Buffalo Gal

 I had plans to take a vacation from current events, politics, and my rather opinionated views of those things!    But I am jumping off the vacation cruise already.   Events force me to blog about some tid bits of news and current events…..go to another blog if you hate my politics!!!!

Item One:  Classified either as "Minnesota’s Continuing Embarassment" or "The Laugh of the Day":    Senator Al Franken was caught on camera at the hearings for Elena Kagan taking an instant nap…his eyes were heavy and his mouth came "undone" as his face relaxed into a slumber mode during the droning on and on of the opening day of Kagan’s hearing before the Senate Judiciary Committee.  His boredom and instant nap was clearly obvious and it was funny!  It is probably a good commentary on such hearings where Senators line up in the front of the room, looking like a bunch of Romans without their togas on, a crowd of people fill up the back of the room and the hapless and very alone nominee or candidate sits in the middle under the glare of lights with a whole row of photographers flashing cameras in his/her face.  How any nominee survives this is either a testament to a very stern disciplined decision not to look bored or surprised or dumbfounded by what comes out of Senate or Representative mouths as they do all they can to grandstand themselves.  I hope Franken woke up in time to ask his questions which I am glad I did not hear, as he continues to be such an embarassment for Minnesotans like me who are horrified by his "election" thanks to much corruption and the convenient loss of ballots from certain precincts.  I wonder if any authorities have searched under Mississippi bridges for sealed containers full of election ballots?   After Franken’s nap on the first day, he was caught on camera once again drawing a cartoon figure of what appeared to be Senator Jeff Sessions of Alabama.

JUSTICE FINALLY?    A breaking story concerning a former Justice Department Lawyer who left his job after the sure fire cinch case of voter intimidation that occurred in Philadelphia on election day in 2008.  At least three members  of the "new" Black Panthers party stood at the entry of a polling place, one of them holding a billy club, all of them dressed in black with combat boots ..all of them posing a threatening position to voters trying to enter the polling place.   The case was finished with a sure case for a conviction and then a "high official" in the U.S. Justice Department under Eric Holder, put out the word that the case should be dropped.  Now it is coming to light again with the resigned lawyer talking about the racial politics that are probably involved in such a travesty.  It is going to be interesting to see it unfold.

MOST INTERESTING INSIGHT OF THE WEEK"  Mark Steyn on the termination of General McChrystal:   "He is the only United States General to be lost in combat while giving an interview to "Rolling Stone"

I love the 4th  of July!   It is not because we go whole hog in celebrating it….our celebrations are simple and family-oriented.  I do not find it necessary to flock to "the lakes" or to a campground or to a place of "bright lights and crowds of humanity" to  love the 4th of July or to observe what is the most important "holiday" for our nation.  My 4th of Julys are more in my inner being and what is called the "heart" than it is in outward shows of parades, fireworks, picnics, et.al.    Those are all great ways to celebrate the Glorious Fourth and I have done all of them and will do them again.  But I love to think about the men and women who were the instruments who created this great nation of ours and what it took to bring the United States of America into being.   It was not an easy thing to do.  One book that really told me what it was like for the Founders and Fighters and Ordinary Americans was "1776" by David McCullough.  If you have never read that book, you ought to do so.   There are a couple of more recent movies made that also have given me a sense of what American freedom means….one is "Saving Private Ryan" and the other is "The Patriot" neither of which are currently playing in theaters….but viewing them changed my perspective on Freedom a great deal…..the price that has been paid over all the generations of Americans is tremendous and is worth remembering on our most significant national holiday.   I found some meaningful quotes about the Fourth of July and want to share some of them:

"The United States is the only country with a known birthday."    (James G. Blaine)

"Liberty means responsibility and that is why most men fear it"   (G.B. Shaw)

"We, on this continent, should never forget that men first crossed the Atlantic not to find soil for their plows but to secure liberty for their souls."  (Robert McCracken)

"If our country is worth dying for in time of war, let us resolve to live for it in time of peace"    (Hamilton Fish)

Erma Bombeck took a lighter look at the 4th of July but manages to impart wisdom in doing so:    "You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence day every July 4, not with a show of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file past the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy and the flies die of happiness.  You might feel like you overate but it is called patriotism."

On more somber notes:              "It is easy to take liberty for granted if you have never had it taken from you."    (Richard Cheney)

And Abraham Lincoln said it best, in my opinion:   

"We will never be destroyed from the outside.  If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves."

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In this time of economic crises, uncertainties about our national security, the overwhelming tide of illegals entering this nation with the governent definitely "faltering" about doing anything to control such illegality…in a time when we are mired in two foreign nations in war…..in a time when politicians and people of differing views argue endlessly about what is best for the nation….the statement by Abraham Lincoln made so long ago is especially meaningful and crucial to heed.  We will destroy ourselves if we allow our freedoms to be compromised.

It is time for baking something special for the Glorious Fourth celebration.  I have made this cake several times in the past and it seems like a good year to do another one.   The cake features the American flag and is done in fresh fruit (red stripes: raspberries…..stars: blueberries)

It’s real name is "Stars and Stripes Cake".      It is a large cake and serves 35 if you use the full recipe.  It can be "halved" and done in an ordinary 9 X13 cake pan if you do not want the two layers or the large amount of cake.  But here is the original full recipe:

Cake:  zest and juice of 2 lemons/     2 boxes 18.25 ounces white cake mixes/  6 large egg whites/  1 tsp lemon extract

Frosting"  1/2 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature/   1/2 cup solid shortening (Crisco) at room temperature/   2 boxes (16 oz. each) powered sugar, sifted so it is fine/   4 TBS milk, warmed/   2 TBS lemon juice/

Decorations:  3/4 cup fresh blueberries/  3 cups fresh red raspberries

Method: heat oven to 350 degrees.  Coat two 15 x 10 inch jelly roll pans with nonstick cooking spray.    Pour lemon juice into 4-cup measuring cup.  Add water to make 2 2/3 cups. In a large bowl beat cake mixes, egg whites, and lemon zest, lemon-water and lemon extract.  Divide evenly between 2 pans and smooth the batter.  Bake at 350 degrees til cake springs back when pressed, about 20 minutes.  Let pans cool on wire rack for 10 minutes. Carefully invert cake pans and let cake cool to room temperature.    FROSTING:  beat butter and shortening in a large bowl;  1-2 mintues til fluffy….add powdered sugar, milk and lemon juice. Continue beating on low til well blended and smooth.  DECORATION:  Place one layer on serving tray;  Frost layer with 1 cup of the frosting.    Reserve 1 cup frosting for piping around the cake if you desire;  Add second layer and frost.  Outline cake with piping using a star tip and a frosting bag or frosting decorator tube.     Mark off the star field on the right hand corner of the frosted cake.  Fill in with the blueberries for the stars.  Place 7 stripes of raspberries leaving space for the white stripes.  You may pipe with the star decorator between the stripes if you choose to do so. (you can skip the piping altogether if you wish) Refrigerate cake til it is served.  Cover loosely with nonstick aluminum foil.  Let stand at room temperature for 20 minutes before serving.

Our family has enjoyed the smaller version of this cake; I used 1 cake mix and cut the other ingredients by half.   The blueberries and raspberries are the best feature of the cake but the cake and frosting are absolutely delicious with the lemon flavoring.

Yesterday (June 28) was the 70th day since crude oil has been gushing into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico with no end in sight.    Contemplating the effects of this disaster is hard to think about, but there is another "slick" in the Gulf waters that occurs regularly and nobody gets panicked about it or sends all the 24/7 news reporters out to cover it.

It is the annual slick that comes out of the delta areas of two rivers….the Mississippi and the Atchafalaya…. which both empty into the Gulf of Mexico.    Jonah Goldberg writes about it in a June 16 commentary piece.

"A rolling dead zone off the Gulf of Mexico is killing sea life and destroying livelihoods.  Recent estimates put the blob at nearly the size of New Jersey.   Alas, I’m not talking about the Deepwater Horizon oil spill.  As terrible as that catatastrophe is, such accidents have occurred in the U.S. waters only once in every 40 years (and globally about once every 20 years).  I’m talking about the dead zone largely caused by fertilizer runoff from American farms along the Mississippi and the Atchafalaya river basins.  Such pollutants cause huge algae plumes that result in oxygen starvation in the Gulf’s richest waters, near the delta".

The essay goes on to say that the fertilizer runoff deadzone is an annual occurrence in that part of the Gulf.  The average annual size of this dead zone runs up to 6,600 square miles and it is generated by the U.S.  bipartisan federal agriculture, trade, and energy policies.  The current trend of pursuing biofuels (supposedly to replace carbon-based fuels) will generate even more dead zones like the one described in Goldberg’s piece.  One researcher found that if current corn-based ethanol production stays on target, the size of the Gulf deadzone of overgrowth of algae will increase by 34 percent.  This was from a study done by the National Academy of Sciences in 2008.

The utopian dream of living oil-coal-natural gas-free fails to recognize that for every barrel of petroleum based fuel that is not produced here in the U.S., we will be buying it from overseas oil producers and most of the big ones hate us with a passion (all the Arab oil producers, with the possible exception of Saudi Arabia… and Venezueala for starters.)

Goldberg quote again from his article:   "But wait a minute…isn’t this why we are investing in ‘renewables’, to free ourselves from this vicious petro-cycle?  Don’t the Billy Sundays of the Church Of Green promise that they are the path to salvation? "     Goldberg goes on to quote Matt Ridley, author of "The Rational Optimist" who has said that the ethanol production "steals precious land to produce inefficient fuel  inefficiently (making food more scarce and more expensive for the poor).  If all our transport came from biofuels, we would need 30% more land than all of the existing food-growing farmland we have today."

Other facts cited from Ridley’s book:      * "Nature Conservancy’s Joseph Farigone estimates rainforest clear-cutting for biofuels releases 17-420 times more CO2 than it off-sets by displacing petroleum or coal."    *  wind and solar power:  this would not solve any of the needs for transportation since these two sources  only produce electricity;  "if the average needs for electrical energy were to be met, we would need wind farms the size of Kazakhstan or solar panels the size of Spain."       *  "Fossil fuels have been one of the great boons to both to humanity and the environment, allowing forests to regrow now that we don’t use wood for heating or grow fuel for horses any more.  The great permanent shortage is usable land surface and and fresh water,  The more land we use to produce energy, the less we have for vulnerable species, watersheds, agriculture and recreation." (Ridley)

Another quote from Ridley’s book:  "If you like wilderness as I do, the last thing you want to do is go back to the medieval habit of using the landscape surrounding us to make power."

  My own thoughts on the subject:     I have long been aware and also persuaded that trying to shut down the production of fossil fuels will only lead to bigger energy and environment problems.   The vaunted Green Energy sources are inadequate for the demands and trying to get people to reduce those demands, while the Greenies like the Green- Guru Al Gore and Arianna Huffington  et.al. live out their hyposcrisy by using up tons of fossil fuels for their comfort and convenience…big homes with air conditioning and massive use of electricity; flying in privare jets or other jets that gobble up fuel, driving big gas-guzzling vehicles…is not what is going to make other people want to listen to their rantings or obey their orders for the "little people" they scorn so openly.

Further thoughts:  If you want to see what agricultural pollution has done in our own midwest area, fly in a plane over the huge Lake Winnipeg just to our north in the province of Manitoba.  Pilots have reported sighting huge patches of blue-green algae in that once-pristine lake.  Blue-Green algae are the worst form of algal growth since it contains deadly toxins that can kill animals or livestock which drink blue-green algae polluted water. (Blue-green algae are the result of manure runoffs)  If you want an even closer example of what agricultural runnoff (in this case chicken manure) can do to a local lake, drive east on Highway 10 and then south on a county road,  and take a look at Sand Lake on the border of Clay and Becker Counties and view the destruction of a once- lovely lake for fishing, boating and swimming.  It is now filled with blue-green algae and certain people whose homes are along its shores have become ill from swimming in Sand Lake or even breathing the fumes of the decaying algae during the hot months of summer.  One family we know became ill last Fourth of July  from the fumes of the decaying blue green algae on Sand Lake…..it is right here in midst. Agricultural pollution from chemical fertilzer/or/ animal manure is a deadly problem that we face right in our own territory, to say nothing of the river deltas of Louisiana, Mississippi or Alabama and other southern states that border the Gulf of Mexico. Incidentally, the lake chain that leads from Sand Lake ultimately empties into the Buffalo River and finally into the Red River from whence it travels northward to Lake Winnipeg, picking up agricutural pollutants along the way from the rivers and streams of northern ND and northern MN.

"We have met the enemy and it is us"  (Pogo)

This new morning…June 28—looks to be a marvelous, perfect day in June that has been praised by poets and others in  uncounted times and ways.  When I looked outside this morning, I thought of the opening lines of a poem by James Russell Lowell, a poet of the past whose flowery poetic language is a bit unreal for modern eyes and ears but his expression of June’s lovely time still rings true…flowery language or not.  Here are parts of Lowell’s famous poetry about the month of June:
 

"What is so rare as a day in June? /  Then,if ever,comes perfect days; /  Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune/ And over it wholly her warm ear lays;/  Whether we look or whether we listen, / We hear life’s murmur, or see it glisten." /

And farther on in the poem:      "The little bird sits at his door in the sun,/  A-tilt like a blossom among the leaves, /  And lets his illumin’d being o’errun/  With the deluge of summer  it receives; / His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;  /  He sings to the wide world and she to her nest,/  In the nice ear of Nature which is the best? "

Toward the end of Lowell’s poem, he says this:   "Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;/  Everything is happy now,/  Everything is upward striving;/  Tis easy now for the heart to be true/ As for the grass to be green and the skies to be blue, "/

The complete poem was found by  googling "what is so rare as a day in June". I did not quote the entire poem which has about 3 longer stanzas in all.   The 19th century language is surpassed by the thoughts of the poet….June IS a wonderful month, especially when one walks outside on this beautiful version of a "rare day" on June 28, 2010.

I need to go sit on my chair on the deck for awhile before I begin some tasks I have set for myself today.  I need to drink in a bit of the "rare day" of beauty, tranquility (at least here in the rural setting) and promise and hope of this wonderful rare day in June.  I will hear the wrens singing madly in the trees which surround our home and I will think of the poet’s words about the "little bird" sitting "at his door in the sun".  Even when the swallow pair go bonkers at my presence on the deck and seek to rid themselves of my presence, I will smile at them (and wave my arms when they come in for their attack) and think of the poets words about the nesting birds protecting their homes and their young fledglings.  I will take in the green-ness and the blue-ness of woods, grass, and sky.  And I will think about another line from Lowell’s poem:   "We are happy now because God wills it; /  No matter how barren the past may have been,/ Tis enough for now that the leaves are green;/  We sit in the warm shade and feel right well/ How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;/  We may shut our eyes but we cannot help knowing/ That skies are clear and the grass is growing."

"What goes around comes around" is the title of a small essay from the Newport News-Times of Newport, Oregon which is a rather small town on the central Oregon coast.  Bobbie Lippman is the writer and she happens to be the cousin of MY cousin’s former neighbor in Manteca, California.  Got that straight?  Good. 

 "Bobbie’s Beat" is worth re-telling, especially this touching story which began in the summer of 1942 in Omaha, Nebraska when Bobbie was about 6 years old.  She and her Dad were driving with a big load of tomatoes they had picked up to bring home for canning when they slowed down for what looked like a stage performance going on.  They pulled up just as a lady in a flowered dress finished singing the last strains of the "White Cliffs of Dover" and the Emcee, a big man wearing blue overalls urged the crowd to "give the little lady a hand".  Then the big man in the blue overalls looked around and asked if there was anyone else who wanted to do something for the assembled crowd.    Bobbie’s Dad said to her "Go on up there, Honey, and sing "Ive Been Working On The Railroad."   

Bobbie’s Dad had been a railroad man all his working life; he had been on the Union Pacific for years.   "I’ve Been Working On The Railroad" was practically a national anthem in Bobbie’s home and she knew the song well.  She did not hesitate to obey her daddy but stepped up on the stage, the emcee lowered the microphone for her and she belted out the song her dad had requested.  At the end there was applause and thanks from the big emcee in the blue overalls.  Bobbie’s greatest pleasure was seeing her handsome dad in the crowd smiling at her and clapping for her.

Then there is a leap in time….to a winter day in Omaha in 1991.     The place is now a nursing home where Bobbie’s parents are living.  Her father, who drove his car up til his 88th year, had an accident which caused injury to him and his wife and his was bad enough that he was wheelchair bound and living where he could have 24-hour a day care if needed.

Bobbie was visiting her parents on a cold November day when she saw Janet, the activities director putting up a sign that said   "JOIN US FOR MUSIC DAY;  2 P.M."  Bobbie went to Janet and asked if her parents ever took part in any of the special events.  Her father had shown definite signs of depression and disinterest in most everything since moving into the nursing home.  Janet replied that the parents never did take part in anything she organized. Bobbie told Janet that her dad had been quite the whiz on the harmonica in days long past.  Janet urged her to bring her dad and his harmonica to the Music Day that was soon to happen.  Bobbie put the old harmonica on her dad’s lap and rolled him into the dining room where the Music Day was to take place.  Her mother came along as well.   Bobbie’s dad had tried to refuse going to Music Day but Bobbie gave him no choice that day….a bit like that day in 1942 when he had told Bobbie to get up on that stage and sing "I’ve Been Working On The Railroad" and she obeyed her dad.

By the time Bobbie and her parents got to the dining room, Janet was leading at least 45 folks in singing "Amazing Grace".  Her dad did not join in the singing at all but her mother did.  At the end of a few songs, Bobbie flashed Janet a conspiratorial look.  Janet spoke up "Say Mr Jenson, I hear you are pretty good on the harmonica."   Bobbie’s dad looked at Janet like he did not quite comprehend what she had said.  Bobbie handed her father his harmonica and told him to play "I’ve Been Working On The Railroad" and like an obedient child, her dad put the harmonica to his lips and played the familiar railroad song.  Bobbie said "What goes around, comes around" about her father’s obediently playing his harmonica just as Bobbie, as a 6 year old had obediently sung the same song when her father told her "to go up on the stage, Honey" on that Omaha street back in  the summer of 1942.

In Bobbie’s own words:  "When the song was over and everyone applauded, I blinked back tears while watching a new look of pride and strength come over my father.  He seemed to sit up straighter in the wheelchair and he was grinning from ear to ear.  Life had come full circle.  He had instilled confidence in me as a little girl and now this was my chance to make a difference for him.   It was truly a precious moment I would remember forever.   Dad died the following year, but the good memories linger on of a loving father, his harmonica and the strains of that old song, "I’ve Been Working on the Railroad."

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Bobbie Lippman is a professional writer who lives in Seal Rock (WA) with her husband Burt, their dog Charley, and a shelter cat named "Lap Sitter"

A four-letter word: OLIO;  means a hodgepodge or a mish mash and it substitutes well for the word POTPOURRI.   Olio is used in crosswords all the time; that is how I came to know it and its meaning.   My blog is an OLIO today.

SITTING ON THE DECK:  Earlier this morning we sat out on our deck in the steamy jungle-like humidity but if one sits still, one does not notice it so much.  It is when you move around that you start to sweat on a day like today.  My DB read aloud to me while we were out there and I love to listen; even grownups…even OLD grownups… love to be read aloud to! Miss Kitty felt companionable enough to join us ; she seemed to be listening also if you can call a smirky cat-smile, listening.  The swallow pair were very upset by our coming out on the deck but they got over it after a couple of Spitfire fighter plane- passes to which we jumped up, spread- eagled our arms and yelled HAH! really loud.  Swallows are not dumb; they can be trained not to attack.

YELLOW ROSE BUSHES IN THE GROUND     I delayed planting two small yellow rose bush plants as I overdid it one day earlier this week and had a sort of relapse of the virus that is bugging me.  It is getting better if I behave myself and do not try to do any heavy stuff in the yard or garden.  The two little rose bushes got planted this morning after the read- aloud on the deck.   I hope they grow and flourish and produce an abundance of yellow roses next summer.    I get to read aloud again on July 2 as I will be the guest "storytime" lady at the local library. I can hardly wait…I am going to use THUNDERCAKE by Patricia Polacco as one of my stories and I hope to even bake a "thunder cake" so the kids can taste it.

RETURN TO ROXABOXEN     My youngest son called once this week and in the conversation about what he had been doing on the weekend, I learned of the wonderful imaginative play of my 13 year old grandson and his friend.  The two boys had decided to "build" a riding course for their dirt bikes and had been working hard on making a track near our family’s home in Sartell.  I can see where it is in my mind’s eye; there is a patch of weedy ground near the  condo homes and I know that is where the two boys are building their dirt bike track.  My son said he had gone out and worked on the project too because he was so happy to see such creative play and imagination at work.  I cheered them on too and remembered one of my favorite chidlren’s (and adults’) book titled ROXABOXEN by Alice McClearan.  I read it aloud to many students in my days as school librarian before I retired.  It is the wonderful mostly true story of reminiscences from the author’s mother about the days in early Yuma, Arizona, which at one time was a one-street dusty desert town.   The children who lived there were led by a girl called "Marian" in the book;  Marian leads the others in building an imaginary town up on a rise near the town’s main street.  It is just desert but Marian "knows about things" and she uses desert rocks, cactus, broken glass bits, cardboard boxes and other throw-away things to build this little imaginary town were the children live in "houses" they create, drive imaginary cars down the "streets" and engage in things that they will do when they are adults….keep house, work at jobs, bake bread, cook, care for children…the whole gamut of life as an adult was imagined and played out by those childern in Yuma many decades past.  Alice McLearan visited her mother’s imaginary town years later and actually found the stones that were still there representing the houses and businesses of the imaginary Roxaboxen (named by Marian).   She was able to picture the days of play that went on there by children who needed no special toys or devices to have a great time with each other…letting their creative imaginations go wild as they acted out life in their little town called "Roxaboxen".

It made me think of my play days with the neighborhood kids when we built "houses" out of rows of lawn grass, freshly mowed.  We made many-roomed outlines of our "houses" too and I remember using dandelions as the electric lights in the rooms!!!   We also gathered "bananas" for food (ash tree seeds which look exactly like tiny bunches of green bananas) and other similar objects from flower gardens and lawns that resembled food.  We even set up a "grocery store" in our grass row town with its houses outlined for maybe 2-3 days til the grass began to deteriorate badly.    Imaginative play:  I worry and wonder if children are capable of doing this any more?   There are so many families that buy tons of toys for their kids; so many that they have no need to use their wonderful sense of imaginations which are born into every child but only need to be called up in order to use in playing with each other. I do not remember being one bit embarassed, nor were my friends, by the wild things that came out of our imaginations while we played .  We could share most anything with each other and it was accepted as normal when we were being creative and imaginative.

Now it seems that imagination has to be taught as units in school and projects developed so that kids will use their gift of imagination.   

Decades ago it was all we had to play from. How times change!

Have you ever suffered from a really bad bug bite?    I was just bitten by, of all things, a boxelder bug that was in the house and hiding behind a framed photo on a piece of furniture. I was moving things around and using my swiffer dust cloth when I suddenly felt a very painful something on the palm of my hand.  It was a boxelder bug and it had bitten me. I raced for the best home remedy that has always worked on horsefly bites or deerfly bites, the most painful bites up to this point when I got the boxelder bug bite. A paste of baking soda and water soon soothed the palm of my hand where I had an instant swelling about the size of a quarter with a tiny hole where the b.e.b. had sunk its venom into my palm.   Thankfully the pain was almost immediately helped and the swelling is all gone; only that tiny hole remains where the bite occurred.

Bug bites are one of the true "banes" of summertime and out at the B- Bluff there are plenty of flying and biting bugs that have tormented me this summer and many summers before.  I love barn swallows and dragon flies and bats because they eat pounds and pounds of flying insects like gnats and mosquitos.  I do not know about the worst of the biting bugs…the deerflies , horseflies and now, new to the list, boxelder bugs..whether the swallows and drangonflies can eat them but I wish!

Gnat bites are such a problem that  I have recently just finished healing up from some last summer’s bites from gnats.  I seem to be overly sensitive to gnats’ bites and they go on and on itching terribly for months….often leaving permanent bumps where the bite happened. I completely avoid the woods and long grass so I do not get ticks on me.  Once in a while one must get carried in the house and I find one crawling on me but it is not because I have been in the woods or long grass.  I suppose ticks travel on clothing just like mosquitos do. 

Is there anything more irritatating or drive-you-crazy- mode than a mosquito buzzing in the dark of a bedroom just as you are about to fall asleep?   When our kids were young and at home, they let incredible amounts of mosquitos into the house in summer months but it is not such a huge problem now as it was then.  Every night I had to get up and pursue those whining mosquitos in bedrooms.  As soon as you got up they also disappeared, waiting til you were amost alsleep again to attack like tiny buzz-bombers.

It is kind of ironic that in the nicest weather of our year, biting insects plague some people so much that you can wind up staying inside the house almost more than you do in the wintertime.   One reason I LOVE the freezing cold months (and I have few reasons to love that period of time) is that there are NO biting, flying insects!!!

We actually plan "winter" or "late fall" outdoor picnics out by our firepit and the many yard swings we have now.  I would rather go out in the cold and even the snow if it is not too deep or too windy…and enjoy picnic food like fire- roasted hot dogs and marshmallows along with cold beans and potato chips and picnic drinks.  I cannot go near the picnic places in the summertime like right, now due to the biting insects that find me first of all.  I have told my family that if there is ONE mosquito or ONE gnat around the fire pit, it WILL find me and bite me.  It is my own personal "Murphy ‘s Law".  It never fails….so I mostly stay inside in the evening or on days that the wind is not blowing at least 25 miles an hour.

It is the price you pay for living in the gorgeous countryside where never a spray plane for mosquito control is seen or even wanted by most of us who love our environment more than we hate the mosquitos.

Today on the birthday of their father, two of the sons had reminiscences about him that got us all laughing heartily.  Both of the recalls involved the power of his presence and the scariness of his wrath!     The father of the sons is truly a "gentle giant" who stands tall and is built with a powerful nod to his paternal grandfather’s build and height.  Sometimes the genes skip a generation and it did in the case of the Father.

The youngest son sent a mysterious e- mail message that said " You are doing great at age 72.  You could still beat up on a drunken druggie at the local lake when he fell asleep in the seat of our red Valiant".    We parents had not thought of that incident for years and years but it brought it right back to us and we shared belly laughs over what happened when the 3 boys were still young in the 1970′s and their Father took them for an afternoon of swimming at the old local lake, a product of the 1930′s Depression Years WPA projects when the lake was formed from damming  the Buffalo River.  It was the swimming place of choice for decades and had still not been replaced by a swimming pool at the juncture of the time of the "drunken druggie in the back seat of our red Valiant" incident.  

    It came down like this.  On a hot summer weekend, many people, local and non- local had turned out at the beach near the Golf Club for swimming, and apparently in the case of a group of young scruffy men in their late teens or early twenties, a day of drinking and drugging at the "beach".   One of them was overcome by his intake of the day and staggered around til he came to rest in front seat of  the unlocked red Valiant—our family car at the time.  He fell into a deep stupor and when the boys and their Dad went to go home, there was a most unwelcome visitor snoring away in the Valiant passenger seat.   The brave Dad immediately shouted for the drunken or drugged up young man to "Get Out Of Our Car" but he was going nowhere and got belligerent. Lucky for the drunk, his friends who were not in much better shape than he, was turned up when they saw the anger aroused in a protective father’s face.  They began urging their out-cold buddy to get up and get out but he protested and they began to drag him out by the legs, at which he fought them every step of the way.  The angry Father advised them that they needn’t try so hard because he intended to have the police come and remove the drunken sot from the Valiant .  This set off great alarms as the gang must have realized what the result would be if the cops showed up for any reason at all.  They increased their efforts and finally got the Slob out of the Valiant but he continued to be belligerent and fortunately, for him he did not try to take a swing at the Angry Father.  If he had he would have been "dead meat" lying even  more "out cold" on the ground…according to the sons who were drop-mouthed at the Father’s possible angry response to the belligerent one who was being dragged away by his "friends".  The Angry Dad, instead of punching someone’s lights out, took out his frustration and anger and  slammed the door of the Valiant so hard that the window glass disintegrated into bits and pieces that fell all over the seat which the Drunken man had occupied.    The sons have never forgotten that incident, let me tell you!  Thankfully insurance came through for the window replacement.

The next time they observed the power of the Wrath of the Red Valiant  was the day a gang of street boys in the small town where we lived, chose the wrong car and the wrong day to throw handfuls of road gravel at —–the red Valiant which held most of our family traveling to town on a small country lane that skirted the railroad tracks.  The gravel had no sooner hit the side of the car when the Wrathful Driver of the Red Valiant slammed on the brakes and was out of the car and running at the band of street boys in the ditch.  They were so surprised and so scared but they somehow managed to tear through the thick woods and head up the railroad grade to escape their punishment.   One did not escape..he was too slow…too scared…to stunned to get over the tracks before being brought down in the long grass by the Angry Father who demanded to know his name.  The white faced boy lied about his name and place of residence and was let go with warnings about his and other’s fate if they would ever try pitching gravel at the Valiant again.    Just a few minutes later, we proceeded to drive into the block where parents lived whom we were going to visit and along the street on one side of that block, a hapless youth was walking alone.  Then he turned and saw the Red Valiant  cruising along side of him.   In terror, this Lad began to run crazily, running as fast as he could through back yards and across the block as fast he could run.  The Red Valiant continued its drive around the block, just in time to see the terrified boy come out on the other side of the block, looking absolutely frantic.  As the boy spotted the Valiant he ran into the street where another boy…totally innocent and unknowing of any of the events that had taken place at the gravel-throwing site….was riding by on his motorized scooter when the escaping Villain leaped onto the back of the scooter nearly causing the driver to lose control.  The Miscreant immediately pulled his jacket over his head, hoping not to be identified by the people in the Red Valiant.  Somehow the scooter and its surprise passenger drove on and got away.     The passengers began to laugh hysterically knowing that the escaping and terrified boy was part of the Gravel Gang on the country road.

For about a year after the gravel incident and the chase through the woods and long grass on the railroad grade, the Angry Father….who was never angry for long…would drive into town on an errand in the red Valiant and observe youths on the street running frantically into alleys or behind buildings to get away from him as he drove.   Guilt was heavy on the sons of Gravel Gertie no doubt. One of the boys—the one who ran through the back yards and leapt onto the scooter told our oldest son whose class he was in, that there were 10-12 street boys who were terrified of the Wrath of the Red Valiant….or at least its Driver!

I  seriously doubt if that street gang ever positioned itself in the ditches along that country lane ever again.   When I thought of the incident again today, I thought of the old Johnny Horton song about the war of 1812 and the battle between Andrew Jackson’s Americans and the British army that outnumbered them.  The British were described in the song, terrified of Colonel Jackson’s troops…."Oh they ran through the bushes and they ran through the brambles and they ran through the places that rabbits couldn’t go; they ran so fast that the hounds couldn’t catch ‘em…down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico."         Those street gang boys ran alot the same way  the British did in the old Johnny Horton song….but they ran through village neighborhoods and hid in alleys for at least a year after the they faced the Wrath of the Red Valiant…..and its driver!

After visiting the famous Glensheen Mansion that Chester Congdon built for his family on London Road in the eastern part of Duluth, my curiosity about the tragic ending for the last Congdon family member has been rekindled.  So much so, that I requested the book WILL TO MURDER from one of the library systems I use routinely.  It appears to be the definitive book written about the 1977 double murders at the huge and ornate Glensheen mansion on June 27, 1977 when a night nurse for the partially disabled Elisabeth Congdon and Miss Congdon herself were brutally murdured during the early morning hours of that fateful day.  The murders shocked Duluth and the entire state of Minnesota, as well as becoming a national news story also.  Brutal murders were not as much a part of the scene in that era.  The Congdon Mansion did not even have any special protection or 24 hour surveillance, so safe did the residents feel with the doors locked at night.  But on the night and early morning of June 27 that feeling of peace and safety was shattered when the murderer entered the mansion, probably by breaking the glass window of a porch on one end of the huge Jacobean house.   The intruder then proceeded to the grand staircase….a stunning feature of the stunning home that was lavished with the finest of building materials and furnishings by the wealthy Mr. and Mrs. Chester Congdon whose riches were the result of early investment in Minnesota’s booming iron ore business of the late 19th century.

The intruder encountered the night nurse, Velma Pietila, a woman who defended herself to her death and tried to save the life of Elisabeth Congdon.  Mrs. Pietilla, I think, knew who the person was that was attacking her….it was no stranger to the mansion.  She was brutally beaten and bludgeoned with a heavy candlestick from the mansion itself.  The ornate staircase’s landing was soaked in the nurse’s blood, her teeth knocked out and her face unrecognizeable when the body was discovered early in the morning.  The intruder then proceeded to the real target:  Elisabeth Congdon who was smothered with a pillow from her own bed where she lay, mostly helpless, but even Elisabeth fought for her life as her body showed when it was found.  She had struggled against the killer so much her one arm which was not paralyzed by a stroke was bruised in the struggle, all the skin on her nose was rubbed off from trying to save her life.   It was futile for both women.

The ensuing investigation into the double murder and the trial one year later of Elisabeth Congdon’s son in law, Roger Caldwell, led to his conviction and life imprisonment.   His wife, Miss Congdon’s adopted daugher, Marjorie, was also tried for conspiracy in the murders but she was acquitted…although she did not escape imprisonment. She served time for arson and other petty crimes committed in Arizona; she also married a man when she was stil married to Roger Caldwell having gone to North Dakota and used a false name for that marriage.  ND still has her recorded as a bigamist.  The book unveils the troubled life of the "Glensheen Daughter"….spoiled and pampered by her adopted mother, a girl who grew up to be a manipulative sociopath..always in financial trouble due to her outrageous spending and check bouncing and schemes to get still more money out of the Congdon Trustees.  One damning piece of evidence that helped a jury convict Roger Caldwell was a handwritten will by Marjorie, scrawled on a piece of tablet paper on June 24, 1977, which left all her anticipated wealth of millions,  at her mother’s death, to her husband Roger.   It may have been the motivation Marjorie used to get Roger to agree to murder her mother so they could inherit the millions from the Congdon wealth that would be hers when her mother died.

The book is not only interesting in tracing the history of the Congdons and their great wealth and the fortunate adopted daughter who would have inherited much of the wealth had she not been so desperate for  money, so greedy and so mentally unbalanced, as the book unveils.   It is surely one of the most interesting "reads" I have had.  

I was surprised in one of the chapters that gave all the details of the many many legal actions needed in the unfolding of the murders  and the trials that took place afterwards, that I found the name of one of my relatives in the story.    This man was a lawyer in a St Paul firm that was brought in at one point to untangle the legal and criminal labyrinthes of the Congdon case and the wealth of the family.   He is the son of my Dad’s cousin, whom I regularly correspond with from his home in Florida.  His involvement was minor but I was surprised when I read his name in the book.

I have been trying to get interested in another book…..CHOCOLAT…. the book for the adult reading group at  the local library.  If a book does not "grab" me in the first two chapters I do not continue reading it. "Chocalat" is a very "light" read and also a fantasy form of modern lit and it does not intrigue me at all.  I confessed this to Joy, the librarian and she confessed back to me that she is feeling the same way about the book!  I have always been a reader who knows exactly the sort of books that intrigue me— as most readers know that about themselves.

Back to the Glensheen Murders:  Roger Congdon was released from prison after serving much of his sentence but committed suicide in the late 1990s.  Marjorie Congdon Leroy Caldwell Hagen is still alive and is "at large" somewhere in the southwestern part of the U.S. much to the dismay of those who know her and fear her, even though she would now be in her late 70′s.