I wrote this poem several years ago after mother died. Every mother's day I think of her, and this is the way I imagine her now.

Mother’s Day in Heaven.

It’s Mother’s Day in Heaven.

Mom’s perfect day begins

shopping at Macy’s

biggest sale of the year.

Returning burdened with bags,

jewelry and casual wear.

She’ll model the clothes

boasting of bargains and discounts,

Then, at the nearest freshwater lake,

minnows and pole in hand, she’ll catch

a stringer of gigantic bass and perch.

After her guardian angel cleans them,

she’ll dine on fried fish,

potato salad, coleslaw,

perhaps two pieces of cherry pie

topped with dad’s homemade ice cream.

The evening will be bingo, bingo, bingo,

winning a pot here, splitting a pot later,

until the final game—when mother

wins the blackout in only forty numbers.

The Lookout

I changed dad to "granddad" in this poem because I wanted to communicate age and make the poem more generic and timeless. However, as you can see in the picture, dad truly does ride the streets of Sac City.

The Lookout

Old men like to be of use.

Just having ready opinions

at Kathy’s Korner Café doesn’t satisfy.

So when granddad rides his bike

with us as we walk the streets

of Sac City, population 3000,

he’s our ever-vigilant lookout.

“Three cars on the left,” he calls.

Every corner, every road,

his eyes search the distance looking

for danger as we walk in the streets

of this three dog town. “Wait!”

Granddad spies a car turning

onto our street five blocks away.

Even walking, we benefit from mirrors,

huge glass reflectors on his handle bars.

He announces all traffic—coming, going,

of either lane. Not much happening

in this small Iowa town. But he rides

along with us, enjoying the breeze,

the crisp air, landscape and foliage,

and keeping his loved ones safe.

Loving Iowa

Although I am a West Coast woman now, I have a big corner of my heart saved for Iowa.

I grew up in Storm Lake, Iowa, an agricultural community with about 10,000 people during the time I lived there. In the fifties, it was one of those little Mayberry communities with a wide, tree-lined main street right down to the gorgeous three mile wide lake. I attended one of the two high schools--St. Mary's, although I burned to know what life would be like at the big public high school several blocks away. The town was very different then: the little Presbyterian college had a smaller footprint, there was no racial diversity in this town that is now half Hispanic. Parks surrounded the lake which was full of bass, pike, catfish, bullheads, and crappies.

My childhood was happy there, so I am delighted when I get a chance to go to my first hometown. Storm Lake looks quite similar today. Despite the recession, there were few empty store fronts. We visited my old church, St. Mary's and were delighted in the beautiful remodeling. No confessionals in 2010, but there was a reconciliation room. We had lunch at King's Pointe, the new waterpark resort built on the lake by the public golf course. We all walked along the lake, visited my old college, and did a bit of shopping.

Sometime around 2004 Mom and Dad moved from Storm Lake to Sac City to live with my brother Mike and his wife Carol. It was safer and easier on dad who had been taking care of mom for some years. Mike had spent half his life on the road traveling to Storm Lake to check on the folks and do their errands; so in many ways it was easier for him as well.

Sac City is another small town of about 3000 based on agriculture. Today it seems like only senior citizens live there, and it is true that retired farmers move to their favorite small town after they leave their farms. There is only one grocery store, a cafe that never opens, a post office, drug store, dentist. Whereas this town is blessed to have a hospital and a good medical staff, many nearby towns don't have one. There are many main line churches; unfortunately the smaller and older congregations can barely keep their huge churches in decent repair.

Iowa's consolidation of schools has had a disastrous affect on these small communities. It is impossible to run a complete school system with their tax base. These communities are usually 5 to 10 miles apart, so the solution is to have one community provide the elementary school, another, like Sac City, provide the middle school, and yet another, like Lakeview, provide the high school. Many of the young families have decided to settle in the bigger towns, or they have decided to work in the big towns and live in a smaller community close by. Consequently, the small communities have lost many facilities. We drove about 15 miles to find a theatre that provided almost current movies. Lake City has a fine theatre run by volunteers. We saw a fine film for $2 a piece. The profits go into paying the heat, film rent, and keeping the theatre in good shape.

It is a good, quiet life. Each day we walked around town, often right down the middle of the street. There were few children and fewer cars. It was a great place for my 97 year old dad to ride his 3 wheeled bicycle. It was a great place to relax and enjoy a beautiful fall.

Koolatron Katastrophe

The other evening our extended family had a big laugh on me. A great faux pas and a great story:

Chuck and I had planned a long car trip to the Midwest, so we bought a highly recommended 12 volt cooler so we would not be at the mercy of bad road side diners. Our initial trip with the cooler was to the Seattle area where we were going to see our son Will off for his mountaineering in the Rainier area. We had cooled and packed the cooler in our living room, and it was loaded. We had loaded in and out of our car several times and were very pleased. Will needed his own provisions for his climb, so he went shopping for climbing food.

At this point, I should divulge that our new cooler also doubles as a food warmer. I remember quickly reading the instructions and being very puzzled about the process of reversing the polarity so it would heat. (Maybe you know where this is going!)

We had a room at a lovely Victorian Inn between Ashford and Paradise lodge. We unloaded and moved into the little suite, and I quickly plugged in the cooler so we could get some dinner down the road. Will had me put in several package of cheeses and some packages of hot smoked salmon. Dinner was okay, and we returned to our room, read for awhile, and turned in early because it had been a long day.

The next morning at 6:30 AM Will came in holding a plastic package that dangled limply in his hand. It was his cheese. He pointed to the cooler. I opened the cooler and could practically feel steam. There were his two packages of hot, hot-smoked salmon. His cheese was melted and liquid in the cellophane. And everything we had in the "cooler" was cooked. Among the casualties:

• An unopened package of Chinese barbecued pork
• A package of dried prunes
• A bag of peaches turned into peach soup.
• A package of lettuce
• A bottle of garlic vinaigrette
• 2 packages of lunch meat
• 3 packages of cheese
• 1 jar of pepper jelly
• bottles of mustard and catsup
• Several containers of yogurt
• 1 bottle of beer (almost too hot to touch)
• 1 bottled of Spanish sparkling wine with a very bent cork (I think that it was 5 minutes from blowing its top.)

Did I say it was a very big cooler?

Will desperately needed to replace his lost food for the climb which was about to start in an hour, so Chuck and I start out down the highway looking for backpacking food. We drove several miles before we were stopped by a herd of elk in the middle of the road. (How often does one find a herd of elk when actually looking for them? Never!) It was quite dark out so the camera back in the room probably wouldn't have gotten a good shot of this huge bull elk and his herd of girls anyway. Soon we were on our way. With persistence we were able to find some vacuum-packed tuna, some packages of cheese, some jerky, and some fruit leather.

Will accepted our peace offering, and started up the mountain. Back at the Inn, we cleaned out the cooler. We threw the whole mess into the dumpster. I closely examined the plug on the cooler. There was an arrow on one end of the plug, and a plug with a red side and a blue side on the other end. What were the odds that in plugging it in (about 4 times), each time until the 9th I had selected the lucky blue side. Unfortunately for all of us, the last time I had connected to the red or heat side.

I thought I could blame all of this on a manual written in Skri Lanka, but when I read it after I returned home, it was clear that I had been sloppy in my preparation. I can guarantee you it is a mistake I won't make again.

A Night At Zinzani's

Perhaps the most exciting date Chuck and I have had in a decade was our evening at Zinzani's. We were to be guests of our friends the Dziekonskis, and would you believe it? We picked Seattle's busiest weekend--a Seafair parade and opera's opening night--all happening in the same area around 200 Mercer. Chuck and I decided to take the bus in from where we were staying in the Wallingford area, and so we spent several hours walking around the Seattle Center listening to bands and watching the fountain. That was an incredibly beautiful time right there, and Chuck was able to have a few deja vu moments watching the bands prepare for the parade.

At 6:30 we went over to Zinzani's where we gave them our name, then we were escorted to the Producer's booth where there were menus and plates waiting for us. We had a view of the entire restaurant, as well as the central area where trapeze acts were to be staged. They planned to serve a five course meal over three hours while performing continuous acts and music.

The food was delicious. Great salads, Chuck enjoyed a steak and I had halibut. Every meal that was served was a big production with the waiters dancing out with their dishes. When the entree was served, after they deposited the dishes, they danced around with the covers using them as cymbals. The cast was huge and professional. There was also an opera singer, a blues singer, a magician, trapeze performers, contortionists, and best of all--a great quartet that played through the three hour dinner. Tom was the violinist. We had no idea that he was a great jazz musician as well as a classical musician. There was a pianist, a percussionist, and a horn player--flute, clarinet, accordion (not exactly a horn.)

After this beautiful evening, we still had to get back to the Wallingford District. We accomplished that by catching the monorail into downtown Seattle. Then we caught the bus to Wallingford. The downtown was full of cops--mounted police, gang units--all dealing with problems left over from the parade. Pretty exciting for a couple of seniors used to being in bed by ten.

Fodder For My "To Do" List

A few weeks ago I was making a skirt smaller in the waist when my 45 year old Sears Roebuck machine jammed up and refused to sew. As I pondered how I was going to get that heavy machine (it weighed between 30 pounds and 150 pounds--depending on how strong I felt when I moved it or dead-lifted it from my closet) to the repairman again. Luckily I took time to reflect if I would ever need that machine again. Being able to shorten Chuck's trousers, mend things, maybe do a bit of quilting--I decided it was time for a light machine. So shopping I went.

Replacing my old machine now living at Goodwill was not the cheap task I thought it would be. Several weeks later I still needed a machine. Chuck and I were in Portland visiting our children the Knopps when I discovered that my grandson Eric worked at the Montavilla Sewing and Vacuum store two blocks from their house. I accompanied Eric to work and discovered a very professional and well-equipped sewing department with twenty to thirty machines set up and ready to sew. Prior research had suggested that Janome made an excellent machine, so I was able to purchase an affordable machine with a needle-threader at an excellent discount. They were running an excellent sale--my good luck. I was so happy that I carried that machine the two blocks back to our children's home.

A few weeks later I was able to unpack it and complete a fun project. Note the table cloth in the upper right picture. I was able to make the table cloth (except for the applique which was done by my friend Barbara Kinsman) for our Britt picnic season. It is great to have a good machine, and I am thankful to the Montavilla Sewing center and Sarah for helping me find one. Although I don't want to totally blow Christmas, I will admit that I have projects for Christmas in the works.

Music Family

Of the friends that move in and out of our lives, Chuck and I treasure the friendships of musicians--those people who have dedicated their lives to the humble life style that goes along with playing in major symphonies and music groups, teaching future musicians, and sharing their art with the world.

At the top are pictures of Tom and Virginia Dziekonski, musicians who were part of our family for years. Beside being top cello and violin players, they are also some of the brightest and most hilarious musicians we have ever known. When they joined us each summer our lives were filled with mosquito dives in our pool, midnight debates over Economist articles, music jokes, and crazy parties (I am thinking about the Nixon Vinaigrette party we had the year they played the Lincoln tribute.) The three weeks they lived with us were the highlight of our summer.

Lower right is Britt musician Lew Sligh, fantastic flautist and piccolo player. Lew joined our family for a few years during the summer Britt musical festival. May Zia, lower left, is another Britt musician who has been a friend eating and picnicking with us for years. We have watched her children grow and now start college.

Like so many friends who share our love of music, we connect with these dear souls when we can, but they will forever be a part of our family.