Sweet Corn

Holly J. Peanut

Kitty and I

My Favorite Riding Partner

Holding Hands

My first memory of holding hands was walking down a country road in Jerome, Idaho.  My mother and I were walking to get a pail of milk for the family.  She had my hand in one and a pail in the other.  I was probably 3 or 4 years old at the time.  I remember having a feeling of belonging.

I remember holding my sibling's hands as we helped each other or walked together.  Mutual guidance through treacherous years of growing up.  We still hold hands but more in a metaphoric way, I guess.

I would get the croup in a very bad way when I was young.  My parents would hold my hand to comfort me as I felt I would cough my insides out.

My next memory of holding hands was with girls. Ugh, I know.  I remember the warm and exciting feeling of holding my girlfriend's hand as I walked her home from school every day my junior and senior year in high school.  If you have heard Sting's song, "Walking on the Moon", you know exactly how I felt.  I still get a thrill holding her hand.

At Sunday School class, Janice Ward and I would hold hands.  It was a different feeling as one of friendship rather than romance.

I held my son's hands as they grew up...helping to guide them as we walked through their growth and journey to adulthood.  I miss those little children.  I think they survived my attempt at parenting quite well.  Now they hold my hand.

When my father was dying, I would sit next to his chair and hold his hand for as long as I could.  I was trying to receive transmissions of his knowledge. love and hope from his soul.  He still holds my hand.

Hold someone's hand whenever you can.  Or allow them to hold yours.

Yeah, I know.

Shay and Hope

So I was driving home from my mother's house today after having breakfast with my brother, sisters, mother and nephews.  It had been a nice morning including a walk along the nature path on the Greenbelt with my little brother.

I was west bound on the freeway headed towards Eagle Road out in the middle of nowhere near Maple Grove.  My car ran out of gas although the digital readout said I had six gallons left.  (I have been having problems with the old Caddy but the problem was supposed to be fixed.)  I glided silently over to the right shoulder of the road and rolled to a stop.

At first, this did not seem to be a real problem as I just needed to call someone to rescue me.  Again.  Then I remembered I had left my cell phone at home earlier in the day.  Now I was facing a three mile freeway walk to the Chevron station on Eagle Road and a three mile walk back.  I sat there feeling quite stupid and discouraged.  I decided to try to start the car once before I started walking in the 100 degree heat.

All this with a left shoulder fresh from surgery and already hurting from the days activities thus far.

Miraculously the car started although at a high rev.  I quickly put the car into gear and pulled out into the suddenly clear lane of traffic.  I drove while holding my breath hoping to make it the three miles to the gas station.  I pulled onto the off ramp and looked at the cars lined up at the red traffic light in the right hand turn lanes where I needed to go.  My heart sank as the car died again and I knew I was done.

The traffic light changed to green and the cars cleared the way as if they knew I was in trouble.  If I couldn't coast to the station I was toast as I couldn't push the car by myself with my bad shoulder without probably ruining the surgery.

The cars melted away and I glided past the Chevron due to the concrete island and yellow curbs blocking my way.  As I came up to the the nearby intersection the traffic light turned red but not until I was the first car in the left hand turn lane.  I decided I would try to start the car one time when the traffic light turned green and then I would push the car if it would not start.

The traffic light changed and the car did not start.  I got out and started pushing.  I started to aim for the single lane that was separated by the oncoming lanes by a big yellow curb.  Then I saw the oncoming lanes were deserted and open for me so I swung the car in that direction so I could get into the nearest driveway.  I made it to the driveway but the slope was steep enough I could only get the car off the road and blocked most of the driveway.  I was 75 feet from the gas pumps but I was done.

Then I saw a mid sized older Blazer heading towards me.  I looked to see if there was room for it to get by as I blocked the driveway mostly.  Instead the green SUV stopped and a young man got out and approached me.  I was surprised as many cars drove by and I did not expect anyone to stop as I was off the road.

The young man was in his late 20's and looked like he was fresh from the hills.  His hair was short but stuck out like he had slept on it.  His clothing was threadbare and worn but he was very clean and tidy.  He asked me if I needed any help and he had a chain and would be glad to tow me anywhere I desired.

I must have been looking at him slack-jawed because he explained that he had been broken down on the road before and he knew what it felt like.  He said he had been broken down on the freeway before and it was two hours before anyone stopped to help.  He said he had been broken down for three days near Jordan Valley before anyone stopped to help him.

I finally found my voice and asked him his name as I shook his hand.  He said his name was Shay and I felt the callouses on his work hardened hands.  I told him I was probably okay at this point and we said goodbye.  I started to walk away but then turned and asked him to help me push the car over to the pump and save me the price of a gas can.

A big smile emerged on his face and we pushed the car to the pumps.  I put the car in gear and shook his hand again thanking him for his service and his caring.  He smiled and told me he was glad to help.  Shay waved to me as he and his family drove away as I continued to stare.

After I was removed from the moment, I realized this experience was not a small thing to me.  The emotion grabbed me as I realized my guardian angel had gotten me off the freeway and had sent an emissary of peace and hope to jolt me from my jaded distrust of people.  I felt very blessed to have met Shay and experience his spirit.  I had forgotten.

Thanks Shay.  My hope is rekindled.

Future Vandal

Only the best for Holly J. Peanut.  Vandals Forever !

Bowling with Mother

As a child I remember this huge pan/bowl thing that was a multi use container my mother used to knead the homemade bread in.  I remember us children sitting around watching her knead the bread impatiently waiting for the rolls she would allow us to eat hot from the pan.  Usually with butter and honey for me.

The Bowl was also used for holding the popcorn we enjoyed on Sunday evenings after Mom or Dad filled it.  We didn't have a popcorn popper but small pot worked just fine.  The Bowl had a small hole in the rim that was designed to allow wall hanging.  Oh not for us.  We would play spin the Bowl and whomever the hole stopped closest to got to have some popcorn.

There were probably other uses for this Bowl that I cannot recall at this time.  I do remember it was a very fun Bowl.

Yeah, I know.

Life Lessons Learned On Quiet Sundays

Above are pictured two of my favorite people ever.  They raised my eternal companion and best friend.

My parents and siblings moved from Hazelton to Buhl, Idaho between my sophomore and junior year in high school.  I was working on a hay crew in Montello, Nevada at the time.  The ruse did not work, however, and I was reunited with my family, much to their chagrin, at the end of the summer just in time for my junior year in high school.

I was raised with five sisters so the mysteries of womanhood were mostly solved for me.  I didn't really date or hang with girls much as playing sports and hanging with the guys was more fun and less effort. That all changed when I walked into first period English class the first day of school.  There was a girl sitting in the second seat of the middle row that captured my heart at first sight.  (Yeah, I was trying to think of another way to put it...but there it is.)  Sometime soon thereafter, in the hall by her locker, I used the suave ploy of holding her pencil hostage in order to get pertinent personal information from her with my sophisticated charm and wit.  (Loud snickers and guffaws.)

We started dating but not exclusively.  I did walk her home every day from school and ate my bagged lunch at her house at lunch time.  I am not sure her parents knew what to think of me.

Is that enough preface to get to the main point of this treatise?  Good.

I began to be invited for Sunday dinner with this girl and her parents.  We would be adorned in dressy casual and drive over to Twin Falls for dinner (the first time I underdressed but learned fast).  I would drive their 1964 Chrysler 300 with my girl next to me.  Ted and Kitty would ride in the spacious rear passenger compartment.  I had to be careful as cruise control did not exist and the Chrysler would hit 90 miles an hour without effort.  I learned to be aware of being sensitive to the other people in the car and make sure the music, temperature and style of driving were comfortable to all.

At dinner, through experience and conversation, I learned to behave in a civilized manner, eat with the proper utensils (there were a lot more knives, forks and such than I was used to), how to speak to the waitress and hold the chairs for the ladies.  I was not allowed to pay but Ted let me know in his kind understated way that normally the non payer picked up the tip.  Ted always tipped generously being sensitive to the low wages of many workers.  Service or demeanor did not matter as he assured me everyone has a bad day at times.  I paid attention to the way he was dressed:  slacks whose crisp creases could draw blood, tasteful sweaters and shirts and beautifully colored wingtip shoes.

I really started to look forward and enjoy this quiet time with Ted and Kitty (and their daughter).  I learned the art of conversation and started to keep up with current events so I could be part of the sharing.  I think I was quiet for the most part to keep from sounding like a plow horse at a thoroughbred event.  They never treated me as such but were always kind and understanding.

I think about these quiet times often as I miss Ted and his quiet, intelligent ways.  I treasure the time I can spend with Kitty and enjoy her childlike simpleness.  One year my father-in-law gave me a subscription to The Economist.  Funny how he knew what would grab my rapt attention at the University.

That's all I have today.  Enough for now.

Gentlemen and Competitors

Congratulations to the San Antonio Spurs for a valiant and memorable season.

Timmy Duncan...the classiest active player and arguable the best power forward ever. Tony Parker...playing with a hamstring waiting to blow and still making the plays. Mano Ginobili...even with your horrible Game 6 with 8 turnovers...still playing your heart out and being true to yourself. And watch out for Kahwi Leonard...only one facial expression but tons of potential.

All in all a class act by the Spurs. The NBA has enough self absorbed arrogant punks (just sayin') and I am glad the Spurs competed to show old school demeanor and play.

Thanks for the experience.

Graveside Services for Dan White

Dan White Age 15

               
Graveside services will be at Dry Creek Cemetery on Monday June 3rd at 11 a.m.

Daniel Leonard White (1951-2013)

My oldest and dearest friend died sometime in the last week alone in his home.  Alone.  Dan had been ill for the past couple of months.  More than I knew.

I could write a book about our friendship and will do so some day soon when I can bear it.

Dan was the first friend, through his words and deeds, that I could tell loved me for who I was.  His love was unconditional and insightful.

I first met Dan in 1975 and we were quick friends and accomplices.

My guilt and grief over his passing knows no bounds.

Dan and his 2005 Harley

Ramblings About "Rides"

Dreams

So I am lying in bed the night before an organized charity "ride".  I went to bed early to be rested for the metric century, century, quarter century.......the length doesn't matter.  My kit is laid out, my bike and gear staged and ready.  This is not the first time.  I can't count how many of these "rides" I have done since 1980.  This is the epitome of deja vu.

I lay in bed and my mind won't stop.  Butterflies.  Why ?  It's just a ride.  If it's just a ride then why do I feel like a seven year old on Christmas Eve ?

I tell my body and brain to shut down.  To not think about pace lines, how smooth my 11 speed Campagnolo shifts, how well will I do on "The Monster" (Can-Ada Hill), how may girls will pass me, will I find a good bunch to ride with or will I jump to the next group when the current one slows down.

I finally fall asleep but wake up at 5:30 a.m. two hours before the alarm.  Repeat the above three paragraphs.  Finally fall back asleep but probably would have been better off staying up.  Get up and put my bike and my gear in the car.  Drive to the start.  Get my gear out and start to gear up after going over to check in and pick up my goody bag and number.  Really excited to get new cycling socks!  Come back to the car and get ready, careful to display the proper amount of nonchalance while checking all the other riders: gear, fitness, kit.  But this is just a "ride".......right.

Geared up I ride to the starting line with just the right amount of time to not get there too early and appear eager but not too late to be stuck at the back of the pack.  The organizers start the race...er, ride... and the pack moves out.  I start to jockey around for position looking for those of similar experience and fitness to work in a pace line together hopefully.  After 5 or six miles I settle in with a group.  A couple of the guys are wearing full kits: helmets, shorts, socks, gloves, bikes.  After about 10 miles it is clear their performance doesn't match their gear.

I bridge up to the next group.  And the next group.  I am halfway through and began working well with two other guys who seem to know their stuff and we are smooth.  We start to pass those who blew past us earlier and then blew up.  We roll smoothly along taking about 30 second pulls.  I am on my titanium lover, one guy on a celeste Bianchi steel beauty and the other on a Cannondale carbon fiber EVO.  We are smooth, quiet and deadly at this point.  We blow past the rest stops....no need to stop.

I hear sirens behind us and my previously broken collar bone starts to ache along with my damaged shoulder and ankle.  I put the knowledge there is a serious crash behind us out of my mind and my aches and pains disappear.  My trio hammers on.  My mind floats to the Twin Six website with the jersey with "Masher" on the rear pockets.  Yeah.  I am a masher.

We climb the last hill before the final tailwind sprint at the end of the ride.  I know there is only the lead pack ahead of us with all the elite riders.  I am good with where I am.  I am pushing hard out this point due to riding hard for a long time and smelling the end of the ride like a horse to water in the desert.  I am filled with elation, excitement and satisfaction.  And lactic acid.

The three of us joke about sprinting at the end but we laugh and roll in together.  There are no goodbyes, only respectful nods of the head.  I don't know their names but I know them.

I roll past the check in and they take the "finish" tag off my number.  This ride was for the Federation of the Blind and I am happy to see my $40  go to them.  I roll over to my car and start to gear down, again with careful nonchalance as I look around to see who came in before I did.  I check out their gear, bikes and kit and am a little smug when I see how I did.  Did I say I love bike gear?  Socks?  Am I a bike snob?  Yeah...in some ways.  I am a careful observer of the sport and have a keen insight to what is.....cool?...authentic?...substance not trendy?  I laugh at myself....I can't help it.

I love riding my bike.  I always have.  I am not attached to my bike.  I am not attached to my bike.  I am scared of getting too old to ride.  I grasp onto hope.

Teamwork

Andrew and the Lead Sled in Rock Springs

The Intrepid Riviera

The Penske and the Riv

So on a Monday we rolled out of Boise caravan style.  Arthur and Lizzy in the Penske truck towing the Riviera and Andrew and I following in the Oldsmobile.  We made it in time to get to IKEA with three hours to shop.  No problem.  Uh huh.

Arthur and Andrew paired up to start on Art's list of items and Lizzy and I started in on another part of the list.  Mike and G-Ma (Verna) showed up and jumped into the fray.  As it turned out, their contribution to the spree was invaluable.  We were really glad they were there to help us over the top and push through to the end.

Arthur stated several times about Andrew's endless optimism and how it helped him dig out the items needed to furnish their new townhouse.  Andrew and Arthur filled carts as fast as I could deliver them.
Thank goodness Mickerson and G-Ma showed up to help us finish up finding the last elusive items.

Arthur found an employee to open a check out for us and our 9 carts.  The kid explained it was all self checkout.  Art "helped" him to understand that would not work for us due to the volume of the purchase.  We got the truck all loaded and found a Wendy's to refuel.  Then it was on to the Comfort Inn for what the name promised.

The next day we headed to Rock Springs and beyond.  But that's another post.

Holly J. Peanut Going Out

Walking and smiling...

Holly Jane Peanut

Smilin'

Okay...Maybe one more photo.  Found pictures of Mafoo today.  Thought they were Holly J. Peanut when I first saw them.  Will post.

Hope and More

Jimmy V said he learned the following important lessons from his players who improbably won the 1983 NCAA basketball championship:

Have hope.

Be persistent.

The importance of dreaming and having a dream.

Never give up.

Love one another.

Ted Ahlm was consistent in telling his children, including me:

Endeavor to persevere.

Hal Walker never ceased to say:

Hang in there.

Money...It's The Shoes !

So tonight was affiliate night at the Idaho Stampede, a Development League Team of the National Basketball association.  The Stampede's NBA affiliate is the Portland Trail Blazers.  Both team's colors are red, black and white.  We had the Portland mascot and the Portland cheerleaders in the house tonight.

The Stampede have struggled all year.  They have the talent but not the chemistry or consistency they need.  Last night, the Division leading Bakersfield Jam beat them after the Stampede led for most of the game.

Since it was affiliate night, I decided to break out my Air Jordan 11s that came in the mail yesterday.  I also wore my grey, black and red window pane slacks, my black and red Garcia tie and my black cashmere jacket to celebrate the occasion.

Needless to say, I received many comments, mostly envious, about my Js.

At one point the Stampede were down by twenty three points and I thought maybe it wasn't the shoes.  Then in the second half, mostly in the third quarter, the Stampede mounted a comeback and by the end of the game completed a 36 point turn a round.  The Stampede ended up winning by 13...108 to 95.

After the game, Justin Holiday (small forward for the Stampede) was called up to the Philadelphia 76ers.  Not only is this a shot at the NBA but it's a $70K paycheck for a 10 day contract.  I went in the locker room to congratulate him and all the Stampede players said I had to be sure to wear the 11s to the rest of the season games as they were the "tightest joints" in the house and were good luck.

The NBA pays me money to do this job.  Wow.

Mars.....it is the shoes.

Duos and Gear

"Hey M.J....You think we're the best duo ever in basketball history...?"

"I don't know Pip...Mickerson and Bucket are tough competition and they have the tightest gear."

Girly Girl

Okay...These are the last ones.

Yeah, I know.

HJ Imitation of MJ

I am sure I will tire of posting things about my granddaughter.   Okay...Well...Maybe not.

HJW

Holland Jane Walker

Holland Jane Walker.  Born February 11th at 7:26 a.m.  Seven pounds and 4 ounces.  20 inches long.

Lotsa hair and blue eyes.  Long limbs and fingers.

Yeah, I know.

My World Changed Today

I have a granddaughter.  She has come to see me again from beyond the veil.