"Lady Bug, Lady Bug, Fly Away Home" - the opening lines of a children's rhyme. One of the first things I learned as a child in my Mother's garden was that Lady Bugs were good bugs. They ate aphids which were bad bugs. I would put my little fingers next to the leaf the Lady Bug was crawling on so she would crawl over to my hand. Then I could get her close to my eyes and watch her until she eventually flew off.
Several years ago it seemed we were overrun by Lady Bugs. There were thousands of them everywhere even inside our homes. But somehow in those years since my childhood, the Lady Bugs had become biters. What was going on?
What was going on was that those bugs were no ladies. They were/are Asian Lady Beetles. As the outdoor temps cool, they begin looking for a warm place to spend the winter. According to one website, Beetle flights are heaviest on warm, sunny days following a period of cooler weather. That is what happened here yesterday. It was as though we were under attack. I haven't found any inside the house yet, though I'm sure I will.
Interestingly enough, this same website says the beetle is becoming a concern to the wine industry. "Due to their noxious odor, even small numbers of beetles inadvertently processed along with grapes can taint the flavor of wine." NOW I have a real reason to be disturbed!
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Blogging as Habit
"The unfortunate thing about this world is that good habits are so much easier to give up than bad ones." Somerset Maugham
Isn't that the truth! We took a little trip to Decorah last week which meant missing five straight days of excercise. It would have been so easy for me to go right on missing our daily trip to the Y. Obviously excercising daily is a good habit as it would be so easy for me to give up!
Writing this blog after several days is also harder. Does that mean blogging is a good habit for me?
We began planning our trip to NE Iowa last spring. Ideally it would accomplish three things: 1)Seeing #2 granddaughter. 2)Watching her cheerlead at a Luther College football game. 3)Touring the "Little Switzerland" of Iowa during peak peeping season.
We didn't see Alyssa cheer and there wasn't much color in the leaves, but we did accomplish #1 and that was the most important.
We arrived Thursday afternoon after Aly's last class of the day. It was cloudy and drizzly, but that didn't stop us from touring the campus. Preus Library was my favorite (of course). The history of Old Main, destroyed twice by fire, was more interesting than the new Old Main building. Even in the rain, it is a beautiful campus.
Aly & I left G'pa Bud at the hotel and went to visit Winneshiek Wildberry Winery. For a Thursday afternoon, the place was busy. There are so many wineries in Iowa now. I enjoy visiting them. It must be fun for the proprietors to think up the names and accompaning little stories for each of their offerings. "How Ole Made Lena Blush" and "Horny Heifer" were two of the wines we sampled.
Friday's weather was sunnier, but still chilly. Aly had a full day of classes, so Bud & I drove over to Harper's Ferry on the Mississipi River, upriver to Lansing and New Albin then back across county roads in Iowa and Minnesota to Lidtke Mill in Lime Springs. There was some leaf color, but nothing like past years.
Both nights we ate at the Americana Grille where Alyssa works in order to spend more time with her. It was a plus that the food was good. I'd never heard of Irish Nachos before.
The trip home Saturday was uneventful except for a short stop in West Des Moines to see #1 granddaughter, Katrina. She was taking applications at their soon to open Little Caesar's Pizza on Grand so in addition to seeing her and other family members, we saw the "before" of their store. We'll see the results when we go back next month to visit her and our new great grandson.
A closing thought about bad habits: "The easier it is to do, the harder it is to change." Procrastination is one of my worst bad habits. Looks like I have put off the dusting, vacuuming and laundry as long as I can. Oh, I can do that tomorrow. I'd better finish that book today......
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The I P F(unny) Club
The Fairview Congregational Christian Church is no more. It lasted more than 100 years but the little country church three miles south of our home place was sold and dismantled a couple years ago. Attendance and support for what had once been the centerpiece of a community dwindled down to a few members - most of them elderly. There just weren't enough young people to keep it going.
The youth group was still well attended when I was growing up. It was known as IPF which stood for Iowa Pilgrim Fellowship (I think! Maybe it was International Pilgrim Fellowship?) Smart aleck teens that we were, we just referred to it as the I P Funny Club. But not in front of the minister nor the parents, of course.
Each month two of the mothers were assigned to bring refreshments. One of Mom's biggest pet peeves was a kid bringing back his plate with a napkin covering something he hadn't eaten and saying, "Thank you for the delicious refreshments, Mrs. Lynam."
Once or twice a year we would go to Triangle meetings at another church. That meant three church groups got together on a Sunday afternoon. I remember one in Orient only because our minister let me drive his car home from the meeting. I had just turned 16 and gotten my driver's license.
Next in size were Rallys when several churches met. I remember one in Atlantic because of how much larger the church was than ours and because I was running for district secretary. I don't think I wanted the job very badly because I was relieved when Connie Pigg was elected. Connie was nice, pretty, popular and her name was pronounced with soft g's; Pijj, not pig.
The only time I remember going to a conference for all of Southwest Iowa, it was held in Council Bluffs. That was a big deal because we stayed overnight with host families. My host was the caretaker at a cemetery. It was fun the next day to say "I slept in a cemetery!"
Not all IPF meetings were fun. One night at church the other girls were whispering and giggling. They laughed when I tried to join in then ran off leaving me feeling very lonely and hurt. Mrs. Vogel saw what was going on. She put her arm around me; said some words to make me feel better; put the Fellowship into IPF.
The youth group was still well attended when I was growing up. It was known as IPF which stood for Iowa Pilgrim Fellowship (I think! Maybe it was International Pilgrim Fellowship?) Smart aleck teens that we were, we just referred to it as the I P Funny Club. But not in front of the minister nor the parents, of course.
Each month two of the mothers were assigned to bring refreshments. One of Mom's biggest pet peeves was a kid bringing back his plate with a napkin covering something he hadn't eaten and saying, "Thank you for the delicious refreshments, Mrs. Lynam."
Once or twice a year we would go to Triangle meetings at another church. That meant three church groups got together on a Sunday afternoon. I remember one in Orient only because our minister let me drive his car home from the meeting. I had just turned 16 and gotten my driver's license.
Next in size were Rallys when several churches met. I remember one in Atlantic because of how much larger the church was than ours and because I was running for district secretary. I don't think I wanted the job very badly because I was relieved when Connie Pigg was elected. Connie was nice, pretty, popular and her name was pronounced with soft g's; Pijj, not pig.
The only time I remember going to a conference for all of Southwest Iowa, it was held in Council Bluffs. That was a big deal because we stayed overnight with host families. My host was the caretaker at a cemetery. It was fun the next day to say "I slept in a cemetery!"
Not all IPF meetings were fun. One night at church the other girls were whispering and giggling. They laughed when I tried to join in then ran off leaving me feeling very lonely and hurt. Mrs. Vogel saw what was going on. She put her arm around me; said some words to make me feel better; put the Fellowship into IPF.
Monday, October 12, 2009
"In the Morning"
"In the morning, in the evening, ain't we got fun...." (Words to an old song for all you young'uns.)
For me it works best to excercise of a morning. I like to sit out on the deck of an evening. In the summertime before we had air conditioning, sometimes of an evening we would take a ride in the car to cool off. I like to read of an afternoon.
Budbo makes fun of me if I say I do something "of a morning" or "of an evening." He says I should say "in the morning" etc. Most of the time I do say it that way. I know I speak the way I do because Mom would say "of an evening" and so did her Mother.
The first time I tried looking it up on line, I found a website relating it to people of Irish and Scottish descent. I can't find that website now. But www.thefreedictionary.com states: "Some speakers of vernacular English varieties, particularly in isolated or mountainous regions of the southern United States, use phrases such as "of a night" or "of an evening" in place of Standard English "at night" or "in the evening".
It also says it is informally used to indicate a day or part of a period of time when some activity habitually occurs. (Which is generally the way I use it.)
The most southern of my ancestors that I know of were the Duncans. Great, great grandpa Duncan was born in Virginia, eventually coming to Iowa via Michigan and Wisconsin.
Do you sometimes say "of an evening"? Do you know why? This vernacular form of usage may be fading out, but I kinda' like it. Perhaps one or more of my kids will continue saying they do something "of an evening."
For me it works best to excercise of a morning. I like to sit out on the deck of an evening. In the summertime before we had air conditioning, sometimes of an evening we would take a ride in the car to cool off. I like to read of an afternoon.
Budbo makes fun of me if I say I do something "of a morning" or "of an evening." He says I should say "in the morning" etc. Most of the time I do say it that way. I know I speak the way I do because Mom would say "of an evening" and so did her Mother.
The first time I tried looking it up on line, I found a website relating it to people of Irish and Scottish descent. I can't find that website now. But www.thefreedictionary.com states: "Some speakers of vernacular English varieties, particularly in isolated or mountainous regions of the southern United States, use phrases such as "of a night" or "of an evening" in place of Standard English "at night" or "in the evening".
It also says it is informally used to indicate a day or part of a period of time when some activity habitually occurs. (Which is generally the way I use it.)
The most southern of my ancestors that I know of were the Duncans. Great, great grandpa Duncan was born in Virginia, eventually coming to Iowa via Michigan and Wisconsin.
Do you sometimes say "of an evening"? Do you know why? This vernacular form of usage may be fading out, but I kinda' like it. Perhaps one or more of my kids will continue saying they do something "of an evening."
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Spaying and the Facts of Life
After Mimi disappeared from our acreage near Cutty's, we got a puppy from a neighbor of my folks. She was a Border Collie mix, mostly BC with BC colors and markings. Mimi had been Doug's dog from when he was little, so he got to name the new puppy. He was taking French at Johnston High School. He named her Nadette. (Seems to be a French connection in the dog naming.)
Doug named her, but she was everyone's puppy. While we were gone during the day, we left her in the basement where it was warm and dry and easier to clean up messes. One morning as Kari was carrying Nadette down the basement stairs, she slipped. She ended up with stitches in her head - but she didn't drop the puppy! (Her main concern.)
Nadette would be an outdoors dog just as Mimi was. That summer as she neared six months of age I said we would have to take her to be spayed before she went into heat. Kari asked, "What does that mean?" "Ahhh, my little girl is growing up. She's ready for the facts of life", I thought.
This was going to be the perfect Mother/Daughter teachable moment. I took her to the big swing hanging from a tree out in the grove and proceeded to explain to her all about males and females and menstruation and eggs and sperm and babies. About sex and how wonderful it could be between people who loved one another - the whole nine yards.
Kari listened very attentively. It was only when I stopped talking that I realized she didn't care about the facts of life: "But Mommy, what does 'in heat' mean?"
Doug named her, but she was everyone's puppy. While we were gone during the day, we left her in the basement where it was warm and dry and easier to clean up messes. One morning as Kari was carrying Nadette down the basement stairs, she slipped. She ended up with stitches in her head - but she didn't drop the puppy! (Her main concern.)
Nadette would be an outdoors dog just as Mimi was. That summer as she neared six months of age I said we would have to take her to be spayed before she went into heat. Kari asked, "What does that mean?" "Ahhh, my little girl is growing up. She's ready for the facts of life", I thought.
This was going to be the perfect Mother/Daughter teachable moment. I took her to the big swing hanging from a tree out in the grove and proceeded to explain to her all about males and females and menstruation and eggs and sperm and babies. About sex and how wonderful it could be between people who loved one another - the whole nine yards.
Kari listened very attentively. It was only when I stopped talking that I realized she didn't care about the facts of life: "But Mommy, what does 'in heat' mean?"
Saturday, October 10, 2009
The Odell Place
If ever there was an ideal setting for a house it was the Odell place west of Brooks.
The big old four square farm house sat on a rise up a long lane. The front yard sloped down to the curving drive. The small back yard rose to a timber. West of the house there was a pond. East of the house there was a small stream. A two car garage had been built between the house and the stream. A six foot retaining wall separated the yard from the parking area. A flight of steps led up to the walkway to the back (kitchen) door.
We moved to the Hanzie property in Brooks when Doug was just a few months old. We celebrated his first birthday there. When that property sold, we moved up the street and rented the Methodist Parsonage for a few months. Then Mom's cousin, Jim Haley, bought the Odell place. We asked if he was going to rent the house. He said we could live there rent free just so there would be someone there so it wasn't vandalized. I was ecstatic. My dream of living in a big house had finally come true.
Doug was two and a half that first winter there. One day after a big wet snow I bundled him up to go out and build a snowman. Then I decided to roll the biggest snowball I could. It was about three feet in diameter before I could no longer roll it. I packed some more snow on top then got my camera. I wanted a picture of my little boy standing on the big snow ball. I put him on top of it and he started crying. He was scared. He didn't want to stand up there. I kept insisting I wanted his picture atop the snowball and he kept crying. But I didn't want a picture of him crying. I told him he could get down as soon as he quit crying and I took his picture. Mean Mama. Doug finally won; the pictures show him standing on the huge snowball, crying.
Two rather traumatic incidents happened the following summer. The house had a wrap around porch on the south and east sides. Doug could play out there and I could keep an eye on him from the kitchen sink and from the living room. He had been outside quite awhile when I realized I hadn't seen nor heard him for some time. I went out to check on him but could not find him anywhere. I looked everywhere before thinking of the pond. I was frantic. I had myself convinced I would find him drowned. I was so relieved he wasn't there, but where could he be? I hollered and called for him; no answer.
There were some stray cats around when we moved there. We began feeding them and could eventually pet the two females but the tom cat wouldn't let us near him. Except for Doug. When I finally found the little scamp out in the garage, the tom cat was lying on the dirt floor and Douglas was scooping up the soft dirt and pouring it on him. The cat ran away as soon as he saw me. Doug got spanked for not answering me when I hollered for him.
As scary as that episode was for me the day Doug rode his tricycle over the retaining wall was much worse. I heard him screaming and crying. By the time I got him untangled from the trike and picked him up a knot was already forming above his eye. For some inane reason back then tricycle handlebar grips were pointed. Doug still has a scar in his eyebrow showing how close the handlebar came to his eye. And yes, I did take pictures of his first black eye.
One of Jim's daughters lives there now. They tore the big old house down and built a nice one story brick home on the same site. I often have dreams of moving back to the Odell Place; to the big old square white farmhouse with the wrap around porch.
The big old four square farm house sat on a rise up a long lane. The front yard sloped down to the curving drive. The small back yard rose to a timber. West of the house there was a pond. East of the house there was a small stream. A two car garage had been built between the house and the stream. A six foot retaining wall separated the yard from the parking area. A flight of steps led up to the walkway to the back (kitchen) door.
We moved to the Hanzie property in Brooks when Doug was just a few months old. We celebrated his first birthday there. When that property sold, we moved up the street and rented the Methodist Parsonage for a few months. Then Mom's cousin, Jim Haley, bought the Odell place. We asked if he was going to rent the house. He said we could live there rent free just so there would be someone there so it wasn't vandalized. I was ecstatic. My dream of living in a big house had finally come true.
Doug was two and a half that first winter there. One day after a big wet snow I bundled him up to go out and build a snowman. Then I decided to roll the biggest snowball I could. It was about three feet in diameter before I could no longer roll it. I packed some more snow on top then got my camera. I wanted a picture of my little boy standing on the big snow ball. I put him on top of it and he started crying. He was scared. He didn't want to stand up there. I kept insisting I wanted his picture atop the snowball and he kept crying. But I didn't want a picture of him crying. I told him he could get down as soon as he quit crying and I took his picture. Mean Mama. Doug finally won; the pictures show him standing on the huge snowball, crying.
Two rather traumatic incidents happened the following summer. The house had a wrap around porch on the south and east sides. Doug could play out there and I could keep an eye on him from the kitchen sink and from the living room. He had been outside quite awhile when I realized I hadn't seen nor heard him for some time. I went out to check on him but could not find him anywhere. I looked everywhere before thinking of the pond. I was frantic. I had myself convinced I would find him drowned. I was so relieved he wasn't there, but where could he be? I hollered and called for him; no answer.
There were some stray cats around when we moved there. We began feeding them and could eventually pet the two females but the tom cat wouldn't let us near him. Except for Doug. When I finally found the little scamp out in the garage, the tom cat was lying on the dirt floor and Douglas was scooping up the soft dirt and pouring it on him. The cat ran away as soon as he saw me. Doug got spanked for not answering me when I hollered for him.
As scary as that episode was for me the day Doug rode his tricycle over the retaining wall was much worse. I heard him screaming and crying. By the time I got him untangled from the trike and picked him up a knot was already forming above his eye. For some inane reason back then tricycle handlebar grips were pointed. Doug still has a scar in his eyebrow showing how close the handlebar came to his eye. And yes, I did take pictures of his first black eye.
One of Jim's daughters lives there now. They tore the big old house down and built a nice one story brick home on the same site. I often have dreams of moving back to the Odell Place; to the big old square white farmhouse with the wrap around porch.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Cerridwen
Cerridwen is Welsh for 'Keeper of the Cauldron'. Cerridwen was the name of my beautiful black cat.
I moved back to our family farm from West Des Moines October 31, 1995, the night of Halloween. The old mobile home we had purchased to live in next to Mom's house was in place; everything was hooked up except the rural water which was done by the end of the week. I moved into it alone as Bud had yet to find a job in SW Iowa so he stayed in WDM for another four months.
One day in December Mom & I went to visit Ron & Ruthie. Their cat, Oreo, had had kittens in October. They had found homes for all but two of the little fur balls. "Don't you need a kitten?" "No, we've got a cat." "But she's still in WDM with Bud. Don't you want a little kitten to keep you company? They're already house broken."
Whether they wore me down or if I wanted a kitten and didn't know it, I finally said "maybe." Both of them were black females. How to decide which one to take? I held them up looking into the eyes of first one and then the other back and forth. I don't even know why I chose the one I did. She rode home inside my coat - next to my heart.
I hadn't had a kitten of my own since growing up on the farm forty-some years earlier. The cat we had was my daughter, Kari's, which we inherited when she went away to college. My brother and his wife had sent home a litter pan with me and enough kitten food for the first night. It was cold. The kitten was away from its family for the first time. It seemed natural to take it to bed with me. I cuddled it, talked to it and let it roam around the bed. It finally settled down and curled up on the pillow at the top of my head.
I knew I wanted a Celtic name for her. Kari had given me a wall plaque of the mythical Cerridwen stirring her cauldron. It fit: Cerridwen, the crone, stirring a black cauldron, moving there on Halloween, black cat born in October; I named her Cerridwen. And she did keep me company that winter. And every night she slept on top of my head.
Cerridwen was a long haired cat which may have made her seem larger that she was, but she grew into a very big cat; not fat, just long and big and heavy. She still wanted to sleep atop my head. Each night she would jump up on the bed and pad her way up to the pillow. I would let her stay there awhile then gently put her down. She was too heavy to let her stay there all night.
Both of the cats were spayed, so we didn't have to worry about them being outside. Cassie was always ready to come in at night but Cerridwen started wanting to stay out. If we brought her in, she would sit by the door and meow until we let her out. Every morning when I got up she would be sitting on the deck waiting to come in.
Then one morning in October when she was three, she wasn't there. I never saw her again, never knew for certain what happened to her. That was October, 1998; eleven years ago.
I think it is likely I will adopt a kitten again someday. But there will never be another one like Cerridwen.
I moved back to our family farm from West Des Moines October 31, 1995, the night of Halloween. The old mobile home we had purchased to live in next to Mom's house was in place; everything was hooked up except the rural water which was done by the end of the week. I moved into it alone as Bud had yet to find a job in SW Iowa so he stayed in WDM for another four months.
One day in December Mom & I went to visit Ron & Ruthie. Their cat, Oreo, had had kittens in October. They had found homes for all but two of the little fur balls. "Don't you need a kitten?" "No, we've got a cat." "But she's still in WDM with Bud. Don't you want a little kitten to keep you company? They're already house broken."
Whether they wore me down or if I wanted a kitten and didn't know it, I finally said "maybe." Both of them were black females. How to decide which one to take? I held them up looking into the eyes of first one and then the other back and forth. I don't even know why I chose the one I did. She rode home inside my coat - next to my heart.
I hadn't had a kitten of my own since growing up on the farm forty-some years earlier. The cat we had was my daughter, Kari's, which we inherited when she went away to college. My brother and his wife had sent home a litter pan with me and enough kitten food for the first night. It was cold. The kitten was away from its family for the first time. It seemed natural to take it to bed with me. I cuddled it, talked to it and let it roam around the bed. It finally settled down and curled up on the pillow at the top of my head.
I knew I wanted a Celtic name for her. Kari had given me a wall plaque of the mythical Cerridwen stirring her cauldron. It fit: Cerridwen, the crone, stirring a black cauldron, moving there on Halloween, black cat born in October; I named her Cerridwen. And she did keep me company that winter. And every night she slept on top of my head.
Cerridwen was a long haired cat which may have made her seem larger that she was, but she grew into a very big cat; not fat, just long and big and heavy. She still wanted to sleep atop my head. Each night she would jump up on the bed and pad her way up to the pillow. I would let her stay there awhile then gently put her down. She was too heavy to let her stay there all night.
Both of the cats were spayed, so we didn't have to worry about them being outside. Cassie was always ready to come in at night but Cerridwen started wanting to stay out. If we brought her in, she would sit by the door and meow until we let her out. Every morning when I got up she would be sitting on the deck waiting to come in.
Then one morning in October when she was three, she wasn't there. I never saw her again, never knew for certain what happened to her. That was October, 1998; eleven years ago.
I think it is likely I will adopt a kitten again someday. But there will never be another one like Cerridwen.
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