All posts by verily sherrilee

Directionally challenged, crafty, reading mother of young adult
Stories, Weather

Mud Season

61 Comments

Everybody I know seems happy that we’ve had a mild winter and that we appear to be having an early thaw. Not me.  I am not happy.  No snow and warming temperatures at this time of year mean just one thing; muddy paws.  It will be at least a month before grass will grow in my backyard — four weeks of mud, muddy paw prints, muddy paw prints all over the floor, muddy paw prints on my bedspread, even muddy paw prints on my shoes if I don’t get out of the way fast enough.  Aarrggghhhh!

What does an early thaw mean to you?

Family, Stories, The Future, Travel

Michigan or Bust!

82 Comments

Today’s post comes to us from Steve.

I have always had a strong sense of place. Born in Iowa, I grew up regarding Minnesota as my natural home. I left Iowa in 1960, and for 54 years I was proud to call myself a Minnesotan. Then in 2014 I sold my pink bungalow and moved to Portland, Oregon, driving 1,745 miles in two ferocious days. The main reason for changing my life so dramatically was a desire to be closer to my daughter and grandson. On Trail Baboon “Saint Paul Steve” became “Happy Valley Steve.” I settled into an apartment near the top of a small mountain. In view of my age, I was sure I’d never set foot outside of Oregon. Indeed, because of my physical limitations, I have not often set foot outside my apartment in three years.

Guess what? In June I will travel 2,400 miles to set up a new home in Michigan. “Happy Valley Steve” will become “Port Huron Steve,” or something like that. I’ll get a Michigan driving license and slap Michigan plates on my old Subaru.

Why make such a dramatic move when I only got to Oregon three summers ago? My son-in-law has accepted a job in Port Huron, the town he grew up in and where his mother and brother still reside. He, my daughter and my grandson returned to his childhood home for Christmas a few weeks ago. That home, built in the 19th century, is parked right on the edge of the Saint Clair River. The photos with this article were taken of that on their visit. My son-in-law came back to Portland convinced he really belonged in the Midwest, and that he should do something to make a return to Port Huron possible.

And me? How is it that I’m moving back to the Midwest? I’m like a gimpy old dog that my family rescued from a canine shelter. Having adopted me, they cannot abandon me now. I should start rooting for Michigan athletic teams, for they routinely kick the butts of Minnesota teams. In any fight between a gopher and a wolverine, my money is on the wolverine! But my heart still hopes the gopher will prevail. Hey, you Gophers, Ski-U-Mah! Whatever the hell that means.

I hope the upcoming move will be less wrenching than the one I’ve done. It would be even nicer if I feel more at home in Port Huron than I have in Portland. Oregon is astonishingly beautiful, at least in places, and Portland is a fascinating city. It is only slightly less quirky than “Portlandia” suggests. I expected to feel at home with Portland’s progressive politics, but each day I spend here offers fresh proof that I am a Minnesotan and always will be. I have found Portland to be like a gorgeous girlfriend who chain smokes and makes a toxic mess of her personal finances. She’s irresistible, yet it is hard to believe things will end well for her. And whenever I drive through Portland a little voice whispers, “This isn’t home, is it? We don’t belong here.”

My daughter knew it would not be easy to tell my grandson, Liam, about the move. Ever since he was a toddler, Liam (now seven) has struggled with “transitions.” Now he faces losing all his friends and leaving his wonderful Montessori school to start up life again in a strange land where nobody knows him. Liam raised some concerns, which his mother attempted to address. Then Liam said, “But Grampy, Mom . . . what about him? I can’t leave Grampy behind!” My daughter said, “Oh, no Liam! We’d never leave Grampy. When we move, he comes with us.” Liam reflected and finally smiled. “Well, then I guess we’re good. We can do this.”

When have you taken a leap of faith and moved?

Family, History, Stories

Grandpa’s Wallet

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Today’s post comes to us from Jacque.

Recently I have felt a rush of appreciation from family and a newly found old friend.   The most recent appreciation episode is from someone long ago, my Grandpa who died in 1964.  As I have mentioned, I have been sorting through family pictures and papers, slowly making tedious progress.  Last week I took apart my old picture albums, and threw away duplicates (did I really need four copies of the many pictures taken at my first wedding, the ensuing marriage which ended in divorce?  I think not.)  This reduced the picture collection by 75%, to a mere 5 picture boxes to organize and cull more.  I will set this aside for a while.

Now I am starting to pick through the three overflowing plastic bins of papers, letters, deeds, cattle pedigrees and, yes, more pictures that are not mine, but my parents’, grandparents’, and great grandparents’ memorabilia. There in one bin I found Grandpa Stratton’s wallet, which my mother must have kept after he no longer lived with us in 1963.   His wallet contained a 1960 paper driver’s license, hand-typed and signed with no identifying picture, his fishing license much the same as the driver’s license, and my kindergarten picture with a four leaf clover pressed into it.  He and I spent a lot of time seeking four leaf clovers.

Looking at this gives me a poignant moment, remembering a loving Grandpa. My kindergarten forehead is stained with the patina created by a copper snap in the wallet, which ate through the picture sleeve.  The four-leaf clover is flat and fragile and dear.  It brings tears to my eyes.  I cannot throw away the old wallet because of the picture and the shamrock.  It now lies in my desk drawer where I can sneak a peak at it on a bad day(s) in which nobody else loves me enough.

My wallet is remarkably utilitarian compared to Grandpa’s wallet. I carry all my pictures of the Grandchildren on my phone, leaving the wallet to house plastic cards, coins, receipts,  and disorganized bills of various denominations.  No sentiment there at all.

What is in your wallet?

Baboon Achievers, Family, History, Stories

Are You Positive?

64 Comments

Today’s post compliment of tim.

mr ehlers was the badass teacher who taught drivers training at my high school

he hated hippies

he gave hell to everyone I knew except me. he was never nice but never gave me trouble. i think my friends noticed and asked but i didn’t have any idea what was going on.

years later my mom who was the art teacher in the school said mr ehlers had come up and told her “ that’s some son you have”

“why” she asked

he told her that some mean kids had been in the lunchroom and run into mike kennedy on purpose and knocked the books out of his hands.

mike was a big guy who was a special needs kid that was so good natured he had no enemies but he would notice that some people acted mean or stupid or do things to be funny just showing off for their friends. He was very philosophical about life. He had been that way when I was in first grade and met him at swimming lessons. He always had a smile and a story and told me how his sister karey was (i had a severe crush on her) so when the kids knocked the books out of his hands I went over to him and told him that i saw the kids acting stupid and helped him pick up his books. a pat on the back and a see ya later was all that went on that day but mr ehlers caught me doing something right and he was never able to see me as a hated hippy after that.

i try to remember that all the people who are driving me crazy in everyday life are not doing anything mean or intentionally trying to drive me nuts. they are just doing there little moment of life in front of me and that is how I get to base my conclusion as to if i would like to have coffee with them or not.

sometimes I try to remember that I am acting in a way that other people get to respond to too. am I really who I want to be?

i like getting caught being the right person

the one minute manager was a popular book in the early stages of my business life. it was a simple idea. if you are a manager try to catch people doing something right and praise the heck out of them. every time you catch them praise the heck out of them.

have you gotten positive feedback for being yourself?

Fifty Words, Stories, Travel

No Shirt, No Shoes – No Cash

47 Comments

We got an announcement at work today that British Airways will no longer take cash at any airport. All fees, upgrades and luggage fees must be paid by credit card.  It struck me that I had not expected cash to be banned during my lifetime.

What change has surprised you?

Stories

Garage Nemesis

88 Comments

I hate my garage door. And the garage door opener.  The opener is 26 years old; I had it installed (unfortunately not by a professional) when I bought the house.  I haven’t the vaguest idea how old the door itself is.  Of all the things that I’ve had to mess with over the decades, this is my nemesis.  I’ve spent more time putting in my screws, new washers, re-adjusting the various sensors and fixing the lightbulb than I care to think about.  And now it’s broken again, although it’s broken in a way I’ve never seen before.  So, one more trip to the hardware store!

Do you have a household nemesis?

Baboon Achievers, Family, Stories

A One-derful Year

57 Comments

Today’s post comes to us from Occasional Caroline.

I believe I’ve created a thing. At least I think it deserves to be “a thing” and to the best of my knowledge I thought it up.

Once per decade, beginning at age 21, we each have a full year of being “one-derful.” Twenty-onderful, thirty-onderful, etc.

Whenever anyone I know achieves a one-derful age, I urge them to invoke, acknowledge, and bask in it throughout the year. Many look at me oddly, but I think it should be a thing, celebrated by all. The “Golden Birthday” is a thing but I like my invention better. For one thing, Golden is really only celebrated on the actual birthday; if you were born early in a month, you’re too young to appreciate it when it happens to you. Never an issue with one-derful birthdays. Anticipation of a one-derful birthday can help take the sting out of entering a new decade; when you have a “significant” birthday, you’re only a year away from a one-derful one.

I rest my case.

What have you invented?

History, Stories

Validation!

35 Comments

You’ve all heard my theory of the presidency. Anyone who wants to be president is automatically disqualified by that desire.  Imagine my surprise when I found out that a former president was of the same opinion, so much so that he wasn’t even a candidate at the 1880 convention that nominated him.

Political cartoon lampooning the 1880 convention
Political cartoon lampooning the 1880 convention

The book I’m currently reading has this quote:

“I have so long and so often seen the evil effects of the presidential fever upon my associates and friends that I am determined that it shall not seize me. In almost every case, it impairs if it does not destroy, the usefulness of its victim.”

James Garfield

Who would YOU like to find out agrees with you?

Stories, The Baboon Congress

A Case of the Giggles

40 Comments

Today’s post is written by Jacque.

Last week I was visited by a case of the giggles. The giggle incident was almost worthy of the Mary Tyler Moore episode in which she gets the giggles at Chuckles the Clown’s funeral.  Several friends were horrified.

When Lou and I arrived home from Arizona February 2, it was abundantly clear that while we were away, the mice did play in three drawers of the kitchen. Immediately I cleared out the drawers, then washed everything in them.  Lou set the traps.   These mice were wily!  It took 2 weeks to catch the first one in the knife drawer, a pink, sleek, healthy specimen which had apparently thrived in its makeshift home.

mouse

However, there was still evidence of mouse life appearing in the empty drawers. Lou reset the traps.  Nothing happened for several days, then one morning the bait was gone yet the trap was not sprung.  Then last Saturday I opened the plastic lid drawer to check the trap line to find the trap vanished, the drawer strewn with mouse blood and droppings.  An event had occurred.  The picture of the scene is what you see above.

drawer

I started to giggle and could not stop.  Giggling, I called to Lou to come look, then he started laughing.   Still giggling, we searched all the places we could access that might hold a mouse attached to a trap.  Nothing.

That evening I hosted my Open Studio Group and Potluck—a group of artists that gathers once a month to work together on projects, laugh, and entertain each other. I told my mouse story, giggling hysterically.  They were horrified.

“I can’t believe you are laughing!” one of them said.

“I know. I can’t help it.” I replied lamely, still giggling.  “I am like Mary Tyler Moore at the funeral of Chuckles the Clown.  It’s gruesome, not that funny, and hysterical.”

What gives you the giggles?

Stories, The Baboon Congress

Exceptional Taste

Gallery 40 Comments

Today’s post is written by Occasional Caroline.

I’m not the least bit exceptional, except, possibly for being exceptionally ordinary. I’m overweight, but so are 26.1% of Minnesota adults; nothing unique about that. I’m short; common trait. I’ve been married to the same man for nearly 48 years; I guess that stat is fairly unique, but at this stage, it’s pretty mundane from the inside looking out. I have children and grandchildren who are the lights of my life, but to you, they would seem pleasant, though not exceptional. I can’t sing or play any instruments. I have no artistic talent. I am a world-class “appreciator of the talents of others,” a worthy, but not particularly notable trait. My only somewhat out-of-the-ordinary characteristic is that I have rather eclectic taste in “stuff.” Many people (including my beloved children) find my taste and predilections “interesting,” but they certainly don’t covet any of my stuff or aspire to acquire similar stuff of their own. I am extraordinarily fond of some of my possessions, in particular one that is no longer with me  —  the late, great upside-down Christmas tree, that I lamented in a reply to tim’s “what is your signature” post two weeks ago. Here are a few of my favorite things.

Do you have a quirkiest object?