GOOD THINGS COME IN PAIRS

Six years ago
we bought our condo in Lewistown.
Frankly, it was a test.
First of all, we needed to know
whether these two city boys
could live full time out in the
middle of no where. Equally
important, we needed to know
whether the two of us could
possibly fit into a conservative,
rural, agricultural community.

Since then we have only
enjoyed kindness, courtesy,
and friendship. Shopkeepers,
civil servants, waitresses, judges,
ranchers, and cowboys treat us
just like everybody else.
They seem to innately know
that we are a strongly committed
couple. And that acceptance is a
gift that we truly appreciate.

When you're different, 

you expect the worst.

But at least for me, I think it's time to change my perspective. Things that I thought would never happen in my lifetime seem to becoming a reality. In his inaugural speech, an African American President uttered the word "gay" and linked it to equality. Who'd have thought?!

Ignorance, not people

is the problem.

Everyone is scared by things we don't understand. But ultimately if you give people the facts, they are fair. Certainly there are extremists on both ends. But in todays world it seems that common sense is winning.

I don't know about you, but those people who eat rocks on TV confuse the hell out of me. However, just because the thought of ingesting minerals in their natural form repulses,
it doesn't give me the right to legislate against it.

While many argue, I am 100% certain that DNA and nature make me who I am. I spent years struggling with that fact. It wasn't until I accepted it (with great fear and trepidation) that I found my "groove". So, as long as I don't hurt anybody, why should anybody else have a say in who I love, or how I live my life?

I am a tax paying citizen 

of the USA. Therefore,

I deserve the the same rights as everyone else.

Just say it like it is.

I don't know about you,
but as I've grown older it's
become apparent that most
people are chickens.
They will do anything possible
to NOT have to tell the truth.
This compulsion to avoid
confrontation only causes
confusion and chaos.

Convoluted communication 

only hurts, never helps.
Instead, why not be honest?

Dear readers, note that I said
honest, not foolish.
Remember the I Love Lucy
episode where everybody
agreed to tell the truth?
Whatever Lucy and Ethel
thought they spewed out.
And being that literal
can only end in disaster.

But... I do fervently believe in
compassionate candor.
Rather than use the truth
as a blunt instrument,
I find sharing
simple, edited facts
helps everyone involved.

When my Mother was eleven,
her father boarded the Aquitania
to attend his Mother's funeral
in London. Years later, all that
she could recall was the cocktail
party in his suite. Not a hug or
an "I love you", just frivolity.
He never came back.

I honestly don't know how that made my Mother feel. People of her generation didn't talk about things like that. During her life, Ethel rarely if ever talked mentioned her father, and therefore he was an enigma. And beyond my Mother herself, there seemed to be no visible evidence left behind to prove that he had ever existed. After she died, I had to sift through her highly personal things.
Then I found this letter.

Apparently my father had contacted his long lost father-in-law while stationed in England. As this letter indicates, it's highly unlikely that an encounter ever happened. Imagine how Ethel felt when she first reading this venomous epistle. Being a bit a historian, I wanted to know more. So, I dug into the past via ancestry.com. Quickly I found out that George remarried in 1942. You see, that was an issue because my
grandparents never divorced.
Hence his fear of being "busted".

So, after finding this out, I asked myself the question...
What if George had told Ethel the truth?

To the confused eleven year old girl - 
"Your Mother and I can't live together."
"This is not your fault but I know it hurts you"
"I have to go away now, but I love you very much."

To the twenty two year old newly wed - 
"I never divorced Bessie, it would have upset her too much."
"I share my life with a woman who truly loves me".

I doubt words like this would have made a major difference.

But I can't help but think 

they would have made her life better.

I need a nap.

Maybe I'm getting old.
But come around 3 to 4 in the afternoon
I get sleepy and I just can't shake it.
Wherever I am, I drift off to la la land.
It often happens while on the road.
Therefore Frank watches me like a hawk.
Apparently I've been known to insist that
"I'm fine" only to nod off while driving.
Apparently it's not just me.
Otherwise why would there be so many
Rest Areas along the highway?

Maybe it's a guy thing.
I've worked with more than my share
of males who seemed to suffer from
narcolepsy. During afternoon meetings
their eyes suddenly flutter, their head
starts to nod, and it's sleepy bye time!
I've been there also and can tell you
that it is tough to battle the evil forces
of exhaustion. I've bitten my knuckles,
kicked myself in the shins, yet nothing
was able to break the urge to nod off.

Maybe it's timing.
Remember when you brought your own little rug to Kindergarten just for nap time? There was something about that calm silence that made you feel safe. Why isn't there an adult equivalent in the modern workplace? We seem to have legislation for everything else. Why not siestas?

Maybe it's a girl thing. 
Women have always known the benefit of a bit of shut eye. At 3:00 p.m. Ethel would turn on the TV and tune in the Newlywed Game. Then quickly drift off. 15 minutes was all she needed, nothing longer.

Maybe it's just a good idea.
Salvador Dali, Stonewall Jackson,
Napoleon, and Thomas Edison all took naps.
JFK, LBJ, and Ronald Reagan had a routine.
Into the office early. Then a mid day snooze.
And afterwards the ability to be fully
functional till late in the night!

Maybe Winston knew best...

"You must sleep some time between lunch and dinner. Take off your clothes and get into bed. Don't think you will be doing less work because you sleep during the day. That's a foolish notion held by people who have no imagination. You will be able to accomplish more. You get two days in one - well, at least one and a half, I'm sure. When the war started that was the only way I could cope with my responsibilities."

"WHAT A DUMP!"

That's the infamous line
Bette Davis growled in her last
picture for Warner Brothers.
And that's what I muttered
(under my breath) right before
we entered the "Money Pit"
for the first time. That's because
things weren't going my way and I was not happy.

You see, even before we arrived back in Lewistown, I had decided to buy a massive project, a "diamond in the rough". Since 1906, the Blackford house had stood on Main Street. Situated in a primo location, directly across from the Fergus Country Courthouse, and next to the Carnegie Library.

Sadly it had become the proverbial white elephant.  After sitting empty for several years, the price was dramatically reduced. Suddenly I was scheming, dreaming, and arranging furniture in it's rooms. Given nobody was interested...
It was ours to take!

After a busy first week back in town, I dialed the realtor to schedule a viewing. Immediately she told me that the house had just been sold THAT DAY.
I asked if we could counter.
Her answer? "NO."
I was totally depressed.

For a week I sulked and finally called another realtor. We looked at several houses but NONE were right. Then one day, we took a walk by a missed opportunity. Three blocks away, a sign stood in front of
the ugliest house in town.

We'd driven past that house a million times and never gave it a thought. Then all of a sudden, we stopped and took a closer look. And there, waiting to discovered were clean lines, spacious proportions, and a touch of Frank Lloyd Wright. 

Hidden under the debris. 

In it's current state that was really hard to see. The 7,000 square foot pile of stucco and brick reminded one of an episode from "Hoarders". Suddenly we heard a voice from the porch,
"Want to see the inside?"
Curious... we entered.
And our lives changed.

Inside the eyesore, 
was the house of our dreams. 
Built in 1917, it is filled with architectural details, spacious spaces, and a floor plan that works for us. So, we bought it.

Obviously the pictures shown here are "before".
Today, the kitchen and several bathrooms are
gutted down to the studs. In two months,
we've accomplished a lot, but it's far from over.
Keep watching for updates but meanwhile...
We couldn't be happier!

TWO LITTLE WORDS...

It's funny how little things can make a big difference.

Nothing separates the riff
from the raff than a simple
"Thank You".
After all, somebody took the time to do something special
for you. So why not take the time to draft and post a heartfelt message of gratitude in return?

In the old days this ritual
was requisite right of passage.

No matter 
who you were, 
you knew that you
must say "thanks".

Even Wallis, the Duchess of Windsor took the time to acknowledge a kind act. We'll never know if she really wanted to dine with "Joe". But we are certain she was grateful for his invitation.

You see, it matters 
how one says "thanks".  
The manner in which it is conveyed can be just as important. Wallis ordered her notes from Mrs. John L. Strong on Madison Avenue. Simple, yet special.

Don't worry, 
it doesn't have 
to be posh, 
just personal.

Can you imagine
Mr. von Fuelsdorff's
pleasure upon
receiving this missive?
He immediately knew
that Marilyn appreciated
and enjoyed his gift.

Danke schoen!

Maybe this gesture lies on the edge of extinction because
it can tiresome.
As a boy, Ethel terrorized me post significant events until I mailed my notes of gratitude. At the time I resented it. But later on, I learned that the gesture made people feel special.

How terribly sad.

Today it seems that a jotted "thank you" 

is rarer than an Hermes Sample Sale.

Fortunately, I am blessed to have 

family and friends who still practice this 

art of gratitude. Frank's parents and his

two sister-in-laws are particularly gifted 

in this arena. Among my friends, "A" 

instantaneously sends charming missives 

post any act of kindness. They always touch my heart. And for that I say...

7th Day Surprise - ALL GONE!

I've given up all liquor for Lent.

WISH ME LUCK,

I'll need it.

PAPER PRODUCTS

"Covering Central Montana Like The Stars"

Here in Lewistown, we are blessed to still have a local newspaper.
The News Argus is published twice a week.
As their motto above indicates, within The News Argus
one can get all of the "scoop" on Central Montana goings on.
http://www.lewistownnews.com/
Sometimes it can be quite entertaining. Other times infuriating.

The Police Blotter 
is one of my favorites. A day-by-day recap of Police goings on, the News Argus emphatically states that it
"does not represent the total 
 scope of police activity".
No names are listed, and...
"All persons are innocent 
 until proven guilty".

"An Empire Cafe employee
 called to request a 
 welfare check on an
 individual she usually sees
 several times a day.  
 She hadn't seen the
 individual in approximately
 two weeks. The individual
 was located and is doing well:
 they just didn't want 
 to go out in the cold."

"A person reported 
 a squirrel in a stove pipe.  
 A bird, not a squirrel 
 was removed from 
 the stove pipe."

"A report was filed 
 of a mini-van 
 pulling kids on sleds 
 with a rope behind 
 the vehicle 
 at Frank Day Park."

"The Probation Department

 reported they 

 "had a runner" 

 headed east on Janeaux.

 The runner was a male.

 Probation was able 

 to regain custody."

"A report was filed 
 of a suspicious person
 standing in front of 
 a location all morning 
 staring at the building.  
 The person was located. 
 She said she was waiting 
 for a ride to work.
 Everything was OK."

You see friends, often fact is more entertaining than fiction.
Especially in a small town.
However... it can also be quite scary. 

I don't read the Letters to The Editor.
A community soap box, it's dominated by a select group of extremists.
Occasionally somebody does write in on something important.
And then suddenly, something touches your heart.

Dear Editor,
My friend Karen, passed away -- her funeral was last Tuesday. I found out that the kitten I had given her after her mother and her son passed away was still in the house by itself.  I contacted the lawyer who was handling the estate and after I finally got hold of him, after three tries, we were able to go to the house to retrieve the kitten. Unfortunately we could not find her. We left food and water but the kitten needs a home. I am not getting any assistance from the attorney. 

Karen named the kitten Pretty Girl; 
she is black.  The question is,
where is Pretty Girl? I would appreciate any information. Please contact me through the News-Argus.
Shelly

So... in closing dear readers, 
today's question is... 

"Where is Pretty Girl?"