Holland 1970

When I was living in Germany back in 1970, I had an opportunity to take a break from my studies on a long weekend and take a trip to The Netherlands or Holland as we called it. When a group of us went to Kiel, Germany to study, the university assigned a professor to accompany the group, along with his wife and daughter, Professor Lowell Bennion, his wife Merle and daughter Ellen. They had something none of the students had...a car! They really wanted to go to Holland to see the tulips in bloom and invited a couple of us to ride along. Here are Ellen Bennion, Saundra Shurtleff, Merle Bennion and Lowell Bennion standing on top of one of the dikes next to the ocean. The dikes are even wide enough for vehicle traffic!




As you see, the flat fields of tulips reach about as far as the eye can see.



Sometimes the fields of tulips were broken up by fields of daffodils...and a picturesque windmill.



Since they don't really grow the tulips to impress the tourists in this field, but rather for the bulbs, this sad pile of petals is thrown away! They cut the flowers right off the tulips so that the strength will go to the bulb.





Not everyone traveled by car. The extensive canal system was quite noticeable, complete with bridges that lift to let boats go by, and stoplights on the canal. If you look carefully you can see the barge approaching the bridge.



This house is part of the town of Staphorst which holds with more traditional, conservative beliefs. Many of the folks there still wear traditional clothing such as the wooden shoes worn by the little girl in the picture. The houses have the old thatched roofs and green doors.






It was really early Spring, so the leaves were just beginning to bud on the trees. The morning mist had not yet burned off in this park.



Next we went to Madurodam which is a miniature city composed of famous buildings, old and new, from throughout the country. Tiny railroads and canals wind through the site. You can get an idea of the scale by noticing the people wandering around. It is like the ultimate model railroad!











Look! That large ship is on fire! No fear though, the smaller fire boat comes to put out the fire.






If you look carefully you can see the little cows grazing happily in the field in front of the windmills.



The edges of the city are all landscaped with beautiful tulips and daffodils.



Best of all, as we were leaving, we found a great European rarity...a water fountain!

A Warm Meal for a Cold Day

In my cleaning and sorting recently, I found a recipe I saved from many years ago. It is the perfect warm, hearty meal for a cold winter day. It is a recipe that uses wheat that doesn't have to be ground even. First I took 3 cups of wheat from our food storage.



I soaked it in water overnight.



I added it to the crockpot with the other ingredients and let it simmer during the day.



We had delicious hearty wheat chili for our dinner tonight.



Wheat Chili

3 c. wheat
2 large cans tomato sauce
2 large cans tomatoes
1/2 diced green pepper
1 diced medium onion
2 t. Worcestershire Sauce
1-2 T. chili powder
1-2 lbs. browned hamburger

Simmer 2-4 hours on stove or cook in crockpot.

You can add other ingredients to taste, such as:
garlic
thyme
oregano
italian seasonin
cayenne pepper

A Note From Alaska

Grandma enjoyed the following info which was passed out at her writing group recently and wanted to share it with everyone, so here it is!

PROPERTY LAWS OF A TODDLER

1. If I like it, it's mine.
2. If it's in my hand, it's mine.
3. If I can take it from you, it's mine.
4. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
5. If it's mine, it must never appear to be yours in any way.
6. If I'm doing or building something, all of the pieces are mine.
7. If it looks like mine, it's mine.
8. It I saw it first, it's mine.
9. If you are playing with something and you put it down,
it automatically becomes mine.
10. If it's broken, it's yours.

A Find!

I had to go into town today for what turned out to be a fruitless errand, so to justify the whole thing, I stopped off at the local thrift store which is nearby. It is rather like Forest Gump's box of chocolates, "you never know what you're gonna get!" Some days there is nothing worth looking at and other days I'm glad I stopped in for a look around.

In one area of the store are some cases where they put items they think might be collectible for one reason or another. It's always fun to cruise by just to see what is there. After looking in the usual aisles where I find useful things, I stopped by the collectibles area, just to admire what was there. In one of the cases was a life-sized wood carving of an old-fashioned gun, complete with powder horn and pouch. It caught my eye, because it seemed very similar to a piece I had seen which was carved by a friend of ours who is a well-known local sculptor and wood carver.

I asked the attendant to open the case so I could get a closer look. I turned the piece over to see what wood it was made of, and also to see if the artist had signed it. As I was debating whether it was made of walnut or pine with a dark stain, a man came up and tapped on it and sort of snorted with derision and told me it was of no value, as it was made of plastic. I couldn't see any artist signature on the back either, so was having some doubts, when I happened to look at the bottom and there was the signature: Patch and Jean Peterson. After consulting with my husband, who is rather an apprentice of Patch, I decided to purchase it and bring it on home.

At the point where I found the signature, the know-it-all who told me it was plastic sort of drifted off. As the attendant carried it up to the front of the store for me, he said that collectors often hang around there and if someone finds something like that, they say it is plastic and has no value, then wait for the person to put it back so they can grab it. He seemed pleased that I had 'stuck to my guns'....and taken it, especially when I mentioned that the artist was a personal friend.

The Thrift Store Find




Our friend, Patch, with a similar (or maybe the same) carving!

Thumbsy-Pansy

Like many mothers, mine was a pretty good amateur psychologist. For my third birthday, Mom decided I should stop sucking my thumb. I liked my thumb very much and didn't see any particular reason to give it up. I didn't think that my age was any justification for the sudden change. When reasoning didn't work, Mom resorted to more underhanded tactics.

Nothing more was said until a few days later when Mom presented me with a gift. It was a delicate pink closed tube, edged with beautiful white lace. Attached to the bottom of the tube were two long, soft, blue satin ribbons. My mother told me it was a "thumbsy-pansy".

"Only big girls are old enough to wear this beautiful thumbsy-pansy," I was told.

It was wonderful. I could hardly wait to put my thumb into the fancy little tube and allow my mother to fasten the blue satin ribbons around my wrist. Messing up the lace by putting it into my mouth didn't even enter my mind. I was so proud of my gift, that thumb sucking was soon forgotten. When the habit seemed to be gone for good, my thumbsy-pansy mysteriously disappeared.

Some years later, my brother, Mark, sucked his thumb, also. Mom, remembering her success with me, made him a thumbsy-pansy. He waited only until she left the room before untying the ribbons and stuffing it into the trash.

Recently, the thumbsy-pansy reappeared after all these years!

The Great Sugar Twin Caper

A creative writing project enhanced with a few fabrications, a vivid imagination, and a little poetic license from a daughter who was probably a little sleep deprived due to a 72 hour, 3000 mile trip with 5 people crammed into a Jeep. In reality, nothing in the least illegal happened.

Sweet Nothings: The story of an American family and their brush with the law

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. It was the kind of day where the cloudless sky seems to go on forever and a person would be a fool to go out without their sunglasses. Still, the bags under my eyes, the wrinkles in my clothes and the crick in my neck prevented me from enjoying it. We had already been driving for two days when we reached the little town outside of Edmonton, Canada. I mustered up an inward groan as I heard my mother say, “Here is a good place as any to get the Sugar Twin. We can’t be guaranteed another chance between here and the border.” My jaw dropped. We were actually going to do it, and on Sunday!

We parked in front of the local grocery store and I shuffled in behind my family. I was sure that we already looked suspicious. These Canadians were smart and could probably smell a rat, and a foreigner a kilometer away. My mother handed each of us a basket, and gave us a mission...to find the Sugar Twin, a Canadian product similar to Equal or Sweet & Low. Sugar Twin is illegal to sell in the United States because of an ingredient in it called cyclamate which, according to the FDA, will cause cancer if you consume about 600 gallons of it (number approximated).



I located it first and beckoned to my family. My mom and my little sister came over but my older sister and my dad carefully ignored me. They pretended to be enthralled in a conversation about which brand of graham crackers was better, thus appearing that they were in no way connected with us. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Then my mom could have done her own dirty work! With fast calculations, we estimated how much we could buy with the $100 my grandparents had given us. Breathing became more and more difficult as the boxes were pulled from the shelves. We were going to buy the entire shelf stock.

As we neared the cashier, the hairs rose on my neck. I was sure that everyone in the store was watching. Was this illegal or just gray? Would we get into trouble? Would the fact that we were doing it on Sunday push it into the black area? If we didn’t get in trouble with the law, would a worse fate await us in Hell?

“That’s an awful lot of Sugar Twin,” the cashier observed while ringing up the five baskets.

“My parents are diabetic,” my mother replied. “This kind of sweetener is good for canning, so they ask us to bring them some when we come through Canada.”

“Marijuana can be good, too, but you can’t smuggle that into the country,” I thought to myself. I heaved a sigh of relief when we finally exited the store, but I knew it wasn’t over yet. We still had hundreds of miles to go before we reached the border.

Once out in the Jeep, my mother instruted us to open all the boxes and compact the little packets into as few boxes as we could. Her reason was our lack of space, but I was sure that the real reason was so we would look less suspicious. Foreigners driving through the country with an excess of any product are bound to raise a few eyebrows. We tossed the boxes into the back and made our way to the provincial highway.

As dusk was beginning to appear, we pulled into a gas station outside of Calgary to fill up and stretch our legs. A dented, rusty pick-up pulled into the pump behind us, bringing the smell of manure with it. Out stepped the owner. His stomach was starting to pooch out and the longer hairs on his head were sept over the top to disguise the shine on his scalp. “Someone likes their Twinny, eh?” His accent was the epitome of a mid-western Canadian farmer, thick and entirely indecipherable to teh untrained ear.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Someone likes their Twinny, eh?” He spoke as though he had a mouth full of marbles. Even so, this time I understood the words, but his meaning still escaped me.

“What?”

“Someone likes their Twinny, eh?” The Sugar Twin. That’s what he was talking about! How did he know? Would he turn us in? Could we just plead dumb American? What would happen? Would ‘smuggler’ be stamped on my permanent records? I was 18 now, they could try me as an adult! Oh no! How stupid of us to leave the boxes in full view in the back window!

“Uh, sure,” I replied, my knees shaking and all sensation disappearing in my arms from the elbow down.

“Well, have a safe trip.” I quickly analyzed those last words and finding no double meaning, I realized that he was being friendly like every other Canadian we had met along the way. For the second time that day, a sigh of relief escaped my lips.

By the time we reached US Customs, the sky was a dark abyss and each star shone as though it believed itself to be the only one in existence. I savored every detail, knowing that I would probably never see the night again from the prison cell that awaited me. We pulled up next to the booth and the customs official peered into our vehicle, scrutinizing every detail. Little did he suspect that this nice little family from Alaska was really a smuggling cartel. I now felt as though I knew the dread and anxiety that drug runners must feel moments before crossing into safety and the desperate measures they were willing to take, swallowing their precious cargo in balloons or hiding it in body cavities. After sizing us up with his steely eyes, he proceeded to ask the usual questions.

“Where are you folks from?”

“Alaska,” my father answered.

“Where are you headed?”

“Utah.”

“Do you have anything to declare?”

“Don’t believe so.” Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie. After all, the average citizen is aware of only 25% of the law (number approximated), I was willing to rationalize.

“Are you carrying any items such as guns, fireworks or produce?”

“Nope.”

“OK, have a good night.” That was it! We had made it! We eased over the border into Montana and for the third time that night, I heaved a sigh of relief. No more would I have to worry about the immediate ethics behind our escapade or whether or not I would have a police record and the only evidence of our caper would be another notch in my belt.

Are you a true Sourdough?

At least some of these came from Jeff Foxworthy, though some really don't apply as much as others. Still, enough of them fit, that they are amusing.

If you consider it a sport to gather your food by drilling through 18 inches of ice and sitting there all day, hoping that the food will swim by, you might live in Alaska.

If you have ever refused to buy something because it's 'too spendy', you might live in Alaska.

If your local Dairy Queen is closed from November through March, you might live in Alaska. (I'm not sure there ARE any DQs in AK.)

If someone in a store offers you assistance and they don't work there, you might live in Alaska.

If your dad's suntan stops at a line curving around the middle of his forehead, you might live in Alaska.

If you have worn shorts and a parka at the same time, you might live in Alaska. (If you happily don your shorts when the temperature gets up to 40F because you think it is warm outside, you definitely belong to OUR Alaska family.)

If your town has an equal number of bars and churches, you might live in Alaska.

If you have had a lengthy telephone conversation with someone who dialed a wrong number, you might live in Alaska.

Other signs of a sourdough:

1. Your idea of a traffic jam is ten cars waiting to pass a truck plowing snow on the highway.

2. 'Vacation' means going to Valdez....or Outside...or to the lower 48.

3. You measure distance in hours. (It is about 6 hours to Valez.)

4. You know several people who have hit a moose more than once.

5. You often switch from 'heat' to 'A/C' in the same day and back again. (This surely didn't apply to us as we never had or needed A/C!)

6. Many folks wear blue jeans to church on Sunday.

7. You can drive 65 mph through 2 feet of snow during a raging blizzard without flinching.

8. You see people wearing camouflage (or Carhartts) at social events (including weddings).

9. You install security lights on your house and garage and leave both unlocked.

10 You think of the major food groups as salmon and Sailor Boy Pilot Bread.

11. You carry jumper cables in your car and your wife knows how to use them.

12. There are 7 empty cars running in the parking lot at the grocery store at any given time.

13. You design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit.

14. Driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled with snow.

15. You know all 4 seasons: almost winter, winter, 'til winter and road construction. (We always said 9 months of winter and 3 months of tough sledding.)

16. You can identify a southern or eastern accent. (Certainly we could hear the Texas accent!)

17. You know how to polka.


I'm sure you creative ones could think of many more to add to this list. For example:

You can and do make Christmas ornaments and jewelry out of moose droppings. any others?

I'm not Linda!

Years ago, there was an old country song that started with the words,
"I'm not Lisa, my name is Julie"

It came to my mind this morning as I was driving home. I think I do not have a memorable name. A lot of people forget it. I can live with that. I have the same problem remembering names and faces sometimes. What is odd to me is that when people forget my name, it seems reasonable to think they'd call my by a variety of other names. That is not the case! So when I was exercising this morning, this was the conversation:

"So, Linda, how are you today?"
"It's Nancy"
"How is your workout going?"

Then as I left, she merrily called out, "Good-bye, Linda!"

When we lived in Alaska, I assumed that people called me Linda because there was a Linda in town with the same last name, so it sounded right to them. There is no Linda around here with my same last name, and yet, if I am mistakenly called the wrong name, it is always Linda. What are the chances of that happening?

They say we haven't enough snow

They say we haven't enough snow this winter. They say the snow pack is nowhere near what it is supposed to be. I wish "they' would look at this pile at the end of our driveway.



I wish 'they' would look at the yards on our street.



I wish 'they' would get snowplows with gates so the plows wouldn't dump snow in our driveway whenever they plow!

In the meantime, we finally got smart. You see, we need a larger snow blower. Larger snow blowers cost a lot of money! Then we thought, "Wait, the neighbors have a larger snow blower. The neighbors have a 4 wheeler with a blade on it. The neighbors have a business removing snow for a reasonable cost. With the money we'd pay for a larger snow blower, we can pay our neighbors to clear our snow for many years to come!"