UT48Wyf6fg/XiDexmL_YmI/AAAAAAAACLc/4twGeF1WKSMwdt0tjbuMyMTeRjgE1o-xgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/vi%2Bwith%2Bpatty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="960" height="310" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--UT48Wyf6fg/XiDexmL_YmI/AAAAAAAACLc/4twGeF1WKSMwdt0tjbuMyMTeRjgE1o-xgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/vi%2Bwith%2Bpatty.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This photo shows Vi's spirit.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VnSSEgxqazE/XiDfTtCwNJI/AAAAAAAACLk/M-CYRZ5fjlQDYeSlhaDsM-oJcdOu1JVLgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/shirley%2Bwith%2Bgrandchild%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="456" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VnSSEgxqazE/XiDfTtCwNJI/AAAAAAAACLk/M-CYRZ5fjlQDYeSlhaDsM-oJcdOu1JVLgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/shirley%2Bwith%2Bgrandchild%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="348" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This photo shows Shirley's spirit.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I visited with Shirley and Vi, it always
felt like putting on a comfortable pair of shoes. Shirley was still bubbly, Vi still
quieter, both always ready to laugh. When we talked, I felt wrapped in a cozy
shawl of love. I’m sure part of that shawl was the age-old love they had for my
parents and for the “old gang.” I was somehow part of the gang even though I had
never joined their games.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Around New Year’s this
year, Shirley and Vi both went into hospice. Shirley was 92 and Vi was 91. I
got to visit Vi on the last day she was able to speak normally. Despite not
feeling good, she still had that dry wit I loved. I got to tell her I loved
her. And she told me back. I called her “Aunt” for the first time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I didn’t get to visit Aunt
Shirley because, as her daughter told me later, Shirley was too occupied,
talking incessantly (maybe speaking to cousinly spirits waiting for her at the
heavenly card table). I didn’t get to tell Aunt Shirley that I loved her, but I
know she knew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Shirley died on January 5;
Vi died on January 6.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is how I imagine
their last conversation, spoken by their spirits who were already free of their
tired old bodies:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“So, do you think it’s
time to go?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Yeah, let’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Okay, you first.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“No, after you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Well sure, okay, see you
soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Yup, see you later. Let’s
go. Shuffle.”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">###</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Gail Grenier is the author of<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=gail+grenier&ref=nb_sb_noss"> <i>Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Calling All Horses, Dessert First, </i>and <i>Voices from Wild Milwaukee</i></a>, all available at Amazon.com.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-79519032705281422802018-12-14T14:17:00.000-08:002018-12-14T14:17:41.163-08:00Josie - a true friend<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GNrb-dKLvHg/XBQke0TWdEI/AAAAAAAACGE/ttr7mp1Nor4_Jv7ksDE4Y96iVG8w6DBzwCLcBGAs/s1600/josie%2Band%2Bgail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GNrb-dKLvHg/XBQke0TWdEI/AAAAAAAACGE/ttr7mp1Nor4_Jv7ksDE4Y96iVG8w6DBzwCLcBGAs/s640/josie%2Band%2Bgail.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></span><br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></span></span>
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">What makes a good friend? I’ve
been thinking about that since I lost my pal Josie Bochek. </span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">We buried her on December
1. In the days since then, I’ve come up with this true-friend list, all based
on Josie:</span></span></div>
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<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">(1)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Don’t be a yes-person.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">(2)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Laugh together.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">(3)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Make room for one more.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">(4)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Stay in touch.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">(5)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Celebrate often.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">(6)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Share your passion.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">(7)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Show your love.</span></span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Here are some of my memories of Josie's friendship, including a few photos that were on display at her funeral, followed by her grandson's beautiful eulogy. . . .</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Josie was my next-door
neighbor for a couple of years, and remained my friend for almost four decades.
I met her in 1979, less than a year after my mother died. Josie was about my
mother’s age, and I felt instantly at home with her. Like my mother, she grew
up on a farm. And like Mum, her feet were planted firmly in the earth. </span></span><br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sJcrGb49Tso/XBQnqBOzu_I/AAAAAAAACGg/K5OJk-szAccWsfJFHMbyUzynYmBvxyGKQCLcBGAs/s1600/josie%2Blast%2Bwords.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sJcrGb49Tso/XBQnqBOzu_I/AAAAAAAACGg/K5OJk-szAccWsfJFHMbyUzynYmBvxyGKQCLcBGAs/s640/josie%2Blast%2Bwords.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Josie wrote this in January of 2000, to be unveiled after her death: "My wishes for the future of the world are: The terrorists go home and bomb their own country. Door Co. stays a bit rural. Health for all the family. A return to the family as we knew it and fewer divorces. More people taking their wedding vows seriously." (The part about the terrorists gave me a much-needed laugh at the funeral when I was a mess of tears and snot.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<u><span style="color: #000120;"></span></u><br /></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I moved next door to Josie
on Ranch Road in Menomonee Falls, she walked over and introduced herself, then
apologized for her messy willow that dropped slender boughs and leaves on my
side yard. I laughed. When she saw that I couldn’t care less about willow schnibbles
on my grass, it was the beginning of our friendship. Ours was a simple friendship composed of simple things, like her offering me room on her wash line when mine got too full of diapers and I ran out of room for towels.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">We both lived in
three-bedroom ranches, but mine held only two adults, two little boys, and a
couple of cats. Josie’s house sheltered her, her husband Roger, Roger’s father
(for a time), and five sons who ranged from about age nine to young adults. One
daughter, Joanne, was married and lived in Sturgeon Bay. </span></span><br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OY4ZwUBdfxo/XBQme_p-p4I/AAAAAAAACGY/-bqJsQ2K32s_RaWT9LpUWKRw0zuhju1rgCLcBGAs/s1600/josie%2Bimmed.%2Bfamily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OY4ZwUBdfxo/XBQme_p-p4I/AAAAAAAACGY/-bqJsQ2K32s_RaWT9LpUWKRw0zuhju1rgCLcBGAs/s640/josie%2Bimmed.%2Bfamily.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">At Joanne's wedding, shortly before I met Josie and her family</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Josie and Roger were
Menomonee Falls residents, but their hearts remained in Door County, up north. They
kept a farm there and commuted most weekends. I was amazed at their lifestyle: working
in the city during the week, then on Fridays packing the kids in the station
wagon and driving three hours to Door County, where they pulled on their farming
shoes. I remember the year their crop was sunflowers; I'd never heard of such
a thing. I relished Josie’s description of acres and acres of yellow blooms. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Laugh together . . . and don’t be a
yes-person </span></span></i></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">She never tried to
“mother” me, any more than she mothered anyone else. I think, in fact, that she
treated everyone the same: with total, and hilarious, honesty. She had an
unfailing nonsense detector. If you told her about someone else’s nonsense,
she’d laugh <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with</i> you. If you spoke
nonsense yourself, she’d laugh <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">at</i> you.
She was a human equalizer. She’d add a one-liner (potent but never cruel), with
maybe an “aina?” or a “hey?” at the end. Her eyes would twinkle and you’d find
yourself agreeing with her and laughing at yourself.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Make room for
one more</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ThSJkCg9Yzw/XBQgcsCOl2I/AAAAAAAACFw/IHBZPIN1QDcGTXH4TJLecjB7EIK0phU7wCLcBGAs/s1600/josie%2Bskinny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; clear: left; color: #0066cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ThSJkCg9Yzw/XBQgcsCOl2I/AAAAAAAACFw/IHBZPIN1QDcGTXH4TJLecjB7EIK0phU7wCLcBGAs/s400/josie%2Bskinny.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="220" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 18.06px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Yup, she was skinny.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">A typical visit entailed first
stepping over a couple of bodies on the floor (boys watching television). I’d
say “Hi” to Grandpa who sat in an overstuffed chair, smoking a cigarette as always. A dog
might run through as I’d proceed to the kitchen table, where I’d be joined by
Josie and anyone else who happened by – other friends, her kids. There was
always room for one more. Josie would make tea for us and we’d talk for a while. She learned things about me and I learned things about her, like how she absolutely hated being so very skinny when she was growing up. She'd make a crack about not having to worry about that anymore and we'd both laugh. Very welcoming, yes. Chaotic, yes. And for me, who’d grown up with four
siblings, it all felt familiar and comforting.</span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0CIH-BqyaLo/XBQpG8pq0oI/AAAAAAAACGs/SWFJbr7rnyAeugNwyyjr_NzK2Cvl3E_LgCLcBGAs/s1600/josie%2Bmarriage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0CIH-BqyaLo/XBQpG8pq0oI/AAAAAAAACGs/SWFJbr7rnyAeugNwyyjr_NzK2Cvl3E_LgCLcBGAs/s640/josie%2Bmarriage.jpg" width="352" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Teenaged bride</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Show your
love</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mike and I eventually bought a little farm a short distance from Ranch Road. When we were packing to
move there, Josie came over to visit. She held me and cried. I said, “Josie, we’ll
only be four miles away!”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Eventually, Mike and I raised chickens. We were at a loss about how to butcher them. I knew who to ask. Josie gamely came over and walked Mike through the gruesome task.</span></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Stay in touch
. . . and share your passion</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">We both made the effort to
stay in touch. She’d gather her grandchildren and I’d gather my children and we’d
share a picnic at Village Park. She and Roger eventually sold the Menomonee
Falls house and moved permanently back to the farm. She always invited us to
the Valmy Thresheree, which she loved, and finally one year we attended. We
loved it too. It’s a celebration of old farm ways through exhibits and demonstrations of antique
implements and tractors. Both Josie and Roger volunteered at the Thresheree for
years. Because of them, the Door County we came to know is a rural place far
removed from the tourist destination known by thousands of summer visitors.
Also because of Josie, I went to my first polka Mass.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Celebrate
often</span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">She’d host big parties in
Door County, and we’d drive up and join in. She loved to celebrate birthdays
and anniversaries and went big, renting a hall, hiring a live bluegrass band –
I think she just loved to see all her people together having fun. My son likes
to quote Dave Berry who says, “There comes a time when you should stop
expecting other people to make a big deal about your birthday. That time is:
age 11.” Well, maybe we don’t need to get excited . . . but like Josie, l’ll
take any excuse to get together and have fun! </span></span><br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SkAMwdiTCLg/XBQjYKYT7LI/AAAAAAAACF8/QmTPE7Za3r4cV8kbBaEVgehv3PoUC3kwQCLcBGAs/s1600/josie%2Band%2Broger%2B65th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="620" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SkAMwdiTCLg/XBQjYKYT7LI/AAAAAAAACF8/QmTPE7Za3r4cV8kbBaEVgehv3PoUC3kwQCLcBGAs/s640/josie%2Band%2Broger%2B65th.jpg" width="411" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Josie and Roger at their 65th anniversary party</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">She sent me real letters
on real paper from time to time. In one she sent a year or two ago, she related
the story about working in her garden, then falling and not being able to get
up again. That was alarming, and the start of my realizing she was getting old –
a foreign concept when it came to Josie.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Josie’s death at 84 years
old came as a shock to me, and to her family. She baked a bunch of pies for
Thanksgiving, took ill with an infection on Friday, and was gone by Monday. The
funeral was a gathering of laughter, stories and tears. I can’t imagine the
pain for Roger, after 66 years with his Josie. Everyone else seemed devastated
too. At the gravesite, one great-granddaughter stood next to Roger, who sat
hunched in his wheelchair. The great-granddaughter leaned her head against
Roger’s shoulder and stroked his back with her small hand. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The name of the
great-granddaughter is Josie.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Long may she laugh.</span></span><br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0JpgVFKpig4/XBQk6b7xI0I/AAAAAAAACGM/_b0Fd6LMWyooXaw_4SNEig0myCaSqWnAwCLcBGAs/s1600/josie%2Bsilly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0JpgVFKpig4/XBQk6b7xI0I/AAAAAAAACGM/_b0Fd6LMWyooXaw_4SNEig0myCaSqWnAwCLcBGAs/s640/josie%2Bsilly.jpg" width="352" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Josie the Silly</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></span></span>
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">For Josie </span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By Gail, </span>o<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">n the occasion of Josie’s 70<sup>th</sup>
birthday </span></span></span></i></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">How do I love thee?<br />
Let me count the ways...<br />
<br />
I love thee when I eateth at thy table,<br />
(However, I much prefereth the olden days</span><span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><br />
</span><span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">Before
thou did starteth paying so much attention<br />
to fats, calories and cholesterol.) <br />
<br />
I love thee when I laugheth with thee,<br />
Thou dost always have the sassiest humor I know<br />
And thou still surpriseth me with thy wry comments...<br />
No one is safe (not even thou nor I) when thy eyes twinkleth <br />
And thy mouth maketh a comment followed by ‘ain’t it.’ <br />
<br />
I love thee when I watcheth thy birds with thee — <br />
Thou art the only one I know who stretcheth a line <br />
Just for a perch for thy little winged friends. <br />
<br />
I love thee when I visiteth the threshing grounds,<br />
Or when I listeneth to northwoods bluegrass music with thee<br />
I loveth the way old times do fare golden in thy heart. <br />
<br />
I love thee when thou sitteth amongst thy family,<br />
Always one to laugheth and teaseth, <br />
And I see thy humor multiplied in the family thou madest <br />
With thy darling Roger (also known as ‘Father’). <br />
<br />
How can it be, my lovely friend,<br />
That thou marketh seventy years?<br />
All I can say<br />
Is that I love thee more <br />
With every wrinkle and every year.</span></span></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Eulogy for
Josie</span></span></i><br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">
</span></span>
<div align="center" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">By her
grandson Patrick Surfus,</span></span></i></span></span></div>
</div>
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">
</span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">and read at her funeral Mass</span></span></i></div>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Grandma Josie
was born in 1934 to Stanley and Doris Duncan in Webb Lake, WI. Anyone who
received a Christmas card from Roger and Josie Bochek would have noticed her
impeccable penmanship. At a young age, Josie wrote and read correspondence for
her bedridden, blind grandmother. While caring for her, Josie taught herself to
play the piano. As long as I can remember, there was and still is an organ in
the living room at Grandma and Grandpa’s.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The farm was not doing well in Webb
Lake. Josie’s aunt had found work at Martin Orchard in Door County. The farm
was sold and the family moved to another small farm in Egg Harbor. This series
of events is what brought Roger and Josie together. In 1953, Josie graduated from
Sevastopol High School and she married Roger that summer. </span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">One of my earliest
memories of Grandma Josie was riding in the back of the green Ford pickup after
visiting Toys R Us. She had just bought me a new toy and told me I’d better
take care of it and thank Grandpa because he works hard for the family money.
However the truth is, now that I’m older, I know she worked just as hard. Grandma
raised six children and cared for Great Grandpa Rudolf in a three-bedroom home
in Menomonee Falls. Weekends were not for enjoying a getaway in beautiful Door
County like the rest of the traffic heading north; they were for running the
family farm. Grandma could drive stick shift, run a hay baler, and back up a
trailer as if it was second nature. Packing up six kids, driving from Milwaukee
to Valmy, and cramming a weeks’ worth of fieldwork into a weekend probably made
Monday morning look like a vacation. </span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Grandma Josie
maintained three large gardens between two homes, and was rightfully proud of
them. Endless canning and freezing from mid-summer through fall ensured the
family would be affordably fed for another year. Grandma was the embodiment of
homemaker, and made cooking look effortless. After a day of housework, helping
in the fields, or tending the gardens, somehow when everyone came in, supper
was on the table – every time. How it happened is still a mystery to me.
Grandma made sure everyone around her was well fed. Obviously, it shows.
Grandma, much like the rest of the family, had an acute sweet tooth. Dessert
was usually on the menu as well. She may have received national accolades for
her cherry pie, but there are a handful of people in this room that will always
remember her peach pie baked in a cast iron skillet. She made it only once or
twice a year when the peaches were just right. </span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Family was
everything to Grandma and you could tell her anything. She was a great listener
and for many years re-utilized her childhood scribe work, acting as a megaphone
for Grandpa’s failed hearing. I do not have memories of long stories from Grandma.
Usually when she spoke, it was short and to the point. She would tell you her
quips were not rude, just honest observations - and no one was spared. I recall
passing two gas stations across the street from each other; one had gas three
cents higher. Grandma simply uttered, “Look at that crook.” When we ran out of
pre-made pizzas at the brewery, she introduced herself to our manager with “Do
you know my grandson owns this place?” She got her pizza. Grandma always got
what she wanted because with all that she gave, who would dare not commit to
her wishes? </span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Inevitably, time
passes and people slow down. What were once essential traditions give way to
new ones as families grow larger and farther apart. The dinners and gatherings
become less frequent, smaller, or moved to different places with new and added
faces. The fields found new tenants to till the soil. The reality of life on
the family farm with third and fourth generations forging different paths
begins to sink in. The machines grew quiet and the gardens got smaller. Even
though the stove was not on as often as it was accustomed to, the liveliness of
the gatherings continued as Josie watched the next generation running around
the dining room table. Grandma took great joy in watching her ten great
grandchildren bring new life to the party. I swear they literally made her eyes
twinkle. Today we celebrate her life, her giving, and her story. Grandma Josie
would want us to eat, drink, and be merry in her honor. </span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some things never
change. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span><span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gail Grenier
is the author of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">D<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=gail+grenier+books&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Agail+grenier+books">og Woman, Don’t Worry
Baby, Dessert First, Calling All Horses, </a></i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=gail+grenier+books&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Agail+grenier+books">and<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee</i>,</a> all available on Amazon.com.</span></span></div>
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Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-37445778518610232202018-09-20T14:58:00.001-07:002018-09-21T14:36:55.869-07:00Why go to your 50th high school class reunion?<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">There's an old joke that goes something like this: You go to your 10th high school class reunion to see who's looking good, to your 30th to see who's doing well, and to your 50th to see who's still alive.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I just experienced my 50th high school class reunion, and that old joke isn't far from the truth.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Ann, me, Elyce (behind); Nancy and Ted (sitting) </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">That's the smile saying I'M ALIVE! on Nancy's face.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">One of my homeroom buddies, Nancy, didn't make it to the reunion because she's recuperating at home after experiencing a brain aneurysm about a month ago. A small group of us visited her on the morning of the reunion (photo above). At our request, Nancy recorded a video greeting for her fellow grads who'd gather that evening. She held the camera up to her face and said, "Hi. This is Nancy. I wish I were there with you; unfortunately I'm not. The good news is I'm still alive, so have a great time." Every time she smiled, her face brightened with a light I've never seen on anyone. I think the smile said "I'm alive!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The path to our reunion started two years ago when a classmate, Ted, set up the <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Brookfield Central (Wisconsin) Class of '68 </span>Facebook page. Called BCHS Lancers of '68 +/-, it's not only for those of us from the Class of '68, but for graduates of other Central classes who might like to hop on. That page has about 224 members. A special in memoriam page has grown to about 800 members, including graduates from the first class in 1955 and including alumni from recent years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Ted, a retired newspaperman and still an intrepid reporter and digger of facts, found all but 20 of our living classmates. </span>He enlisted classmates Ann and Elyce to help interview grads for birthday biographies. They became the "birthday brigade" and interviewed alums by email and phone. They asked questions you'd expect (about education, occupations, special people, special interests), plus one you might not anticipate: "What is your philosophy of life?" That last question is my favorite. I love to see what people have gleaned from life after 50 years. It's been a delight to find the adage true: with age comes wisdom, hard-won in many cases. And to my delight, some people I remember as the flightiest kids have grown into mature adults with a wonderful sense of their place in the world, a lovely sense of beauty and spirit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">From Ted's Facebook site grew a monthly <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">local </span>lunch gathering. Five or ten of us got together the last Saturday of most months just to talk. Eventually, <i>lazily</i>, ideas emerged for a reunion. When it became obvious that no one wanted to attend serious planning meetings, a leader arose: Jan. She said she'd do the work of organizing as long as she could be the sole decider. The group said both aye! and YAY! to that idea. Jan became our empress, or as she prefers to be known, our queen. She did most of the organizing, with just a bit of assistance from the rest of the local lunch group, plus Ted online from California.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Our reunion began Friday afternoon with a tour of our school, led by its current principal. Much has changed, including the addition of a gym and fitness center, a theater, and an industrial arts center that includes 3-D printers (!). However, to our dismay, our beautiful front lawn has been replaced by a parking lot. In our day, no one was allowed to bring a vehicle to school - we walked or traveled by school bus. Nowadays, kids drive to school. We ruefully reminisced about mellow lunch period gatherings on the front lawn during the first warm days of spring . . . and our misty camp-out on that same front lawn the night before graduation.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FdoVxHdJnpo/W6QrA1-O3UI/AAAAAAAACFQ/FBULYb9LyFA_FkuQ_fJcJS4dhpi5IZAMgCLcBGAs/s1600/bchs%2Bcamp%2Bout.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="640" height="436" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FdoVxHdJnpo/W6QrA1-O3UI/AAAAAAAACFQ/FBULYb9LyFA_FkuQ_fJcJS4dhpi5IZAMgCLcBGAs/s640/bchs%2Bcamp%2Bout.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The campsite on the BCHS front lawn the day after our 1968 graduation</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q1uhxwpLpu4/W6QrUl0UwSI/AAAAAAAACFY/iKvEChIJISoHYjpJEnBczIaCez_4BPY8ACLcBGAs/s1600/bchs%2Bgrad%2Bbull.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="745" data-original-width="1280" height="372" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q1uhxwpLpu4/W6QrUl0UwSI/AAAAAAAACFY/iKvEChIJISoHYjpJEnBczIaCez_4BPY8ACLcBGAs/s640/bchs%2Bgrad%2Bbull.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The bull (or the big cow, as we called it) imported by some wags in our class as part of our graduation camp-out. I'm sure the wags returned the bull to its rightful restaurant home.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M16NvvoG-1Q/W6Q9T92pqPI/AAAAAAAACFk/hRZ8F0mt650s3kI90C_o03L5n8Gv934dACLcBGAs/s1600/bchs%2Bold%2Bportrait%2Bwith%2Blawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M16NvvoG-1Q/W6Q9T92pqPI/AAAAAAAACFk/hRZ8F0mt650s3kI90C_o03L5n8Gv934dACLcBGAs/s640/bchs%2Bold%2Bportrait%2Bwith%2Blawn.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">How our school looked with the front lawn</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r75FViiFp1s/W6QAbNpFthI/AAAAAAAACEQ/ZEDZOwqrc90U2wODg0gneimmAHviDZXKQCLcBGAs/s1600/bchs%2Bgroup%2Bshot%2Bin%2Bgym.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="379" data-original-width="960" height="252" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r75FViiFp1s/W6QAbNpFthI/AAAAAAAACEQ/ZEDZOwqrc90U2wODg0gneimmAHviDZXKQCLcBGAs/s640/bchs%2Bgroup%2Bshot%2Bin%2Bgym.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Classmates, friends and spouses in the new theater during our school tour</span></td></tr>
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About 100 people attended the reunion events Friday and Saturday. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Of a class of 363, a</span>t least 65 were members of the Class of '68, the rest spouses or friends or grads from other years. </div>
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At the reunion, people thanked Ted for creating the Facebook site. They said things like:</div>
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- "The class site seems to erase the cliques."</div>
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- "Our class seems united more than it ever has been."</div>
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- "I've found a whole bunch of new friends."<br />
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What I've noticed is the tremendous support extended through the site for members suffering from ill health or grief after the death of a loved one. You don't get to be a survivor without facing a lot of sadness along the way. And someone the same age has the power and experience to extend a big basket of compassion.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s8ZGW_1QLF0/W6QIE7-P-UI/AAAAAAAACEc/LSfn1s1rUc0VKCB8-BNPNK1q6Nq98qpPwCLcBGAs/s1600/bchs%2Bsjv%2Bgroup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s8ZGW_1QLF0/W6QIE7-P-UI/AAAAAAAACEc/LSfn1s1rUc0VKCB8-BNPNK1q6Nq98qpPwCLcBGAs/s640/bchs%2Bsjv%2Bgroup.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A big reunion is a chance for mini-reunions . . . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Here are classmates who went together to St. John Vianney grade school.</span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yCPc3ALJ5eA/W6QRf4JeLjI/AAAAAAAACFE/9A2qnU5sIbgM5uPbsCZfScDZb00wkMdqwCLcBGAs/s1600/bchs%2Bbk%2B4%2Bgang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="960" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yCPc3ALJ5eA/W6QRf4JeLjI/AAAAAAAACFE/9A2qnU5sIbgM5uPbsCZfScDZb00wkMdqwCLcBGAs/s640/bchs%2Bbk%2B4%2Bgang.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Another mini-reunion: classmates who attended Brookfield Elementary School #4</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Another mini-reunion: the wrestling team and pals, who </span><span style="font-size: small;">met Saturday afternoon. </span><span style="font-size: small;">Rumor has it that tall tales were told, especially by the ex-cop. </span><span style="font-size: small;">Despite their good humor and great looks, </span><span style="font-size: small;">a few of these guys didn't attend the evening festivities.</span></div>
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Jan created a beautiful video commemorating the lives of our teachers who have died as well as our 52 classmates who are no longer with us. While yearbook pictures of the deceased scrolled by on the screen, including sometimes shockingly early dates of death, the song "For Good" from the play "Wicked" played in the background. I've never seen "Wicked," but the lyrics were beautiful, including "Because I knew you, I have been changed for good."<br />
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I looked up the "For Good" lyrics online and found that they mention forgiveness. I think forgiveness is often part of a reunion - our own forgiveness for wrongs done to us and perhaps asking forgiveness for wrongs we've done to others. In my own case, my old boyfriend and I forgave each other at a long-ago reunion for the hurts we'd inflicted on each other. Maybe that seems like a little thing, but it was big to us.</div>
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Brookfield Central was like many other high schools, I think, with plenty of cliques and mean kids. So why would anyone want to go to a reunion? Ted addressed this question on the Facebook site a month ago. Because he wrote it so perfectly, I'll take the liberty of quoting him directly here: </div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>TWO NANCYS AND A JOANN: <br /><br />A message to my classmates.<br /><br />By Ted Vollmer<br /><br /> In a month, many of us will gather for our 50th year as graduates. The 363 of us handed our diplomas not really so long ago are, in a way, the only ones like us in the world: The Brookfield Central Class of ’68.<br /><br /> Three classmates who wanted to attend won’t be there. I’ll refer to them simply as Two Nancys and a JoAnn.<br /><br /> Nancy Grettenberg Buhr recently suffered a brain aneurysm, underwent surgery and as I write this is feeling much better, but still will be undergoing therapy for some time. Last year she tumbled down stairs and suffered multiple fractures and a concussion. She told us a few months ago that she had recovered enough to see us at the reunion. Sadly, she won’t make it.<br /><br /> Not long after Nancy Buhr’s fall, Nancy Busche DiFelice suffered a debilitating stroke, just 10 days after her birthday in 2017. She told us on her birthday last year that she hoped to attend the reunion. A couple weeks ago she let us know that not only the stroke, but also chemotherapy treatments, will keep her in North Carolina next month. It’s Nancy’s birthday today, and if you haven’t already, you might wish to send her greetings on today’s update.<br /><br /> JoAnn Papenfuss Kuster of Tempe, Arizona had attended several reunions and was planning to attend this one with childhood friends Nanette Curler and Karen Hoffman who she first met at Brookfield Elementary School. After locating Joann for this group, we exchanged e-mails and even some class photos from our friendship, dating back to when we entered kindergarten. JoAnn will not be attending our reunion. She passed away July 20 from cancer.<br /><br /> There are, of course, many others who won’t be there. Fifty-two classmates, including JoAnn, have passed away.<br /><br /> Other classmates, I’ve learned, won’t attend because of some, or all, of the following reasons:<br /><br />Reason #1: Lingering bad memories from high school. Either they weren’t accepted, were shunned altogether, were bullied or subjected to name calling and ridicule. Or, they despised what they saw were an abundance of cliques based on artificial socio-economic, geographic or appearance criteria.<br /><br />Reason #2: They tested those bad memories at an early reunion, and felt they witnessed some of the same cliques form, felt that once again that no one seemed to care if they were there. In so many words, they say they have no intention of being “insulted” again.<br /><br />Reason #3: Due to today’s often divisive political climate, they fear that this reunion might degenerate into ugly debates.<br /><br />Reason #4: Health and/or financial difficulties.<br /><br /> We can’t turn back the clock on Reason #1, or by extension, Reason #2. I will, however, share that I’ve learned that some who treated people poorly back then deeply regret doing so. They’re even ashamed enough that they feel they might not be welcome at the reunion if they come. It was interesting to learn that such lingering feelings went both ways. I hope that people can wipe the slate clean next month. At the very least, I hope that everyone at least tries to reach out for a moment to EVERYONE else who comes. We were kids then. Now we’re approaching 70. There will be no better time to set things right.<br /><br />Reason #3: Politics. I, for one, have absolutely no intention of engaging in political discussions during our reunion. Although it’s an election year, there's too little time to see too many people. By definition, a reunion is intended to reunite us, not divide us. I urge everyone to leave their political views at the door. Jan’s even considering installing a sign at the entrance urging exactly that.<br /><br />Reason #4: Health or financial difficulties. I have no response to those reasons other than to express my sincere hope that all will overcome them as quickly as possible. You’re all in my thoughts, and will not be forgotten next month. Many of us have promised to inundate this Facebook page with photos.<br /><br /> Like many of you, I thought I’d see some of my fellow classmates some other time, one perhaps more convenient to me. That’s a mistake. Two years ago, I put off seeing a dear friend, and planned to visit him on his birthday. He died only hours before that was possible. Same thing with my eldest brother, who lapsed into a coma only hours before I arrived in La Crosse last year to see him. He never awakened.<br /><br /> There’s no better opportunity than a reunion to renew acquaintances or begin new ones. Just ask some of those who have been attending mini-reunions for the past two years.<br /><br /> This message is NOT intended to pressure anyone. I hate being pressured, and hate even more pressuring others. Rather, this is merely an open message to others who, like me, have wavered about attending this gathering. I made up my mind to do so only a couple weeks ago. The two Nancys and JoAnn have only solidified my decision.<br /><br /> I’d like to see as many of you as possible that weekend. If you’re still a fence-sitter like I was, or have decided to stay home, I only ask that you think about that choice just once more. There’s no better time to do so, I assure you.<br /><br /> I’ll miss seeing the Two Nancys and JoAnn. I hope I don’t miss seeing you.<br /><br /> Thanks for listening.</i></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">"How was the reunion?" people have asked. It's hard to give a good answer. Certainly a reunion is a difficult place for a long heart-to-heart talk. In a room filled with a bunch of people, it's easy to miss someone you would have liked to say "hi" to. Shoot, some of us can hardly hear above the din. (Two guys shared hearing aid tips with me . . . darn that Neil Young and his giant speakers in the 80s!!) At a reunion of this size, conversations tend to be brief, superficial, funny. We laugh about things we did back then. We laugh about the way things are nowadays. We bemoan our grey hair, broad bellies, ailments. Some people perform an "organ recital," citing recent surgeries. We think of something to say to each other, then forget what we wanted to say, then laugh together about forgetting.<br /><br />So why go to your 50th high school class reunion, or any reunion? Maybe the best reason is "Because you can." If you don't go, you'll never know what you missed. Maybe it would have been that one bit of treasure you weren't expecting, when someone reveals an amazing bit of their own philosophy of life, earned the hard way. Maybe it would have been a hilarious story you'd long forgotten - a laugh worth the price of admission. Maybe it would have been a portion of forgiveness that mends an old wound.<br /><br />And you'll get home and you'll think, <i>Well, I'm not so fat (or old-looking, or fill-in-the blank) after all. </i>And you'll think,<i> I wish I had talked to ------. </i>And you'll think,<i> I wish there had been more time.</i><br /><br />And you know what? There's never more time.<br /><br />I asked Ted why he has put so many hours into the class Facebook site. He gave me three reasons:<br />- "I retired earlier than I thought I would, and I was bored."<br />- "I like to find treasure."<br />- "I think all journalists like to do good in the world."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Ted created the Facebook site that led to the lunches that led to the reunion that led to laughter and some tender reminiscences. Some of us found treasure, or at least decided we weren't so fat after all. And Ted, you did good in the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=gail+grenier"><i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee, Dog Woman, Dessert First, Don't Worry Baby, </i>and <i>Calling All Horses,</i> </a>all available on Amazon.com.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span>Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-34316398546330665782018-08-21T20:35:00.000-07:002020-06-09T21:33:52.866-07:00The Ted, Audrey and George Grenier Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aECq9Q3NAXU/W3y-dHp6dpI/AAAAAAAACDk/AvkGefZ8AVQNXiOxQ2bs08l2ZAaHHnGuACLcBGAs/s1600/Grenier%2Bportrait%2B1976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aECq9Q3NAXU/W3y-dHp6dpI/AAAAAAAACDk/AvkGefZ8AVQNXiOxQ2bs08l2ZAaHHnGuACLcBGAs/s640/Grenier%2Bportrait%2B1976.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It’s been forty years
since my eighteen-year-old brother David had the awful duty of informing me
that our parents and brother had been killed in a car accident.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Every year on August 22,
and unpredictably on other days, I think of Mum and Pop and George. Often on
the anniversary of their deaths, I write something about them and post it on
Facebook, but that always feels wrong somehow.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I post on
Facebook, I receive a lot of compassion, which I appreciate. But I always feel embarrassed
by the outpouring of love and the attention to myself. I feel uncomfortable
and yet I don’t want to NOT write about them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I want to write about them
first to honor them. Ted, Audrey and George Grenier mean a lot to me. But I
write about them also because I want their short lives to mean something to anyone
who reads about them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, if you’re reading
this, here’s what I’d like. I appreciate your compassion, but more than that, I’d
cherish it if you’d respond simply: “I put a member of my family first.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Anything I say today is
going to sound made-up, because it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i>
made-up. There are no words. “Tragedy” is the most puny word for a giant hole in the gut. But I would feel happy to know that because of
reading this post, a person gave a moment of thought about how fast we can lose
someone we love.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In a car crash instant,
your loved one can die. You may have said “I love you” to that person, but
maybe not. That person may have died with a hurt between you unreconciled. Maybe
you avoided a family gathering where you could have given the person a hug and
a smile. </span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Regret is the cancer of
life, it’s been said. I believe it. I write this so you may live with no
regrets. I write this so I may live with no regrets. What I ask you to learn is what
I must learn . . . again and again. </span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is our task: Put a family member first. Say “I love you.” Go to the family gathering. Keep seeking a way to reconcile the hurt. Say “I’m sorry.” Say “I need your
help.” Remember the joke we shared. Speak of it. Laugh together. Family members hold each
other’s memories. Get them out and share them. They are treasures.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">After Mum and Pop and
George died, there were four of us left: my brothers Dan and David, my
sister Sally, and me. I’ll tell you one thing we didn’t have in 1978: grief counseling or any
kind of therapy. No one suggested it, and I don’t think it occurred to any of
us. </span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">However, we four were not
unarmed for facing what we had to face. Friends have asked me, “How did you get
through it?” I’ve answered more than once: “I don’t know; maybe it was how we
were raised.”</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=9073447958804898856" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“How we were raised” made
more sense on July 31 when I read a beautiful piece by <a href="https://muckrack.com/clare-ansberry">Clare Ansberry</a> in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Wall Street Journal. </i>Under the
headline “After Tragedy, How Survivors Cope,” the article tells how people get
on with life after losing multiple family members. What gives them resilience? Recent
wisdom backed by science tells us that resilient people share certain
traits, among them optimism, altruism, spirituality and acceptance of what can’t
be changed. (Ansberry refers to the book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=resilience+the+science+of+mastering+life%27s+greatest+challenges&sprefix=resilience%2Caps%2C581&crid=15QGWC0520BCO">Resilience:The Science of Mastering Life’s Greatest Challenges by Charney and Southwick.)</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reading this article gave
me a shocking moment of clarity. Suddenly I had words for an idea I could never
express before: Those were the precious gifts Mum and Pop gave us: optimism,
altruism, spirituality and (especially, oh yes yes yes) acceptance of what can’t be changed. They’re
a bunch of fancy words to describe the down-to-earth-ness of their everyday lives. I could give you many examples, but that's for another post. Little did we realize that our parents were arming us to face the horrible
truth that they and our youngest brother would leave us for a new address
when they were only 51, 48, and 13 years old. But arm us they did.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LCb9ynySuhc/W3y9xg0AQHI/AAAAAAAACDY/8fivljtVf34dprFlnNm1j0FAORKGxGqugCLcBGAs/s1600/george%2Bbest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LCb9ynySuhc/W3y9xg0AQHI/AAAAAAAACDY/8fivljtVf34dprFlnNm1j0FAORKGxGqugCLcBGAs/s1600/george%2Bbest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: left; color: #0066cc; float: left; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LCb9ynySuhc/W3y9xg0AQHI/AAAAAAAACDY/8fivljtVf34dprFlnNm1j0FAORKGxGqugCLcBGAs/s640/george%2Bbest.jpg" width="352" /></a><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thanks, Mum and Pop. I
look forward to seeing you again. And you too George, </span></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">you especially George.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">At a funeral recently,
someone got up and said, “We’ll be with our loved ones much longer than we’ll
be without them.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Forty years feels like a
long, long time. I’m counting on it seeming like a “blink” when I leave this place
for a new address.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Meanwhile, I need to work
on the Ted, Audrey and George Grenier challenge: put a member of my family
first.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And now will you kindly respond to this post, simply by writing, “I put a member of my family first.”</span></span></div>
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Gail Grenier is the author of<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=gail+grenier"> <i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee, Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, </i>and <i>Calling All Horses</i></a><i>,</i> all available on Amazon.com.<br />
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Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-71227480865079326582018-08-20T12:03:00.000-07:002018-08-20T12:03:25.149-07:00Shoreland Plantings: Part of Healthy Lakes Best Practices<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Have you ever loved a lake? I've never met a lake I didn't love. My husband and I are lucky enough to own a trailer on Little Green Lake in Markesan, Wisconsin. It's our happy place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I recently wrote the following piece for our Little Green Lake newsletter. While the specifics are for our lake, county, and state, the general idea of working for lake health could translate to any place on earth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If you love a lake, here's information about best practices for <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">healthy lakes </span>. . . . </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We all love our Little Green Lake. If only there was a
way to:</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Make our lake cleaner
and reduce that nasty blue-green algae</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Help the fish population
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Help the songbird
and butterfly population<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Discourage geese
and their lovely green droppings </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Discourage deer and
rabbits from nibbling plants</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Discourage ticks</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Prevent storm
water runoff and erosion</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Make our
shoreline more beautiful.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Guess what? There is a
way!! Not only that, the Wisconsin DNR and Wisconsin Lakes Partnership will do
everything but hold your hand – and your hoe – to make the magic happen.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It all comes down to five easy-to-understand Healthy
Lake “Best Practices.” They are:</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Fish sticks (putting logs and large branches into lake
near shore to create habitat; requires permit)</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Diversion (using berms and dips to prevent runoff from
getting into lake)</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> R</span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">ock infiltration (capturing and cleaning runoff
through rock where water collects)</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Rain gardens (planted near downspouts, with berms to
hold water)</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">5.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></i><span style="margin: 0px;">350 square
foot native plantings (a contiguous area of at least 350 square feet, or 10
feet wide by 35 feet along shore) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="color: red; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">350 sq. ft. native plantings along shore</span></span></u></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="color: red; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The buffer or transition
area along a lake’s edge is critical to lake health. The average cost of 350 square
feet of shoreland plantings is $1,000 but may vary from $480 - $2,400. Healthy
Lakes grant funding of $1,000 is available for one 350 square foot area on a
property. Site prep takes six weeks to six months. Installation takes one to
two days. Maintenance covers two years. The project ends in three years.
Ongoing weeding may be necessary in subsequent years. Detailed information and
photos are found here: <span style="margin: 0px;"><a href="http://healthylakeswi.com/"><span style="color: #0563c1;">http://healthylakeswi.com</span></a></span>. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Here are tips:</b></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Stay away from
foot traffic areas and any septic field. </span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Look for
erosion-prone areas in need of rehabilitation: bare ground; rilled or rutted
areas; slumped banks.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> I</span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">f you wish to
use herbicides adjacent to lakeshore, check first with Ben Jenkins (<span style="margin: 0px;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null"><u><span style="color: #0563c1;">benjamin.jenkins@ces.uwex.edu</span></u></a></span>),
UW-Extension Agricultural Agent.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> F</span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">ind a location
at least 10 ft. wide, running 35 ft. continuously along the shore.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Determine your
soil/sun/shade types to select native plants that will thrive there (LOTS of
help online in this area!).</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Choose your
template and design shape (LOTS of help through the links in this article).</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Choose your plant
list and lay out the planting.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Prepare the site
and do the planting.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Water and
critter-proof the plants.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Consider adding
cues that the area is intentionally planted and not neglected (wildlife feeders/houses;
trimmed shrubs; fences/mulch; artwork; signage; etc.).</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ff2gQWQ5dV8/W3sMqxoljQI/AAAAAAAACCw/0hnjHxffVJIABXt1-KBifq9Ot0EXCqn_wCLcBGAs/s1600/native%2Bgarden%2Btemplate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="784" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ff2gQWQ5dV8/W3sMqxoljQI/AAAAAAAACCw/0hnjHxffVJIABXt1-KBifq9Ot0EXCqn_wCLcBGAs/s640/native%2Bgarden%2Btemplate.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sample of a native garden template</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px;">
</div>
<br />
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></i><br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Money is available through Healthy Lakes Grants!</span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">From
2015-2017, Wisconsin invested $377,000 in 267 properties in 21 counties on 56
lakes, covering 407 best practices. Grant applications are available from State
of Wisconsin, PO Box 7921, Madison WI 53707-7921 or dnr.wi.gov. </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For ideas, you can order
a <a href="http://erc.cals.wisc.edu/healthylakesgrants/wp-content/blogs.dir/16/files/2016/03/Healthy-Lakes-Get-Started-Brochure.pdf">“get started” brochure<span style="color: #b00000;">.</span></a></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The
Healthy Lakes Grants annual deadline is Feb. 1, and funding is determined by
April. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> T</span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">here’s a 75%/25%
state-sponsor match (reimbursement grant).</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Eligible
sponsors, including qualified lake associations, lake districts, counties and
other local government units, may apply on behalf of multiple landowners.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; margin: 0px;">Individual
property owners are not eligible grant sponsors, but any of the eligible
partner groups could apply on their behalf.</span></i></b></span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">There’s a standard
two-year grant agreement.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Each
best practice is capped at a $1,000 state share. There is self-reporting or a site
visit on 10% of projects annually. A 10-year contract, with standard operation and
maintenance details, is described in the grant agreement. A grant sponsor
develops and administers the contract that the landowner signs.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How are grants evaluated?</span></span></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Judging priorities may
include:</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">How much the
project provides for water quality protection/improvement; </span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">How much the
project helps fish/wildlife habitat, native vegetation, natural beauty;</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Availability of
public access to and public use of the lake;</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Degree to which
the project complements other efforts, and level of support from other
organizations/partners;</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Likelihood of
project success in two-year timeline; </span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 72px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Degree of detail in
the application.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Is your property appropriate for “Best Practices?”</span></span></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Healthy
Lakes Best Practices are meant for simple properties, where you can work on one
or more of the Best Practices yourself and/or get grant assistance to help do
it. On a simple property, you don’t need engineering design and review.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>For guidance, contact Krista Kamke (<span style="margin: 0px;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null"><u><span style="color: #0563c1;">kkamke@co.green-lake.wi.us</span></u></a></span>)
at Green Lake County Land Use Planning & Zoning Department.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What are examples of properties not appropriate for a
“Best Practice?”</span></span></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">The slope is
greater than 20%.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">More than 20,000
square feet are cleared.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">More than two
acres drain to an eroded area.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">Severe gully
erosion (at least one foot deep) is present.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;">You’re not
comfortable implementing solutions on your own.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Even if you’re not ready for a “Big” project . . . </span></span></b></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Consider
adapting some of the Best Practices in your own small way. Once you start
browsing the Healthy Lakes websites, you’ll be hooked (no fishy pun intended)!</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=gail+grenier"><i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee, Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, </i>and <i>Calling All Horses</i></a>, all available on Amazon.com.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-49902808664542838652018-08-17T18:24:00.000-07:002018-08-17T18:27:54.041-07:00Exploring life's greatest mystery through real love stories: Katie Kolberg Memmel's new book<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BEvCl3lHHBU/W3dzrSIK4MI/AAAAAAAACCc/EHgKtWGhUUkxy8hVkaMRkoWRI91jpHQsgCLcBGAs/s1600/memmel%2Bbook%2Bcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="218" data-original-width="218" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BEvCl3lHHBU/W3dzrSIK4MI/AAAAAAAACCc/EHgKtWGhUUkxy8hVkaMRkoWRI91jpHQsgCLcBGAs/s320/memmel%2Bbook%2Bcover.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Ever
wonder what makes a marriage work? Mike and I just celebrated our 46<sup>th</sup>
wedding anniversary, and I still wonder. People often act as if they understand
it all, but I think love is the greatest mystery of life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Katie
Kolberg Memmel, a former writing student of mine, recently published a book
called <a href="https://www.amazon.com/This-Forward-Katie-Kolberg-Memmel/dp/1987795288/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1534554952&sr=1-1&keywords=katie+memmel"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">From This Day Forward</i>.</a> I had
particular interest in her book because it was comprised of stories gleaned
from interviews, like my own recent book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Young
Voices from Wild Milwaukee. </i>I know how hard it is to go from interview to
book form.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">I
was curious, so I asked her about the book:</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Gail: </span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">What’s the concept of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">From This Day Forward,</i> and how did you “harvest”
your stories?</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Katie: </span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Well, to be honest,
I’ve dreamed of writing a book like this for more than 15 years - long before I
ever became a writer. I’m “that person” who loves to hear about people’s lives,
especially their personal love stories. Since I’ve always been a good listener,
and am now considered a pretty fair writer, the project of interviewing and
writing about people’s true love stories seemed to evolve and become more and
more possible. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Keeping
all of that in mind, I also deeply value marriage. I feel that in recent years,
the concept of saying “I do” has taken a serious hit. With statistics of
lasting marriage hovering around the 50/50 mark, I began to wonder . . . what
is it that makes some couples throw in their marital towels, while others hang
in there until death does them part? Seems to me, everybody loves the story of
a couple who makes it to their 50<sup>th</sup> or 60<sup>th</sup> wedding
anniversary . . . but what does that take? What are the tools of a good, happy,
and lasting marriage?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">I
got brave, and asked some of the most solidly married couples I know to share
their love stories with me. Through a lengthy interview process, I asked them
questions. Along with all of their good times, I also asked them about tough times
– how they weathered storms within their marriages – finances, jobs, schooling,
growing families, etc. </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Gail: </span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Interesting. How many
couples did you interview, and how did you choose them? </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Katie: <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">There are eight interviews in all. I wanted to
represent a number of age groups, so I spoke with a gentleman in his 90s, two
women in their 80s, two couples in their 60s, and one couple each in their 40s,
30s and 20s. I also wanted to show that throughout life, people overcome a
number of different obstacles. There are stories of long marriages where death
has now parted them. There’s a story of losing a spouse and then re-marrying.
One couple has been happily married for 40-plus years, and shares priceless
advice. One couple went through the challenge and heartbreak of infertility,
and shared how they decided to move forward, together. There are stories of two
difficult divorces, and how two of the individuals ultimately found their best
friend. One couple works together and needs to balance the goods and bads of what
that’s like. And my youngest couple has interesting views of why they married
young, and what that decision has led to. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Each
story is different. Each story bears a few similarities to the others. But most
importantly, woven throughout each of these eight love stories is one common
thread – faith. How does faith in God factor in to each of these healthy marriages?
What difference does faith make? As the author, I’m sure you can tell that I
personally believe it makes a significant difference.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Gail: </span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">What was your interview
process like, and how did you eventually write the book? </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Katie: </span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">The interview process
turned out to be such an amazing experience for me. I spoke with each
individual or couple prior to the interview, and explained what I wanted to do,
and why. They each consented to the process. One-by-one, I scheduled a time for
us to sit down together. Each person I met with started out quite nervous, so
we’d simply chat for a while first, which eased any tension. Casually, I’d
switch the conversation over to my project, and tell them I was turning on the
recorder. By that time, they were fairly ready to go. I used a small,
battery-operated recording device to catch their voice and inflections. I also
sat poised with a notebook and pen to write down any observations such as body
movements, facial expressions, etc. Each interview took approximately five
hours; one took a bit more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">After
each one, I’d go home, sit down in my office at the computer, and transcribe.
Because people talk naturally, they tend to jump abruptly from subject-to-subject,
and back again. I needed to capture all of that. Then, in my actual
book-writing phase, I wove all the details of their stories into a cohesive and
chronological piece.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Gail: </span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Wow, Katie, eight stories.
That process must have taken a lot of time. </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Katie: </span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">It really was time
consuming. All I can say is that I consider this book project to be a true
labor of love, and worth every minute of the time it took.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Gail: </span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Now that the book is
done, what are your goals? What would you like to see happen with it?</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Katie: </span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">I hope that my readers
find it thought-provoking. I hope that through this book, people can find hope
for their own relationships and personal situations. I hope that the natural
advice that flows from these couples spills over, wraps around, and changes
people’s minds about the way they do, and the ways they could, handle some of
their own issues. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;">Gail,
all I can say is that this book has changed me. As I listened to these couples
and individuals tell me their most precious and heart-felt stories, I realized
how differently we all handle similar situations, and that maybe – just maybe –
even I, a woman married for 36 years, have a lot to yet learn and try. I guess
that with God’s help, that is my hope for this book’s future. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><b>Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of
three books:<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=katie+memmel">Five Fingers, Ten Toes – A
Mother’s Story of Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference; Silly Stories
and Sentimental Stuff; </a></i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=katie+memmel">and From ThisDay Forward. </a>They are available through Amazon in electronic and paperback
form. For more information about Katie, her family, and her writing, go to her
website: <a href="http://www.katiekolbergmemmel.com/"><span style="color: blue;">www.katiekolbergmemmel.com</span></a><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><b></b><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><b>Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=gail+grenier"><i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee, Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, </i>and <i>Calling All Horses</i></a>, all available from Amazon.com.</b></span></span></div>
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Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-68356352132682937132018-08-09T16:49:00.001-07:002018-08-10T09:57:29.567-07:00Don't give your grandchild a wrapped gift<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Do you think your grandchild has enough toys, games, and trinkets? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Me too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">My daughter-in-law posted something on Facebook a couple of years ago that changed my gift-giving life. It was a little essay suggesting that grandparents give experiences rather than wrapped gifts for birthdays and special occasions.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Perfect. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Now, after a couple of dozen turns of calendar pages, I can say this new tradition has sometimes saved money, but not always. It definitely takes more time than simply purchasing something. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And dang it's been fun.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I usually let the boys choose the outing, except for once when I felt too tired to drive. That time, we enjoyed a simple walk in the neighborhood and to the local coffee shop/bakery where we watched workers creating cinnamon buns. (That is still my favorite of all the dates and makes me think a fun challenge would be to create dates where you spend no money or maybe just a little.) We've also visited the art museum, the public natural museum, Grant Park, and Discovery World. With each date, we've had one-on-one time that we rarely get . . . along with some pretty hilarious stories, conversations, and questions.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">For the first few "dates," I went by myself with the grandchildren. Eventually I insisted that the old man join us, even though he still sort of lives at work and he's a hard guy to pin down. But I think he'd agree that these have been precious, and funny, times.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Below is a little photo gallery of some of our birthday dates (Oliver's photos didn't turn out). This year the youngest of our six grandsons, Max, will be old enough for a date. And there's a little girl who will join our family soon, and maybe in a year or two, we'll have a whole new kind of birthday outing . . . .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Remember, <i>love</i> is spelled T - I - M - E. . . . </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RjEVyIFcgGw/W1ZLTAENE-I/AAAAAAAAB-w/kLwKMOoKxJQvCAi-tKOnAbB670s3aRERwCLcBGAs/s1600/david%2Bbday%2B2018%2B-%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RjEVyIFcgGw/W1ZLTAENE-I/AAAAAAAAB-w/kLwKMOoKxJQvCAi-tKOnAbB670s3aRERwCLcBGAs/s320/david%2Bbday%2B2018%2B-%2B1.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">David making art at the Milwaukee Art Museum</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9KQewuCxok4/W1ZLXniOohI/AAAAAAAAB-0/2n5qTXLx-cYhOHlJyf2aq7I92zUJO3-EgCLcBGAs/s1600/david%2Bbday%2B2018%2B-%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9KQewuCxok4/W1ZLXniOohI/AAAAAAAAB-0/2n5qTXLx-cYhOHlJyf2aq7I92zUJO3-EgCLcBGAs/s320/david%2Bbday%2B2018%2B-%2B2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mike, David and I show our art pieces that will be part of a large installation.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-__nROHljiAA/W1ZLbgZq4sI/AAAAAAAAB-4/H5Be5nUCopcjybxoQ2iSetDkAbibjAtYACLcBGAs/s1600/david%2Bbday%2B2018%2B-%2B3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-__nROHljiAA/W1ZLbgZq4sI/AAAAAAAAB-4/H5Be5nUCopcjybxoQ2iSetDkAbibjAtYACLcBGAs/s320/david%2Bbday%2B2018%2B-%2B3.jpg" width="352" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">David wanted his picture taken by the giant mural outside Café Lulu.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1r_W3j1_sds/W1ZLi77TGsI/AAAAAAAAB_A/nTRMVtY-HgISw6jP0XKFUq4KDwh4FewXgCLcBGAs/s1600/isaac%2Bbday%2Bouting%2B2017%2B-%2B4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1r_W3j1_sds/W1ZLi77TGsI/AAAAAAAAB_A/nTRMVtY-HgISw6jP0XKFUq4KDwh4FewXgCLcBGAs/s640/isaac%2Bbday%2Bouting%2B2017%2B-%2B4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Isaac and me at Grant Park</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grant Park again</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Isaac at the Milwaukee Public Museum</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mike and Isaac at the butterfly wing of the museum</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Liam sketching at the Milwaukee Art Museum</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Simon at the butterfly wing of the Milwaukee Public Museum</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Simon and butterflies</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grandpa and butterfly</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">David climbing his first tree after a walk in the neighborhood</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Liam's thank you note after one birthday adventure</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><b><i><u><sub><sup><strike><br /></strike></sup></sub></u></i></b></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=gail+grenier"><i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee, Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, </i>and <i>Calling All Horses</i></a>, all available on Amazon.com.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i><u><sub><sup><strike><br /></strike></sup></sub></u></i></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-22235758276520252712018-07-26T18:47:00.000-07:002018-08-12T15:18:17.736-07:00Eleanor Roosevelt's letter to my mother<div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">was going through family documents recently and came upon something that I forgot was there: a letter from Eleanor Roosevelt to my mother, dated February 18, 1961. It looks the way documents used to look when we all used manual typewriters - the individual letters of the alphabet display varying degrees of thickness. The note is signed in Mrs. Roosevelt's rather elegant hand with real ink (using a fountain pen, for sure). I'm touched by the humility in her wording "with renewed regrets and the hope that you will understand my position" regarding the fact that the former First Lady was not going to send a gift for my mother's church festival.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's amazing to me that it appears that no secretary had input into this correspondence. Imagine a First Lady doing her own letters by hand! Even the envelope looks as if it was typed out by Eleanor Roosevelt herself (although "J.A." is incorrect; my mother would have signed herself "Mrs. A. Grenier" or "Mrs. T.R. Grenier." Maybe Eleanor was in a hurry). Notice the "Anne Eleanor Roosevelt" stamp across the top. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Note also the "Free" postage indicia</span>:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here's the back of the envelope:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mrs. Roosevelt was responding to my mother's request for a gift to be used as a prize at Mum's parish festival. I remember my mom gathering prizes from various celebrities and storing them during the cold months in preparation for the summer celebration at our parish, Our Lady of Sorrows on the north side of Milwaukee. There were signed photos from some (wish I could remember who), and various sundries from others. One celeb sent what I remember as a "magic wand." I bet it was a symphony conductor's baton.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I wonder if celebrities still respond to requests for photos and trinkets for their fans. I'm guessing that yes, they do, but that the requests are handled by their "people."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mum was 30 years old when she got the letter from Mrs. Roosevelt; I was 10. Eleanor was 76 when she wrote the letter. She died twenty-one months later, at age 78, from cardiac failure complicated by tuberculosis. She'd been a First Lady twice: first when Mr. Roosevelt was governor of New York from 1929 to 1932, then when he served as president of the USA from 1933 to 1945. She married young and had six children. She and Franklin were married for 35 years and she'd been widowed for 17 years at the time of her death. Their lives were complicated and public.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I think of my mother's life. She too married young. She had five children and was married for 29 years at the time of her death. Her life was very un-public and not nearly as complicated as the first lady's. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My mother kept that letter for the rest of her life; she must have thought it was remarkable. I did too; I've hung onto it since Mum died, for these last forty years. Off and on I'd be browsing through our documents and I'd come upon it, open it, read it, and think "Maybe I can sell this for big money somewhere." But I never acted on that idea. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Last week, I finally offered the letter to the FDR Presidential Library and Museum in Hyde Park, New York. I got a nice email from Kirsten Carter, the supervisory archivist there, who wrote:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>"Thank you for contacting the Roosevelt Library to describe an Eleanor Roosevelt letter plus stamped envelope inherited from your mother. We agree that it shows a nice example of Roosevelt's personal messages to the public, and we are happy to accept your offer of donation. </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>If you are prepared to donate the item now, please mail it to me. Thank you very much for your generous interest and support for the FDR Library archival collection! Our Director will send a more formal letter of thanks by mail to document your gift."</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The more I read various sayings by Eleanor Roosevelt, the more I think she was an amazing woman. Maybe some day I will visit the FDR museum and see her letter to my mum. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You can find oodles of Eleanor's marvelous quotations online. I haven't researched if these are all bona fide sayings of hers, but I sure love 'em. Below are a bunch. (There are more.) Enjoy!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>(I want to make some "memes" like those below, featuring my own mother's face and her marvelous sayings. She had some great ones. Maybe one of my grandchildren can help me do that some day.)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/default/e/B00B76EWV4?redirectedFromKindleDbs=true"><i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee, Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, </i>and <i>Calling All Horses</i></a>, all available on Amazon.com.</span></div>
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Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-23657302290334364832018-07-11T18:23:00.001-07:002018-07-11T18:28:12.506-07:00Alchemy: Chrissie Hynde helped us time travel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mike and I rarely go to concerts, but we scored tickets to see The Pretenders last night. Anticipating the event, I was one excited lady. I loved their hits from 1979 - 1994 including "Brass in Pocket," "I'll Stand by You," "Chain Gang," and "Don't Get Me Wrong" - all ballads, basically. [Hint: this is foreshadowing. "Jaws" music plays.]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I enjoyed Chrissie Hynde's 2015 autobiography, <i>Reckless.</i> In it, she says that the main reason people loved her hits was that they're melodic. Makes sense to me. Like most people, I enjoy a lovely melody and great hook.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">[More "Jaws" music] Imagine my surprise to discover that Chrissie Hynde is a hard, hard rocker. She played and moved like a person half her age. During her 90-minute show at Milwaukee's landmark Riverside Theatre, she gifted us with just a handful of ballads - including "Chain Gang," "I'll Stand by You," and "Don't Get Me Wrong." Her standout slow tune was new to me: "Hymn to Her," written by her high school friend Meg Keene. Onstage, Chrissie said, "I wish I had written it." She hesitated during the first line of the song and apologized for her voice: unnecessary. Singing the words almost a cappella, her voice rose strong and sure, deep and soulful . . . and she sounded exactly like who she is, someone who's LIVED through 66 years. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The bulk of the show was raw rock, loud and fast and energetic. The problem with these hard songs </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">was that Chrissie's fantastic contralto voice sometimes got lost in the mix. I just couldn't hear her.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I finally gave up on trying to understand the words. I let the beat run over me. In other words, <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I let go and gave in. And that's when </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I started having fun. </span>It's obvious that Chrissie loves a strong bass line; I do too. Like the people all around me, I started moving and bouncing to the beat. After a while, I realized that Mike, next to me, was bouncing too. Chrissie Hynde's energy had ignited a big old hall full of white people. And they bopped. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Alchemy: turning dross into gold. Chrissie Hynde's alchemy: turning older people into younger people. S</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">omehow, while I listened, I traveled backwards through my 67 years, to a younger version who still lives inside. When it happened, I had only one feeling: happiness. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">She never played my fave, "Brass in Pocket." I'm still sad about that. But because of the magic she brought, I forgive her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/default/e/B00B76EWV4?redirectedFromKindleDbs=true"><i>Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, Calling All Horses, </i>and <i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee</i></a>, all available on Amazon.com.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-4132048851607308562018-06-25T15:15:00.001-07:002018-06-25T20:50:10.576-07:00Kindness of Strangers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yesterday I invited my friend Mary to brunch. It turned out to be <i>brunch and crunch</i> when a Milwaukee county bus clipped her car.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Five friends joined Mary and me on the outing, three of them passengers in Mary's car. </span>Mary chose the spot; it was my first time at West Allis Cheese & Sausage Shoppe, on the corner of 68th and Becher Streets. Cute place - a cross between a deli and a Starbucks, with a nice side store selling adult beverages plus summer sausage and Wisconsin cheese (no lie, my mouth is watering as I type this).</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The place was filled with a noon-time rush, and our group wound up standing at various points in line. Mary had just ordered her egg dish and sat down at our table when a man entered the dining area and asked, "Does anyone own that little red car parked outside?" (heart thump)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mary said yes and the man told her a bus just hit her car.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">She jumped up, ran outside, and discovered that the bus, in turning left, had swung wide and clipped her left front bumper, which now dangled like a loose tooth. The bus was nowhere to be seen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was a perfect summer Sunday, and neighbors had been enjoying the morning on a lawn just opposite the store. Therefore Mary had a group of witnesses to the incident. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">She crossed the street and joined them; they provided a play-by-play.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'd been in line to make my order, unaware of the drama. By the time I learned of it and got outside, Mary was already laughing with the group of neighbors. I couldn't hear what was being said, but I knew everything would be all right when I saw her smiling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mary's one of those glass-half-full type people. After she rejoined me in the store and waited for the police to arrive, she kept repeating things about "the kindness of strangers," the famous phrase from "A Streetcar Named Desire." Streetcar - bus - a funny connection I guess.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">There was quite a list of kindnesses:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">- After the neighbors saw the accident, one of them chased the bus after it made its turn, and stopped it. (It's possible that the bus driver was searching for a place to stop; the street was parked up pretty tightly.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">- A man, just leaving West Allis Cheese & Sausage Shoppe, saw what had happened and figured the damaged vehicle might belong to someone inside. He's the one who took the time to return and call out for the owner of the little red car.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">- At one point Mary had to go outside to talk to the police. Good-natured to the end, she called back to me with a big smile, "Don't let my food get cold!" When the waitress delivered it, I asked her if she could keep the food warm and explained why. She did.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">- When the officers arrived, neighbors were available to make statements.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">- When everything was over, Mary's car was judged fit to drive temporarily and her bumper was re-attached with a bunch of pieces of black tape. The black-on-red patchwork <a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k0jwwW_xWZs/WzF4rM5cCrI/AAAAAAAAB-A/19MWRyBXajwbzdhzp2QuQ1HjLp_YK84kwCLcBGAs/s1600/mary%2Bmac%2Bcar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k0jwwW_xWZs/WzF4rM5cCrI/AAAAAAAAB-A/19MWRyBXajwbzdhzp2QuQ1HjLp_YK84kwCLcBGAs/s400/mary%2Bmac%2Bcar.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a>was done by the man who had first hailed Mary from the restaurant. Turns out, he's a mechanic who always keeps duct tape in his car. He hung around until all the reporting was done. His handiwork warmed the heart of this duct tape lover.</span><br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k0jwwW_xWZs/WzF4rM5cCrI/AAAAAAAAB-A/19MWRyBXajwbzdhzp2QuQ1HjLp_YK84kwCLcBGAs/s1600/mary%2Bmac%2Bcar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i><u><sub><sup><strike><br /></strike></sup></sub></u></i></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">- Mary had no idea where to take her battered car, and that same man recommended an excellent family-owned repair shop nearby. Mary went the next day, and she was thrilled with how she was treated.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I agree with Mary that the bad day was full of the kindness of strangers. I have seen this kind of behavior a lot since moving to the Milwaukee area about two years ago. (Half of West Allis is enveloped by Milwaukee.) Mike, my husband, says people here must take "nice pills." That's how it felt yesterday.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">One note: as I ate my meal, I had a ringside view of the sidewalk near Mary's car. At one point, a young women stood there talking into her cell phone and gesturing as if angry and amazed. I think she was making a video log post about the accident. I'll bet that young vlogger didn't come up with a story about the kindness of strangers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Another note: As Mary picked up pieces of her car, she found her mirror in her windshield wiper. There was another huge, heavy piece of rubber lying ingloriously on the street. When the transit company representative arrived, she asked him what part of her car that was. He said, "That's not from your car. That's from the bus."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Later, Mary said, "My little car beat that bus!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">As we seven friends sat in the dining area, we marveled that neither Mary nor any one of her passengers was standing beside the car when it was hit. That was the best part, really, of a bad day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I talked to Mary today, the Monday after the accident. I said, "This is one accident where you don't have whiplash." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">She laughed and agreed with me, saying, "An angel helped me out. It happens so frequently."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">For some people, that accident would have ruined their week. For someone like Mary, who looks on the bright side, it became an opportunity to count blessings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_661690459"></span><i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee, Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, </i>and <i>Calling All Horses</i>,<span id="goog_661690460"></span></a> all available on Amazon.com.</span><br />
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<br />Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-44247501694216165612018-04-18T20:44:00.006-07:002018-04-18T20:44:49.777-07:00Holy Hill Honeymoon<div id="main-content" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: url("http://www.blogblog.com/scribe/bg_paper_mid.jpg") repeat-y rgb(255, 243, 219); color: #29303b; display: block; font-family: Georgia, Times, "Times New Roman", sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; width: 700px; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">I just looked up my name on Google and found this old blog post I put up on another site in 2005 I think it was. The story still makes me laugh. I used it as the start to my novel <i>Don't Worry Baby</i>. Here's the old blog post . . . . </span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It was Monday, August 14, 1972, and Mike and I had just gotten married on Saturday. We were headed to Holy Hill for our honeymoon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />The real reason for our trip to Holy Hill was to test the van we had customized for our post-wedding odyssey. We knew that the first thing we were going to do after we got married was to blow this cold state. We were going to drive South and stop and look for jobs when it got warm enough for us. (Kind of an irony when it was 85 degrees in Milwaukee.) We had our college degrees, a thousand bucks, and a dream.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Earlier that summer, we had found a used 1962 Chevy Corvair van in the want ads, and bought it for $400. It was a utility van from the era before luxury liner vans. It was painted a sort of dark shade of green not quite as pretty as army green. It had no cup holders and no windows on the sides. It had a rear engine and a stick shift, and usually three gears on the floor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />(We didn’t find out about that elusive second gear until a month later, somewhere in the Ozarks... where that rear engine kept us from blowing up... but that’s another story).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Mike’s parents, Jerry and Lenora, were handy. They helped us customize the van. We made it our little traveling house. Jerry devised a plywood platform for our mattress. ("More bounce per ounce," he said to Mike during the construction - probably the dirtiest thing Jerry ever said to his son.) You could flip the plywood upward and fasten it by a hook to the ceiling. Then a little table would pop out for eating. We had a couple of card table chairs to sit at the table. Jerry snapped nylon screening to the opening made by the van’s two side doors, and Lenora sewed a zipper into the screen so we could sleep in breezy comfort on a summer evening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />I decorated the ceiling of the van with psychedelic fabric I had found - blue, yellow, orange and green stars and rainbows. I even made a pillow to match.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />We kept our clothes in a little dresser left over from Mike’s babyhood. In the way back of the van were small shelves where we kept a camp cook set we had found at Sherper’s Army surplus store, along with our library, which consisted of the Holy Bible and the complete works of J.D. Salinger. We had a gas camp cooker and a toilet seat on folding legs that we stashed in back somewhere. We were set.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />We spent so much time getting our van ready that we completely forgot about planning a honeymoon, much less lodging for the first night of our marriage. I told Mike to book the closest hotel to our wedding reception because I knew we wouldn’t feel like driving far. He booked a night at the Suburban Hotel. Our friend Gail Hills was horrified. "That’s where people go for an hour," she said. "That’s a real ‘Squeaky Springs Hotel’."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Well, the Suburban was fine for us — we weren’t noticing our surroundings that night. As I recall, we did everything except couple from the chandelier. Finally! Sex was legal!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />We opened our gifts on Sunday (I remember my grandmother 'Mémère' saying "What happened to you, Gail?" looking forlornly at my bosom. "I wore a padded bra under my wedding dress, <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #29303b; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Georgia,Times,"Times New Roman",sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Mémère </span>," I explained.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Then Monday, it was time to test drive the van. Mike had suggested taking a little camping honeymoon at Holy Hill, where he had camped as a boy scout. Sounded fine with me. Someone gave us a gallon of wine, and we were ready to go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />We made it to Holy Hill with no trouble. Mike rang the bell and asked one of the friars if we could camp for a few days at the base of the hill, right near the start of the Stations. "Gee, I don’t know," the friar said, "I’ll have to ask the cook."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />The cook said yes, and our Holy Hill honeymoon began.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />The weather was balmy, we were all alone, the air was fresh and the trees bursting with August. We wandered through the woods, happy with our peace and quiet. We shared a hearty meal of ground beef, cream of mushroom soup, and canned corn, a "Michael meal" from Mike’s college apartment days. We drank some wine. I don’t remember using the plastic toilet seat on folding legs, but I must have, since there are no restrooms at the base of Holy Hill. Everything was perfect except for the flies, but we had hung a strip of sticky flypaper just to the side of our love nest. We left the two van doors wide open and zipped shut our nylon screening, ready to enjoy a soft summer night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />But I couldn’t fall asleep. I lay there in the dark - and I do mean pitch black dark - there were no lights anywhere. All I could think about was the fact that we were surrounded by those big woods and all those big kettles and hills and surely there must be big bears wandering! Big bears could surely tear through our piddly little net and grab us and devour us, slowly, oh the thought of being eaten bit by bit -- it would be better just to be shot, you could get it over with right away. Being eaten would be such a LONG torture.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />I got scareder and scareder of bears as Mike lay next to me snoring. Finally I woke him up. "Mike," I said, "I’m scared of BEARS!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />I don’t remember what he said, but somehow he assured me that there were no bears in these woods. Finally I joined him, spoon-style, in a deep, dark sleep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />The next thing I knew, there was a horrible pounding, pounding, pounding, and a bright light streaming through the black night right onto me and Mike. Mike always sleeps harder than I do, which means he wakes with more of a shock, and he jumped right up out of our little bed and hit his head on the ceiling and got his hand all entangled with the flypaper.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />"What? What?" he mumbled, naked and disoriented.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />"Police," said the voice behind the big beam of light.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Oh, man, this was like a bad flashback to the time of watching submarine races at the lakefront. We had to explain to the cop that we were newlyweds on our honeymoon and the friars had given us permission to camp there. The cop explained that neighbors had complained that night about bikers making a lot of noise in the area. Well, we hadn’t heard anything... not bikers, not bears -- nothing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />The cop finally left. Mike was humiliated about the whole naked flypaper thing, but eventually we fell again into a deep dark sleep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />When we woke, there was music and talking. Music and talking? What happened to the solitude of the night before? It was a Tuesday morning -- what could it be?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Mike and I gradually shook the sleep out of our heads and realized we were surrounded. We also realized our van was wide open and only a little screen separated us from whoever was out there. We slunk horizontally into our clothes, zipped open the screen, and walked out...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">... into the middle of a Greek picnic. There were children playing, ladies preparing food, and lots of Greek men with fierce mustaches. No one spoke English, but somehow we figured out that this family came to the same site every year at the same time. They weren’t going to let a little thing like a parked, occupied van get in the way of their tradition.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />We moved the van. And started our marriage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-83688506742548466652018-04-10T18:36:00.004-07:002018-04-10T18:36:44.704-07:00The UEC’s young people made me write a book! . . . And move back to Milwaukee!
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<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1958, City of Milwaukee, corner of
Beckett and Glendale Avenues, </span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">beside my house - I'm on the right. </span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My brother and my neighbor and I are
sitting on a sewer cover, making mud pies. </span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Glendale Avenue is behind us, before
the concrete went in.</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i><u>How a book gets a start </u></i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’m a writer and a nature nut. In 2013, with five
books published, I realized that none of them were the book I really wanted to
write. </span></span></div>
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<a href="about:invalid#zClosurez" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I felt inspired
to write a book about young people and nature. But where to start? . . . <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Fiction? . . . Nonfiction? . . . A combination
of the two? I shared my conundrum with a nature-loving friend, Mike Larson, visitor
services manager at the Urban Ecology Center (UEC). </span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He suggested, “Why don’t you come to
Riverside? We’ll walk around and talk about your ideas.” </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I met Mike at the UEC site at Riverside Park, where he
and I ambled along the forest paths. He talked about urban young people
whose lives had been changed through their involvement at one or more of the three Milwaukee UEC centers. As he spoke, two
things shone through his words: humor and compassion.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the end of our walk, I had my book
idea . . . . No fiction, just the facts: it would be an account of how nature
and the Urban Ecology Center changed the lives of young people. Mike gave me a
list of names of individuals I could contact. From 2014 through 2016, I
interviewed fifteen people ages fifteen through forty. Through all the
interviews, I was struck again by what I felt when I first walked with Mike
Larson at Riverside: humor and compassion.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><b><i><u><br /></u></i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><b><i><u>How working on a book changes a life</u></i></b> </span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My
goal was to write about how nature changes lives of young people. I never
expected a bonus: interviewing those young people changed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> life. . . .</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XWQJYzSNYKo/Ws1P6HCRbBI/AAAAAAAAB8c/oSfVp0h-60oaYBFDbAfmQsQjwJ9qCIJbwCLcBGAs/s1600/Custer%2BLane%2Bfarm%2Btwilight%2B2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="960" height="432" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XWQJYzSNYKo/Ws1P6HCRbBI/AAAAAAAAB8c/oSfVp0h-60oaYBFDbAfmQsQjwJ9qCIJbwCLcBGAs/s640/Custer%2BLane%2Bfarm%2Btwilight%2B2014.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Our Menomonee Falls mini-farm at dusk, 2014</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dpcQ8SVdM2M/Ws1N8dDX51I/AAAAAAAAB8I/_qdM3PuY444K46LlMMONtZjLri0gVzwXQCLcBGAs/s1600/bottle%2Bgentians.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dpcQ8SVdM2M/Ws1N8dDX51I/AAAAAAAAB8I/_qdM3PuY444K46LlMMONtZjLri0gVzwXQCLcBGAs/s640/bottle%2Bgentians.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>The bottle gentians that sprang up on our Menomonee Falls land, 2014</i></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At
the same time I was doing interviews, my husband and I were searching for a
smaller home. We wanted to move from our mini-farm in Menomonee Falls where we'd lived for 34 years, to relocate closer to our kids and grandchildren who live in Milwaukee (Bay View) and Franklin. The
stories told by the UEC young people opened our minds to moving back to Milwaukee,
where we had both grown up. In 2015, we did just that. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">W<span style="margin: 0px;">e have found
what those young people found: nature is all around us, even in the city.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><img alt="Image may contain: plant, flower, nature and outdoor" height="1" src="file:///C:/Users/admin/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image007.gif" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_28" width="1" /></span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><i> </i></span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RHNnyUMm5LU/Ws1O1gWZIGI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/Ekk3MRTy9h47FvpVO_5uujrUf7d5eNvDQCLcBGAs/s1600/KK%2BRiver%2Bphoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RHNnyUMm5LU/Ws1O1gWZIGI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/Ekk3MRTy9h47FvpVO_5uujrUf7d5eNvDQCLcBGAs/s640/KK%2BRiver%2Bphoto.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nature is all around us: </span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the Kinnickinnic River in the parkway
across from our Milwaukee home, </span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">where we moved in 2015</span></span></i></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></u></b></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;"><i>How a book sees the light of day</i></span></u></b></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><span style="font-size: large;"></span><i></i><br /></div>
</span></span><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I'm beyond thrilled to announce the publication of this book that I've been working on since 2014. Four years is a long book-pregnancy for me. I found a perfect match with HenschelHAUS Publishing in Milwaukee. We'll launch the book, appropriately, at the beautiful Urban Ecology Center Riverside location. The launch date, also appropriately, is the eve of Earth Day (please see notice above). People who join us that evening will get to meet some of the young storytellers who are the true authors of this book.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><i><b><u>What is the book about? Who is the book for?</u></b></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><b><u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;">Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee</span></i><span style="margin: 0px;"> is for youth and for those who care about them. In its pages you’ll find real words from real people. They tell you how nature –
and a mentor – awakened them. When you read their stories, you get a peek into their
lives and into nature’s mysteries they’ve explored.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Children want to play outdoors, but many don’t
know <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">how</i>. Some have asked, “Will
walking on leaves hurt me?” At the Urban Ecology Center, youthful
mentors help kids dive into the wonders and secrets of nature, right in the
middle of the city. </span></span><span style="layout-grid-mode: line; margin: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The UEC transformed a degraded park that had become
a place for drug dealing and murder. And the Center transformed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">lives</i>. In <i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee</i>, you’ll meet these
people and more: </span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">African American youth who love science . . . </span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A once-angry and violent inner-city boy who
became a leader at the Center . . . </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A young urban mother who was so depressed that
she lived with her windows covered, until her sons took her to the UEC, where
she found a community of caring people . . . </span></span><span style="layout-grid-mode: line; margin: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A boy who had no voice until butterflies
became his speech therapists . . .</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A young woman who insists you can be "girly" and still get your hands dirty in Mother Nature . . . </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A maintenance worker who couldn’t identify a
bird at first but who paid attention, learned, became a promoter of the Center,
and in the process, grew closer to his children.</span></span><span style="layout-grid-mode: line; margin: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The future of our world is in the hands of those
who are learning and growing now. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Young</i>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Voices from Wild Milwaukee</i> assures us
that Planet Earth is in good hands indeed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Profits from sales of <i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee </i>will be shared with the Urban Ecology Center. The book is loaded with color photographs of the young storytellers and nature. The price is $18.95, with free shipping from HenschelHAUS until April 20. (Preorder link at the end of this post.)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><b><i><u>How to get a free copy </u></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Respond to this blog post and I'll enter your name in a drawing for a free copy of <i>Young Voices from Wild Milwaukee.</i> Please try to post your comment here, on my blog. If you have difficulty doing so, I'll include you in the drawing if you respond to this post on my Facebook page. Deadline for contest-entry comments: April 20. If I draw your name, I'll contact you for your mailing address. Thank you!</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><a href="https://henschelhausbooks.com/product/young-voices-from-wild-milwaukee-the-urban-ecology-center-and-me/">Preorder with free shipping until April 20</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Gail Grenier is the author of </i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=gail+grenier">Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, <i>and</i> Calling All Horses, </a><i>all available at Amazon.com.</i></span></span></div>
<b></b><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><i></i><i></i><i></i>Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-27079472140850679142017-11-29T09:32:00.001-08:002017-11-29T09:32:17.846-08:00Frustration dreams<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I hate frustration dreams.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I had a real <i>champeen</i> of a frustration dream last night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I was in a huge warehouse-like place, trying to get a car wash. There was a long wait. . . and wait . . . and wait. I had a brand-new tiny black kitten in the car with me. I loved that kitten.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Finally I got my car washed, but they forgot to charge me. So I left my car to go give them my money, but got stuck in a line, where I waited. . . and waited. . . and waited.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I eventually gave up on ever getting the chance to pay, and I returned to my where I had left my car. My key worked but it was the wrong car. I talked to an attendant nearby, and he told me that he had moved my car. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Sure enough, I found my car. But the kitten was gone! Of course the man who moved the car didn't realize the kitten was inside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I searched and quickly found the little black purring ball of fur. I was happy and I finally drove off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">What are frustrations dreams about? One I get from time to time is that I have to take a final exam in college but don't know what building the exam is being held in. They say a lot of people get those dreams, especially if they were conscientious students.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I don't know why I get them; all I know is that I hate them! . . . although I do laugh at them afterward. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I wonder about other people . . . does everyone have frustration dreams?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Gail Grenier is the author of <i>Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Dessert First, </i>and <i>Calling All Horses</i>, all available at Amazon.com.</span></div>
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<br />Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073447958804898856.post-34028590760634967592017-11-29T09:21:00.005-08:002017-11-29T09:21:48.496-08:00Wait until eight . . . for smart phones????<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I12HG0m6blU/Wh7lKUgYN4I/AAAAAAAAB7I/0T6lgwUOBmcuZk8VJgFnqFTFJLeCLDXzwCLcBGAs/s1600/kids%2Bplaying%2Btrain%2Bin%2Bbasement%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="524" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I12HG0m6blU/Wh7lKUgYN4I/AAAAAAAAB7I/0T6lgwUOBmcuZk8VJgFnqFTFJLeCLDXzwCLcBGAs/s400/kids%2Bplaying%2Btrain%2Bin%2Bbasement%2B2.jpg" width="217" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mBJLeXYgD6A/Wh7lSzs1YyI/AAAAAAAAB7M/yTOMgLkMeucLfD2BdqhdIoe37uuLKJvQQCLcBGAs/s1600/kids%2Bplaying%2Btrain%2Bin%2Bbasement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="570" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mBJLeXYgD6A/Wh7lSzs1YyI/AAAAAAAAB7M/yTOMgLkMeucLfD2BdqhdIoe37uuLKJvQQCLcBGAs/s400/kids%2Bplaying%2Btrain%2Bin%2Bbasement.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Children give us answers, if we watch them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yesterday I took care of three of my grandsons and four of my "borrowed" grandchildren. The borrowed ones aren't blood, but they are dear to me and I've visited them nearly every week as they've grown up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">My husband has been doing a carpentry project in the basement, so to make room, we pushed a bunch of kitchen chairs to one side. Those chairs all in a row reminded me of playing "train" when I was little.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">So yesterday, I asked the kids if they'd like to play train. They were <i>on</i> that idea immediately. What followed was about an hour of switching seats, getting "on" and "off" the train, handing pretend tickets to whoever was the conductor at the time, and choosing destinations. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">They also dressed up - in the pictures above, you can see Simon (the conductor) wearing my husband's old cap from the U.S. Coast Guard. And you'll notice that Ariella is adorned with as many leis as she could find in the dress-up bin. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">The children's destinations included "Denver, to visit Natalie," "the ball," "the party," and (my favorite) "to see the fish in TheWaukee." (We live in Milwaukee.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I was thinking how much fun kids can have when left to their own imaginations, when I heard a radio show</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> about a woman who is driving a campaign to inspire parents to hold off giving smart phones to their children. I thought, <i>great!</i> Then I heard the title of the campaign: "Wait 'till they're eight."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">WHA ---???????</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">There aren't enough exclamation points for me to express how I feel about this. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Childhood </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">is a fairly modern construct. Kids worked like pack mules through much of history. Who can forget the pictures of the soot-stained, hollow-eyed youngsters who worked during the Industrial Revolution? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Part of preserving childhood is allowing young ones the freedom to not worry about certain things. A smart phone adds layers of awareness and worry about things a child doesn't have to bother with. I could go into detail but anyone connected to phones and the Internet knows what I'm talking about.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">My vote: keep childhood a time of kitchen chair basement trains and trips to TheWaukee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gail Grenier is the author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=gail+grenier+books&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Agail+grenier+books"><i>Don't Worry Baby, Dog Woman, Calling All Horses, </i>and <i>Dessert First,</i></a> all available at Amazon.com.</span></div>
Gail Grenierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11726375184279652836noreply@blogger.com2