Going Green, 1943 Style

On my last Fargo expedition I brought home the "Garden Master."





For every bit of fifty years I remember this piece of equipment stashed in the garage, a curiosity to no one until now. When I unloaded it out of the van Ron looked at me like I was nuts.

"What are you going to do with that?" were the first words out of his mouth.

"Cultivate, what else." I retorted smoothly.

"That's why I bought you the little tiller."

"This is eco friendly. Our carbon foot print just got a little smaller and besides we won't have to spend any money on gas, so there." At this point he knew the conversation was over.

It wasn't until about a week or two later that I actually got some field time with my little gem, and am I ever pleased! I can whistle through my garden in no time. Yes sirree, I am a pretty happy farmer these days.



As I am sitting on the grass along side the garden(surely wiping my sweaty brow after extensive field work!) I spotted a tag hanging on the wheel. Ever so carefully I wiped away the fifty plus years of grime and this is what I read:





The Garden Master no doubt was one of the assorted goods my mother brought into her second marriage. Don, the first Mr. Evie, died in 1949 and she married my Dad in 1953. As he would so humorously tell, "When I married Evie she came complete with a house and a car. The only thing I had to do was take over the payments on the TV."

The TV, the house, the car, mom and dad - they are all gone now, but the Garden Master lives on.

**Double-click on the photos to read the tags.

Just Grandma and Me

Last night I spend the night at Grandma Lizzie's, just the two of us. Grandpa was in Portal, Carsten went to a wedding dance, Lacy was at her mom's, and Karlie well, she was "somewhere," as grandma refers to it.

My grandma had played in her nursing home's golf tournament. (It was a fundraising event, not taking a bus load of resident to play golf!) It was so unbelievably windy her team gave up after 10 holes, as many did. I though was that was grand - she wasn't worn out when I arrived.

We hang out so good together. She says it is because I am such a sweetie pie and naturally even tempered.

It wasn't long before Grandma took out the trusty Nikon and snapped away. I can't wait until I am older and then for each picture I can say, "Let me see, let me see." It goes with the digital age and being a kid.






I am getting so close to laughing out loud. Maybe Grandma could speed things along if she had better jokes, or goofier faces (she's close though). Although she is rather a hoot when she does that gutteral cooing thing. Who's idea was it anyway for us to sputter as our first formal communication?

Buddy and Kidee sure like it when I come a calling. Buddy sits by me on the floor, only because grandma won't let him lie on the mat, which he really wants to do. Kidee likes the Mozart music that plays out of my play mat. (Why does Grandma keep ooohing over my toys?? and then says something like: "Gees, this is cool.") He also attempts to bat at some of my hanging toys but soon saunters off to do what he does best - sleep. For a 10 month old kitten, I am sure glad no one named him Zip.



Well, until next time. Have a good day, Merecedes.

P.S. On Wednesday I will be 3 months old. Hopefully before too long I will weigh a whole 10 pounds.

Myron

Today is Father's Day, a day we honor and thank those special Dads. My own father is gone now and so is my "other father." My father-in-law, Myron Espeseth, died on Friday night at the age of 87. Today I went to the funeral home to see him.

He looked as fine as ever. His Stetson cowboy hat settled near his heart, where it should be. He loved ranching and was so very good at it. When I first came as a new bride to his son Myles, (oh, how he must have rolled his eyes!!) he welcomed me wholeheartedly and did his best to be patient with this city-slickin' gal. He never said a cross word to me or made me feel dumber than dirt, which we all knew I was.

Myron was, for the thirty-five years I have been a part of his family, a gentle man who worked hard, loved his family, and always did what was right. He taught me lots. I remember sitting at their kitchen table, where most everyday conversation took place, and he would tell me cattle stories, market information, and plenty of tales of days gone by. What a grand guy he was.

So on Father's Day I bid you farewell dear old Myron. I love you and, just like all the other special people in my life, will always miss you. Forever your daughter-in-law, Mary Liz.

S.U.R.V.I.V.E.D.

Eighteen holes of golf is really hard on this old gal but I made it and this time I didn't even collapse once I went home. A little musings on the second annual Jon Florence memorial golf tournament. The money raised goes to outstanding advanced biology students.

S - Sun there was plenty of it, and of course with sun comes sunburn. There were a few or more toasted up golfers, moi included. Tee time was 10:00 am and the ending feast was served at 5:00. That is one hour short of most crock pot recipes.

U - Unbelievable that I managed to use, and not lose, the same orange noodle golf ball the entire 18 holes. One word, amazing!

R - Really had a good time with eight girls and one along for the ride. Adult beverages flowed freely and so did the hilarity.

V - Very good drives, chips, and putts by all

I - I hate to inform you we didn't win any trophies. Another unmentionable tournament in my sorry golf career.

V- Very crappy drives, chips, and putts by all.

E - Everyone should take a stab at golf. You only need to rely on yourself for your game. If you want to play horrid, you can or you can really work on a stellar play (which then you never seem to redo until about 36 holes later).

D - Dr. Jon Florence, DDS, would have loved to see all his friends have such a great time in his honor. He died suddenly in January of 2008 of a heart attack at the age of 41. He left a wonderful wife, and three young children. We all miss him and wish we didn't have to gather in his memory. It seems so unfair, but then nobody said life was fair.

So on that note: enjoy life, enjoy the day and enjoy each other!!!

Grand Old!!

I have ours flying proudly out the front door, do you??

You’re a grand old flag
You’re a high flying flag
And forever in peace may you wave.
You’re the emblem of
The land I love
The home of the free and the brave.

“You’re a Grand Old Flag,”
By George M. Cohan

Preparedness

In the past 18 months I have done considerable digging into the fifty plus years that made up the home of my parents and subsequently the home I was raised in. Hanging in the laundry room, high up near the top shelf, was a small beat up license plate hanging by two old nails. It didn't have imprinted on it all the usual data one would find on a license plate - state, year, numbers or letters. This little mini had one word stamped out: MaryLiz.

The plate had hung there for over 50 years. I always knew it was there but never was in any big hurry to take it down. I knew the day would come and it would go with the final stuff of 1514 12th Street South.

On my last trip it came home with me. I considered hanging it on my current bike, a nice well built model with a full comfortable seat. No, instead it sat on the dresser for a few plus weeks until last weekend,on a cleaning spree, I decided to hang it on my bed post. On my side of the bed.

Having rather an eclectic decorating style I think it looks just fine. Letting my mind wander I thought of early preparedness. Should I ever contract Alzheimer's and get mixed up, I will know which side of the bed is mine. Should I wake up and not remember my name, there it will be in chipped white letters. And of course, should my beloved betrothed ever haul home a stray (remember my mind is in the wander gear) and decide to take things to the ultimate level (I don't have a clue where I will be during this warped scenario) there it will be, the tin reminder that this bed belongs to someone else, that would be MARYLIZ!!



Sorry Susan for the random haphazard toss of the pillows. Everyday when I hurl the pillows at the headboard, I think of you. It would kill you to see such anarchy in bed making. Must be where they conjured up: Opposites attract.



I was searching in a box of old photos, looking for a shot of my old trike with the name on the back. This was as close as I could find without spending a week digging. The trike is in a heap in the background. I was engaged in my early years of shoe worshipping, which is still a thriving thrill in my life.

Ugly is as Ugly Does

Check out these homely dudes. But what about Phil Spector? Not only is he on the creeple people list, but he is a convicted killer. He just isn't on the sexy ugly list, just the ugly!!

Longitude and Latitude

I found this little blurb about Angelina Jolie and her newest tat. She has the latitude and longitude of all her kids' birthplace tattooed on her upper right arm. I don't rightly know what the hieroglyphics are down her back.

It has me pondering the question. Does this make me less of a Mom because I don't have Fargo, Minot, Minot, Minot emblazoned on my arm? What would I put for Karlie and Lacy?

Come to think of it I don't have any tattoos on any part of me. It doesn't serve any purpose to mar up perfectly good skin. I wonder what survivors of Nazi Concentration Camps think when they see a tattoo. They were forced to be branded for their Judaism.

Just for the record, we have yet to have any female residents with tattoos. But I bet it won't be long. I have spotted a few on some pretty old looking gals hunching around Minot. Not that they are really old, but they look like they have ran some hard miles in the last ten or twenty years. Don't even get me started on smoking, sun, and skin!!

Angelina also better keep an eye on that mole in the upper left corner. It could be trouble further on down the road.,