Myopically Just Across the Road

The dictionary defines myopic as a vision problem resulting in not seeing distances well; or a lack of foresight or discernment; or a narrow view of something. In this instance, it is the narrow view I want to address, in a very good way.

I’ve always been drawn to the small details around me, such as one small flower growing in a field of grass, or a particular pebble in a stream; but for many years now I’ve realized that I also have the ability to pick out the greater beauty of my surroundings, disregarding the power lines, the cars and trucks, the close proximity of other buildings, as well as other distractions.

Maybe living in the city helped me develop this ability. While I sat on my deck in St. Paul, overlooking my postage-stamp-sized yard, I would comment how lovely it was with its Euonymus, or Spindle Tree in delicate bloom, and the border of lilac bushes. Sure the neighbor’s house was 10 feet away, and the utility lines cut across my yard, and the alley threw up dust every time a car drove through; but I was able to overlook all that to see the microcosm of beauty there. Where other people saw the congestion and urban ugliness, I focused my sight with near-sighted accurateness on the pleasant aspects of my surroundings.

Now, Ripley is about as non-urban as you could want, and yet there are buildings and areas that I prefer to look beyond. For instance, there is a view from the front windows of Meeder’s Restaurant that I find very tranquil and mesmerizing. If you look across the street to the southwest, if I have my directions straight, there is a cluster of trees and shrubs behind a rustic wooden fence, between two houses. There is nothing wrong with the houses that border this bit of paradise but if I block them from my mind, I can see a cornucopia of color there in the fall, inviting me to shuffle through the leaves or stand with my face toward the heavens letting the falling leaves flutter toward me in their graceful dance. In winter I can almost see the horse and cutter trotting across the clearing, bells ringing, its passengers wrapped in woolen blankets, laughing with rosy cheeks and wide smiles. Spring brings the delicate pastel tones of green to the budding branches; summer the cooling shade beckons a blanket to lie on and a tall glass of lemonade.

I break one of the 10 Commandments every time I gaze at that marvelous piece of landscape – I covet my neighbor’s property. But I am also content to sip my coffee amongst the chatter around me, exchange bits of conversation with my fellow diners, and occasionally escape with my eyes to the tranquility of a small piece of the world just across the road.

On New Year’s Day, 2009 I wrote the following in my newspaper column: At the beginning of each New Year many of us think about what’s happened in the past year and what we want to change for the upcoming year. I got to thinking about people I’ll never forget and Edna Kofoed came to mind first. She was a kindergarten teacher for generations of children and I’m sure she made a lasting impression on many of the fresh faces she taught.

I remember a lot of things about her, but my favorite memory is this: I was a little bit of a thing (so I’m told) and I sucked my thumb. Thumb sucking was discouraged, but every day at naptime, no matter how hot it might be in the classroom, I’d ask for my blanket so I could cover my head and suck my thumb, and every day she’d say, “Are you sure you want your blanket, Robyn?” Mrs. Kofoed had some nasty tasting stuff she’d paint on thumbs to keep us from sucking, but she never painted mine. I asked her once, years later, why she didn’t paint my thumb. She said, “You were such a little thing, away from your Momma, and I didn’t have the heart to do it.”

We all have memories of special people in our lives. Like pebbles on the water, everybody sends ripples out that touch other people’s lives. Edna Kofoed has made a lot of ripples, and perhaps a few waves, in her lifetime. Most of the time we’re unaware of the impact our words or actions have on others, but here today, October 30, 2010, is a testament to the power of one woman to impact the lives of others.

Mrs. Kofoed, you have been an inspiration and joy to so many people. Tomorrow you start another New Year. The good Lord has given you the opportunity to continue to spread your own special kind of love and we’re all grateful and blessed.

Past, Present and Future Events

Last Friday and Saturday the Ripley Library presented the latest in their murder mystery dinners, a little ditty called The Santa Clause. I’m betting there may have been a person or two who didn’t care for the production, but by and large the audience loved it. If you have not yet made it to one of these fun, intimate dinner theater presentations, there will be another chance along about April of next year. On a personal note, Gabby Gossip (c’est moi) had a marvelous time that night and has the pictures to prove it posted at the Ripley Library. Husbands may want to hurry on down to remove the evidence before their wives see it. (Imagine a little winky face here.)

The Next Big Thing coming up is the 100th Birthday Bash for our own, beloved Edna Kofoed. The party is Saturday, October 30 from 2 until 5 p.m. at Meeder’s Restaurant in Ripley. Mrs. Kofoed doesn’t see what the fuss is all about but she’s looking forward to visiting with as many friends, former students and family as she can. A short program will start the festivities and among the speakers will be Senator Catharine Young.

Mrs. Kofoed was my Kindergarten teacher more than 54 years ago, and I wasn’t even close to the first children she taught. She remembers me and I remember small little things she did to make my first experience with school a positive one; like allowing me to keep my blanket at naptime, even in sweltering heat, so I could hide and suck my thumb so no one would see. Years later she would tell me, “I didn’t have the heart to take it away from you, you were such a little bit of a thing, away from your momma.” She wiped my tears when we had our pictures taken because I was distraught that I didn’t have my customary braids that day. She paused Kindergarten graduation momentarily when I ran to the wings of the stage to get my hair ribbons retied. She taught me to love nature and music and to believe the world could be a beautiful place. I owe her more than she’ll ever know. Happy Birthday Mrs. Kofoed. I’m honored to share the day with you.

Next Tuesday, November 2nd, is Election Day. Most of you probably have made your decisions on which candidates you’ll choose. In Ripley, when you finish your voting, don’t forget to turn the ballot over and read the proposition about the Ripley Library funding. I wrote a couple weeks ago about the proposed increase in the library’s budget, but I’ll reiterate. A large chunk of the funding for the library comes from our local taxes, and the library hasn’t had an increase in ten years. Imagine trying to run your household today on the income you had available ten years ago. Heating, electricity, water bills have all gone up. Maintenance on the building continues. New books and media need to be bought. I understand through a reliable source that the proposed increase will amount to two cents per thousand increase on the assessed value of your property. On a $100,000 home, that’s $2 a year. Please vote yes. The library is only asking for $2,300 more. It’s a pittance when you consider the payback the community gets.

The After School Program kids visited the library recently so see for themselves what is being offered for them. They have made posters . Come and see. Blah blah blah – what do you want to say?

One last note: The Annual Ripley Library Auction is coming up November 13th. The scope and variety of items donated by local businesses and residents is amazing. This is the largest fund-raiser of the year for the library. Tickets to events, restaurant certificates, coupons for services as well as practical, beautiful, and fun items will be auctioned off. Come join the fun.

The dreaded play is over! The Santa Clause was presented, ad lib, on two nights, Friday and Saturday, and the play was entirely different both nights. Personally, I had more fun Saturday nights. That's when I decided that "Will Lie" was really in love with me. So I planted the idea in everyone's head that he secretly loved me, even though he pretended to hate me. And that he was insanely jealous.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The Ripley Library puts on a murder mystery dinner every year, although this year they did two, as fund raisers. The Santa Clause took place at the annual Christmas party of the law firm of Lie, Cheat and Steal. Unfortunately, A. "Big" Scam, who was slated to become senior partner, was found murdered two days before the party and the announcement, in his Santa suit and stuffed up his own chimney.

So Will Lie, founder and senior partner, appointed Ben DeToy as the new partner and Santa for the night. Unfortunately, during dinner the night of the party, Ben slumped over his dinner, dead!

Amidst characters like senior attorney Seymour Steal, his ex-wife Enid A Drink (lush and voodoo princess), partner Constance Cheat (who slept her way to the top), animal rights activist Shamus Steal, pharmaceutical magnate Marsh Mellow, and the vapid ditzy blonde Mary Christmas, among others, Gabby Gossip (c'est moi) wends her way through the characters and crowd, trying to pick up juicy tidbits she can put in her next gossip column.

Friday night, unfortunately for the those attending, was a dress rehearsal of sorts. It turned out all right, even though several key point were left out, but Saturday night was when we let it all loose. Gabby was circulating the tables of guests, vamping all the men, bribing the women with (phoney) $5 bills to seek out gossip for her. I had the brainstorm of taking my picture with various male audience members, compliments of their wives, and then showing them the photo and telling them, "Blackmail for later if you don't come through for me, sweetie." They LOVED it! LOL

In case you're interested, Marsha Mellow murdered both Big Scam and Ben DeToy because they knew of her plot to spread a deadly virus so that her company could get the fast track for FDA approval for the cure. She already HAD the cure, having kidnapped two of the foremost scientists in the world to come up with the cure, now she needed the leverage to get it out to the public and make a killing. (In a manner of speech.)

Sew-Sew

I enjoy sewing, when I’m in the mood to sew. That doesn’t happen a lot, but I find late September/early October seems to bring on an urge to be creative, what with Halloween and Christmas coming. For years I made my own costumes for parties or just answering the door for Tricks and Treaters at Halloween. For the occasional Christmas party I’d make something simple to wear. This year I hit the jackpot; I’m making an outfit to wear in the library murder mystery dinner which takes place near Halloween, but is set at a Christmas Party. Two for the price on one this time around.

I’m what I call a “slap-dash” sewer. I can make clothes with flat-fell seams and all that fancy stuff, but I prefer to just throw something together quick and dirty, taking all the shortcuts I can. After all, who sees the inside seams or knows that I’ve gathered a waistline instead of pinning dozens of pleats? If it looks good on the outside and doesn’t have to last all that long, why take the time is my motto.

My sister is probably flinching in dismay. She-of-the-large-family makes most of the dresses for her girls and some of the shirts for her boys. She probably does more, but I’m not sure so I didn’t want to mislead you. She fashions clothes from by-gone eras where woman’s clothing was not only functional, but also full of detail and grace.

Most of the dress patterns she uses come from the 1820s through the 1860s. Terms like ruching, armscye, and gigot sleeves pepper her blogs about sewing. Personally I don’t know what those terms mean, but someday I’d like to learn. Her husband says she’d get more sewing done if she didn’t make things so intricate, but she claims it may be some sort of mental disorder that she keeps in check by the addition of growth tucks, shirring and embellishments. She’s joking of course, but the cloths she makes are wonderful examples of a more feminine age.

In her family the girls are required to be competent with hand sewing before they are allowed to use the sewing machine. Many of you may remember mothers, grandmothers or perhaps even yourselves doing samplers. During Sewing Hour, the littlest girls, ages four and six, begin by stitching on plastic canvas with yarn and a blunt tip needle. From there they progress to learning running stitches. The older ones work on tea towels, learn to use the knitting loom and then progress to trim work on bonnets or dresses with cording or quilting.

For their birthdays, each girl is given at least one new dress and it’s a matter of great discussion and debate about what will be found on their birthday morning. “That’s generally how we do it. You awake to find your special frock made just for you to spend your special day in,” my sister wrote. One of the recent birthday dresses was a “wrapper” from the Children’s Fashions section of Godey’s Lady’s Book from February 1863. It definitely caught my interest. A wrapper was worn for breakfast or other times when one might not want to be fully attired in the many layers required for the 1860s. Since a wrapper is designed to show off petticoats, it only fastens part way down the front. I LIKE this style of dressing. Wouldn’t it be lovely to wander around the house in a pretty, full skirted wrapper with layers of tucked petticoats made of cotton sateen? Lucille Ball wore a form of wrapper remake in the I Love Lucy series of the 1950s. Hers were worn with trousers underneath, but the idea was the same – casual elegance.

I miss femininity. I miss dresses with full skirts. I miss hats; not that I ever wore a hat outside of Easter morning, and then only as a child. Suffice it to say, I miss fashions that flatter the wearer, left a lot to the imagination, were pretty and made a statement about a woman’s ability to appear soft and delicate.

But then again, I like my jeans and t-shirts. Life’s full of tough choices, i’dnit?

I'm posting my article for the newspaper about the trip to Memphis. But I wanted to add a couple little side notes: Civil War history becomes obvious when travelling through Tennessee. Only Virginia hosted more battle sites during the course of the war. Murfreeboro, Collierville and the granddaddy of all battles, Shiloh, appeared on road signs as we travelled southwest through Tennessee. It was sobering.

On a lighter note, there's always at least one town in every state that wins the prize for its absurdity. In Tennessee it's Bucksnot. I kid you not, Bucksnot, Tennessee is a real place. Love it!

A Thousand Words

They say a picture paints a thousand words, but since I have no pictures you’ll have to do with a thousand words. A writer paints pictures with words, so sit back, relax and close your eyes while I paint you a picture of a spur of the moment trip to Memphis, Tennessee. If you’re actually closing your eyes, you’ve missed the joke.

With a day’s notice, I was asked to help drive to Memphis, where I would then turn around and fly back to Buffalo. My first inclination was to say no, but when I thought about it, what a great opportunity to drive through the hills of Kentucky and Tennessee and see the fall colors. With all expenses paid, how could I say no?

Years ago I lived in Columbus, Ohio, and this presented an opportunity to drive through my old stomping grounds as well. Now, Ohio, for the most part, is a pretty boring state. There are parts of southeastern and southern Ohio that are quite pretty with some good sized rolling hills. But, by and large, the state is flat. Ohioans are great travelers. There’s hardly a state in the United States that you don’t see an Ohio license plate. It’s because their state is boring. They travel.

However, I was on the lookout for interesting sites to see. Somewhere past Columbus and the familiar street named exits, past the briefest glimpse of German Village, a very ethnic neighborhood in the heart of Columbus with brick and cobblestone streets where we used to sing, “In heaven there is no beer…” at the popular Schmidt’s Sausage House, beyond the city suburbs, we passed flat fields of corn, soybeans and what I thought might be flax and my sister thought rye. There’s a beauty in a long expanse of cropland, some harvested, some waiting for the large combines to come gather the bounty. It fed my soul to contemplate the lifestyle and hard work it takes to feed the world.

That being said, I was happy to leave Ohio behind and enter the rolling hills of Kentucky. Never having been to Kentucky, I was surprised at just how long it takes to drive from Covington to Bowling Green and then on into Tennessee. Kentucky is known as the Bluegrass State. I did not see a single blade of blue grass. Nor did I see the fabulous fall colors I thought I would. Unlike New York, Pennsylvania, and even boring Ohio, the leaves in Kentucky seem to have already reached their peak and fallen to the ground. There are a lot of oaks in cloaks of brown, and a fair number of evergreens, but any trees that would normally display yellows, oranges or reds, seem to have faded into an apathy of brown and beige.

In the meantime, we have driven past a number of places I would love to have stopped and explored. Columbus, being my home in the 70s, beckons me back. I no longer recognized the skyline and there are places I’d like to revisit. Cincinnati looked intriguing, that Queen City on the Ohio River. It conjures images of riverboats and gamblers. Kentucky, with Lexington and the Kentucky Derby, promises treats like Mammoth Cave, a town called Horse Cave and Bowling Green.

I’m travelling with my sister and three Yorkshire Terriers. The dogs insist on sleeping either on a lap or across the shoulders. You haven’t lived until you’ve ridden 650 miles with a Yorkie stole around your neck.

After a night of restless sleep just south of Nashville, we set out for a three and a half hour drive to Memphis. We thought we were making good time, and I wanted to stop for a picture of Graceland. I’m not particularly enamored with Elvis, but after all, it IS the closest thing we have to a Mecca in America. Traffic through Memphis was a breeze until we were about two miles from our turn onto I-55. All lanes blocked the sign said. After 25 minutes in gridlock, we decided we no longer had time for a visit to Graceland, so after maneuvering our way to an exit lane, we proceeded directly to Memphis International. Such a shame. Maybe I’ll have the opportunity to come this way again, who knows.

I'm off to Memphis in the morning! I'm pretty excited. I get to drive on a beautiful fall day, through the hills of Kentucky and Tennessee (after a boring eight hours through flat Ohio), with the fall colors at their peak. What more could you ask. My sister and I will arrive in Memphis sometime late Monday morning, where I'll hop out of the car and onto a plane to fly back home. Only in America, huh?

See y'all when I get back. (Practicing my southern drawl.)