I, like others in my family, enjoy joking about all the ridiculous superstitions that people have. Once, while walking down a sidewalk we came across a ladder propped against a building. We proceeded to joke and made a great show of not walking under the ladder because that would be a horrible thing and would mean bad luck. Of course, we dripped sarcasm. However it was rather funny because a group of people walking behind us, overheard our conversation and started talking about it too.
And thus, when I talk about a certain event of my life, I usually poke a little fun at superstition too, because after all, it did happen on my 13th half-birthday, and 13, as we all know, is a very unlucky number. (Not!)
That day, we were invited to go roller skating with another family we knew and their other friends. Neither myself or my brothers had ever roller skated to speak of. That is, we'd done it for a few minutes on carpet before. This however, was an actual skating rink; nothing close to carpet, and, in my opinion, not nearly as safe.
However, when we got their, my brothers and I came to the mutual agreement that, since we were there to roller skate, we might as well roller skate. The rink was oval. On three quarters of the oval were walls which blocked access onto the rink. On the last part of the oval was a large open space where there were no walls, or rails, or anything to hold on to. And this, naturally was the only way to get onto the rink. It was truly stepping, or rolling, out in faith.
We all half slipped, half rolled our way to the safety of the wall, and using it to hold us up, we began to actually work on learning how to keep our balance. Our friends meanwhile, were going circles around us, figuratively speaking. And then, alas, the wall ended. We were forced to cross that huge open stretch with no help from anything. Needless to say, our first couple of dozen circuits around the rink were not something I would want anyone to see. After that however, we all started gaining confidence.
By now, nearly two hours had past and our parents had just told us to do one more loop and then we were to leave. I was just at the beginning of the wall, which I still used a little, but not much. I have to say, though I don't like to, that just moments before, I had been teasing my brothers about how much better I was doing than they were. I guess that should have warned me.
When I reached the end of the wall on my last loop, I told myself that when I did the open stretch, I would really do it. You know, no sitting down, no slipping, lots of confidence. "I can do this" I remember thinking.
I thought it again when I was three quarters of the way across the open stretch. The end was in sight. Unfortunately, I rejoiced to soon. I forgot the rule about bending my knees and leaning forward at the same time. I leaned back just a very little. I didn't really even realize at first that I was on the ground. The action of falling didn't seem to have occurred. Nonetheless, there I was, on the ground, with my legs twisted up.
Here, I must insert a few things. First, I was not using roller blades, but roller skates. Roller blades are supposed to be safer, (although, I can't see how since they have a far narrower base). Roller skates are more like boots, and they lace up too. That, I was told, is not as safe. Second, I really didn't feel any pain whatsoever. I didn't really try to get up. In spite of feeling no pain, I knew somehow, that I wouldn't be able to get up. I think, however, that I did untwist myself. The next thing I heard was two other kids telling the guy-in-charge/coach-dude-or-something sitting nearby that 'it looked like something was wrong over there.
Mom was alerted, and I was carried off the rink. I still really didn't feel pain, but it must have been painful subconsciously because I cried. Our friend's friend's Mom turned out to be a nurse. She wanted to see my ankle, but I'm afraid that I was a little suspicious, not knowing her to be a nurse. I didn't want anybody to touch my ankle. I guess it really hurt. I imagine that it was so painful that it didn't register as being painful. It was an odd sensation.
The friend's friend's mom said I should be taken to the hospital. I was a little upset however, that mom took us home first, so she could call Dad and have Dad take me. At that point, I just wanted somebody to fix me; now.
When I finally got taken to the hospital, I discovered what everybody but me probably already knew. The 'emergency room' is not treated as an emergency but rather as a 'waiting room.' I waited for over an hour before someone came, and even after that, it was still another twenty minutes before the doctor came. (I meanwhile complained greatly about the subconscious pain and listened to the lady in the next partition telling her doctor about how she cut her finger.)
When the doctor came, he said something or other, looked at the x-rays, and then disappeared for another 20 minutes. When he came back, he was really puzzled. He came shaking his head. It turned out, that the break I had, was so rare, that he'd never heard of it; he was an under-doctor or something.
I had a CAT scan, and the upshot of it all was, that I had to have surgery. I know have a screw in my ankle. When I'm being silly, Dad jokes about having a 'screw loose.' The anesthesia was smelled like coconut. I was out like a light, but the sensation was more like drifting.
When I was in the recovery room, I came awake in a kind of dead way. I could hear everything, but my vision was a little blurry and my mind felt completely asleep. Everything except my hearing seemed to be out of focus and way in the distance. Even the things I heard, while I heard them clearly, seemed to be coming from far away.
Hospital people want recovering patients to eat and drink something before they are released. I however, was not hungry. The nurse, at her wits end, offered me unusual hospital food such as ice cream. I eventually was persuaded to try a tuna salad and lemon-lime sprite. It was actually pretty good.
They had given me so much pain killer that the day after surgery, I felt awesome, in spite of the inconvenient full-length splint, (later replaced with a full-length cast). That first day, I did school. The next day however, was a killer. I have a very high pain tolerance threshold, so when I say something, on a scale of 1-10, is 8, it usually means it's pretty painful.
I was on crutches with a full-length cast for 6 weeks, and a half-cast for another six weeks. I don't think it's necessary to say that Proverbs 16:18 really came home to me. "Pride goes before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
Snippets of: Seattle, Part 2
The fire of 1889, recorded in Part 1 destroyed almost the entire city of Seattle. Thirty blocks were utterly demolished.Afterwards, wooden buildings were banned in favor of brick, stone, and iron. One would expect everyone to be unhappy about this devastation, and I am sure they were to some extent. However, the authorities didn’t seem to mind too much.
Now that the city is burned, they said, let’s build it higher. It will solve the sewage problems, of which there are many, and the city will stop flooding every time the tide comes in.
The merchants however, had lost all of their things in the fire. We can’t wait to build the city up, they said, we need to build our buildings now so that we can have money.
Well, said those in charge of the city, we are going to raise the city fifteen feet whether you like it or not. We own the streets.
You may own the streets, said the merchants, but we own the sidewalks, so we are building now.
The result of this was that the city built the streets fifteen feet higher and the sidewalks stayed where they were, fifteen feet below. For the customers who wanted to get to the other side of the streets, ladders were built. No guard-rails were used on the roads, so coaches and people sometimes fell. Sometimes, people fell off the ladders too. These deaths, the court ruled as involuntary suicides.
When the city built the streets higher, they used more dirt than it took to build the Panama Canal. But they still didn’t have enough, so they used, as Northwestcharm.com tells us, “Rubbish from the fire, sawdust, soil, and even carcasses of dead horses.” (Goller) In doing this, they made an insecure foundation.
Just for a minute, let’s look at Seattle as we see it today. Today downtown Seattle’s foundation is still made of this rubbish from the 19th century. The sawdust and other materials that were used in the past cause many of the pothole problems in the streets of Seattle.
The sidewalks were also raised to street level, creating what is now known as Underground Seattle. A few years after the fire, this area, which had only recently been constructed, was condemned due to a bubonic plague which swept the city. This was due to the large amount of rats that lived underneath. A bounty of ten cents was put on the tail of the rat. This, alas, was another mistake.
Rats are hard to catch, especially in the dark. This bounty that was put on rat tails caused people to raise rats to make things easier. They could cut off their tails and still receive the bounty. The rat problem took a long time to get rid of.
And now, in order to round out this history of Seattle’s folly and the era surrounding the Great Fire, let me tell you about one of the first leaders of Seattle.
Seattle has had many corrupted leaders. Of these, many of the crimes committed by the early leaders are now outlawed. This particular leader however however, did not have these laws.
(I once thought that this fallen man was the first mayor of Seattle, Henry Atkins. When I actually went on the Seattle Underground Tour however, it turned out it was someone else. Unfortunately, I can not remember or discover the man's real name and position. It might have been the Seattle Treasurer). Anyway, this man made many errors and he was a man in the position to do the following: It so happened that being a major town leader, he was also a private citizen. In his role as private citizen he sued the city. That is, he sued the town leaders, a prominent one of which just happened to be himself. Then, the town leader, himself, gave the private citizen, also himself, a whole bunch of money straight from the city treasury. This of course, is very wrong to do and there are laws against it.
The city has made some pretty silly mistakes in my opinion. Jesus once told a parable about the spiritual life. He told of a man who built his house on the sand, sawdust in this case, whose house fell down. And then He told the flip side of the story by telling about another man who built his house on the rock, whose house was beaten against, but did not fall. (Matt. 24-27) The example of the town leader's corruptness is just one. The city has always been pretty corrupted. Skid Row for instance. So I guess that, for the most part, the lives of the citizens are made of the same stuff they build the town on. It’s really kinda funny how people build things to look like themselves, (just look at the King of Babylon, he built a statue of himself.) However, Seattle is doomed! Spiritually, it’s corrupt. Physically, its foundation is (very) unsound. And I think Seattle could cave in at any time.
(P.S. Subsequent recent events have taken place. The city of Seattle is about to build a tunnel underneath the city. I hate to think of what will happen when they try to build it in the midst of that weak foundation. Downtown Seattle really could collapse even without an earthquake!)
(This has been: Snippets of: Seattle, Part 2. Look in next time to read: Stories of My Life:__)
Monday, November 1, 2010
A Day in the Life of: "General" Harriet "Moses" Araminta Tubman (Davis)
One wouldn't have thought that an 11th child and slave named Araminta would have become so very famous; but, she did. Born Araminta Ross in Maryland, she took her mother's name, Harriet, sometime in her early adulthood. As a slave, her exact birth date is unknown, but is probably 1820 or 1821. Like most slaves, she was illiterate and remained so for her entire life.
At age five, she was loaned out to a neighboring plantation. There, she became so ill that she was returned to her home. This did not stop her owner, Edward Brodas. When she recovered from her illness she was again loaned out. By age 12 she was working as a field hand. At age 13, already a fiery individual, she was brutally hurt in the head for defending a runaway slave. Her head wound resulted in lifelong narcoleptic seizures. (I had to look it up. A narcoleptic seizure is "a condition characterized by frequent, uncontrollable periods of deep sleep.")
Around the time she turned 25, Harriet gained permission from her owners to marry John Tubman. Tubman was an unworthy man. Although Harriet married Nelson Davis much later in life, Tubman is the name by which she is recognized.
Even in her early 20s, Harriet dreamed of freedom. When her master died in 1849, Harriet heard rumors that she and her brothers would be sold to a chain gang. With her brothers, Harriet began her journey North. Her brothers however, became frightened and returned to the plantation. Harriet continued alone. She traveled only at night and at last, she reached Pennsylvania. There, she found work cooking and cleaning. She used the money to finance rescue trips.
Before the Civil War, Harriet rescued helped to free over three hundred slaves, including her parents and four siblings. She became deeply involved in the Underground Railroad, was good friends with Thomas Garret and the dubious John Brown, and was nicknamed "Moses" for her strikingly similar task.
Harriet was a persuasive woman. Not one of those she escorted to freedom returned (like her brothers originally), not one was captured or lost. This of course, may have been partially because she threatened her escapees with death if they even thought about surrendering or returning. After she gain her freedom she accomplished over twenty hazardous missions in which she returned secretly to the South, contacted slaves, and escorted them sometimes as far North as Canada.
As her fame spread, slave owners offered a huge $40,000 reward for her capture. While she never got caught by anyone, her own illiteracy nearly gave the game away. Harriet fell asleep underneath her own wanted poster. By the beginning of the Civil War, Harriet was a dominant force in the abolitionist movement.
During the Civil War, in which she plotted with John Brown, Harriet worked as a nurse, cook, scout, and spy for the Federalists. For her bravery and courage before and during the war, John Brown nicknamed her "General" Tubman. She referred to John Brown late in life as one of her dearest friends.
After the war, Harriet transformed her home into a nursing home for local aged colored people.
As she grew older, Harriet made arrangement for the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church to take over the management of the Home. She herself was admitted to the Home in 1911. She died as a 90-something-year-old in 1913.
Harriet was honored posthumously by Eleanor Roosevelt and the United States Postal Service.
(This has been A Day in the Life of: Harriet Tubman. Look in next time to read: Snippets of:__)
At age five, she was loaned out to a neighboring plantation. There, she became so ill that she was returned to her home. This did not stop her owner, Edward Brodas. When she recovered from her illness she was again loaned out. By age 12 she was working as a field hand. At age 13, already a fiery individual, she was brutally hurt in the head for defending a runaway slave. Her head wound resulted in lifelong narcoleptic seizures. (I had to look it up. A narcoleptic seizure is "a condition characterized by frequent, uncontrollable periods of deep sleep.")
Around the time she turned 25, Harriet gained permission from her owners to marry John Tubman. Tubman was an unworthy man. Although Harriet married Nelson Davis much later in life, Tubman is the name by which she is recognized.
Even in her early 20s, Harriet dreamed of freedom. When her master died in 1849, Harriet heard rumors that she and her brothers would be sold to a chain gang. With her brothers, Harriet began her journey North. Her brothers however, became frightened and returned to the plantation. Harriet continued alone. She traveled only at night and at last, she reached Pennsylvania. There, she found work cooking and cleaning. She used the money to finance rescue trips.
Before the Civil War, Harriet rescued helped to free over three hundred slaves, including her parents and four siblings. She became deeply involved in the Underground Railroad, was good friends with Thomas Garret and the dubious John Brown, and was nicknamed "Moses" for her strikingly similar task.
Harriet was a persuasive woman. Not one of those she escorted to freedom returned (like her brothers originally), not one was captured or lost. This of course, may have been partially because she threatened her escapees with death if they even thought about surrendering or returning. After she gain her freedom she accomplished over twenty hazardous missions in which she returned secretly to the South, contacted slaves, and escorted them sometimes as far North as Canada.
As her fame spread, slave owners offered a huge $40,000 reward for her capture. While she never got caught by anyone, her own illiteracy nearly gave the game away. Harriet fell asleep underneath her own wanted poster. By the beginning of the Civil War, Harriet was a dominant force in the abolitionist movement.
During the Civil War, in which she plotted with John Brown, Harriet worked as a nurse, cook, scout, and spy for the Federalists. For her bravery and courage before and during the war, John Brown nicknamed her "General" Tubman. She referred to John Brown late in life as one of her dearest friends.
After the war, Harriet transformed her home into a nursing home for local aged colored people.
As she grew older, Harriet made arrangement for the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church to take over the management of the Home. She herself was admitted to the Home in 1911. She died as a 90-something-year-old in 1913.
Harriet was honored posthumously by Eleanor Roosevelt and the United States Postal Service.
Disclaimer: While Harriet Tubman was brave and heroic in her rescue and spy services, the author of this article does not necessarily condone John Brown. John Brown only appears in this post as a friend of Harriet.
(This has been A Day in the Life of: Harriet Tubman. Look in next time to read: Snippets of:__)
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Fountain of Thoughts: Bread Making
Do you ever wonder why your spiritual life seems to be going absolutely no where? Why you don't feel like you are maturing spiritually? I'm sorry to say that this is the way I feel many times.
One of my favorite 'sermons' outside of church is actually a work of fiction. In play, Polly Milton in An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott, gives a short sermon on plum cake.
"Life, my brethren, (she proclaims) is like plum cake. In some the plums are all on the top and we eat them gaily, till we suddenly find they are gone. In others, the plums sink to the bottom and we look for them in vain as we go on, and often come to them when it is too late to enjoy them. But in the well-made cake, the plums are wisely scattered all through, and every mouthful is a pleasure. We make our own cakes, in a great measure, therefore let us look to it, my brethren, that they are mixed according to the best recipe, baked in a well-regulated oven, and gratefully eaten with a temperate appetite."
As I was randomly thinking about random things the other night, I thought of these random verses in Jermiah 18. They're the famous ones about the potter and the clay. "The word which came to Jeremiah from the LORD, saying, Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will cause thee to hear my words. Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels. And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it. Then the word of the LORD came to me, saying, O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter? saith the LORD. Behold, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel.
Since I know very little about pottery and potters, I randomly decided to loosely translate the verses into something I did understand. I picked baking since I had made a loaf of bread earlier that day. It was a delicious cinnamon raisin bread, for those who are wondering.
Following the example of Polly Milton my thoughts ran thus: Life, (I thought) is like a loaf of bread. When we're feeling that life is ok and going pretty well but is maybe a little dull, that's when God is measuring the flour and baking powder and other little tasteless necessaries. He may also be measuring the vital, but small amount of yeast.
When life becomes tough and we feel like everyone is against us, it's probably because He's turned on the bread machine and we're being mixed and kneaded. And the process is still necessary. I read just minutes after this thought in Ecclesiastes 11. It says there that we are to make sure and "remember the days of darkness." They're good for us.
And now I come to thought which came to me first and was the central one in my mind.
When it feels like nothing is happening, like we're not maturing or growing, that is when the bread is rising. The process of rising a bread is so slow, and so subtle, that most of the time, we can't see it grow minute by minute. It seems as though nothing is happening, when in reality we are in the process of growing double and maybe triple our original size. Furthermore, rising bread requires warmth. It isn't usually incredibly hot, but it is pretty warm. Often, when I feel like I'm not growing, I also feel stress and pressure to be growing. I become frustrated. But, maybe that too is a part of the process. Maybe that pressure and frustration is the required heat.
I love the verses all over in the Bible, but particularly in Ephesians where it speaks about the church being fitly framed and joined together with precious stones, (Jesus being the corner stone) and it grows into a holy temple and habitation of God. God doesn't do things all at once most of the time. He starts with a foundation and slowly builds onto it. And by the way, He always starts at the beginning, not in the middle.
Without the boring ingredients such as flour, salt, and yeast, a delicious loaf of bread would not be possible. Without the kneading and mixing, the loaf would be tasteless and crumbly. Without the rising, the bread would be flat, and heavy. But you can't rise the bread before you mix it, and you can't mix it without putting the ingredients in first. Each step has to come in order.
Isn't God good. He knows that after long periods of rising we can get pretty frustrated. Trials seem to come all at once, but they rarely last forever and ever. He intersperses His blessing with His tests. When we're feeling particularly blessed and excited about His Word etc. He's adding the cinnamon and raisins at the beeps. (I don't know if all bread machines beep in the middle so you can add those ingredients, but ours does, so the analogy holds.)
And then of course, we coming to the baking. That's often really tough. But it's the time when our faith becomes stronger. We're no longer moldable dough that can be turned and twisted any direction. The fiber in the dough is brought out and strenghthened as it cooks to become crusty and strong on the outside and soft and moist on the inside. When we're being baked, we often only look at the intense heat we're being subjected to. But in reality, we're learning to 'stand firm.'
After all that heat, we may be so hot that people won't come near us. God uses the time of cooling to temper our faith and maybe chip off some rough edges. And finally, we get the reward. The baker gets to eat his/her bread. Isn't that rewarding! (And man does it taste good!)Hopefully, we won't truly get eaten. But we will get our reward in heaven. I look forward to the day when He will say, "well done, thou good and faithful servant."
(This has been: Fountain of Thoughts. Look in next time to read: A Day in the Life of:__)
One of my favorite 'sermons' outside of church is actually a work of fiction. In play, Polly Milton in An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott, gives a short sermon on plum cake.
"Life, my brethren, (she proclaims) is like plum cake. In some the plums are all on the top and we eat them gaily, till we suddenly find they are gone. In others, the plums sink to the bottom and we look for them in vain as we go on, and often come to them when it is too late to enjoy them. But in the well-made cake, the plums are wisely scattered all through, and every mouthful is a pleasure. We make our own cakes, in a great measure, therefore let us look to it, my brethren, that they are mixed according to the best recipe, baked in a well-regulated oven, and gratefully eaten with a temperate appetite."
As I was randomly thinking about random things the other night, I thought of these random verses in Jermiah 18. They're the famous ones about the potter and the clay. "The word which came to Jeremiah from the LORD, saying, Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will cause thee to hear my words. Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels. And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it. Then the word of the LORD came to me, saying, O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter? saith the LORD. Behold, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel.
Since I know very little about pottery and potters, I randomly decided to loosely translate the verses into something I did understand. I picked baking since I had made a loaf of bread earlier that day. It was a delicious cinnamon raisin bread, for those who are wondering.
Following the example of Polly Milton my thoughts ran thus: Life, (I thought) is like a loaf of bread. When we're feeling that life is ok and going pretty well but is maybe a little dull, that's when God is measuring the flour and baking powder and other little tasteless necessaries. He may also be measuring the vital, but small amount of yeast.
When life becomes tough and we feel like everyone is against us, it's probably because He's turned on the bread machine and we're being mixed and kneaded. And the process is still necessary. I read just minutes after this thought in Ecclesiastes 11. It says there that we are to make sure and "remember the days of darkness." They're good for us.
And now I come to thought which came to me first and was the central one in my mind.
When it feels like nothing is happening, like we're not maturing or growing, that is when the bread is rising. The process of rising a bread is so slow, and so subtle, that most of the time, we can't see it grow minute by minute. It seems as though nothing is happening, when in reality we are in the process of growing double and maybe triple our original size. Furthermore, rising bread requires warmth. It isn't usually incredibly hot, but it is pretty warm. Often, when I feel like I'm not growing, I also feel stress and pressure to be growing. I become frustrated. But, maybe that too is a part of the process. Maybe that pressure and frustration is the required heat.
I love the verses all over in the Bible, but particularly in Ephesians where it speaks about the church being fitly framed and joined together with precious stones, (Jesus being the corner stone) and it grows into a holy temple and habitation of God. God doesn't do things all at once most of the time. He starts with a foundation and slowly builds onto it. And by the way, He always starts at the beginning, not in the middle.
Without the boring ingredients such as flour, salt, and yeast, a delicious loaf of bread would not be possible. Without the kneading and mixing, the loaf would be tasteless and crumbly. Without the rising, the bread would be flat, and heavy. But you can't rise the bread before you mix it, and you can't mix it without putting the ingredients in first. Each step has to come in order.
Isn't God good. He knows that after long periods of rising we can get pretty frustrated. Trials seem to come all at once, but they rarely last forever and ever. He intersperses His blessing with His tests. When we're feeling particularly blessed and excited about His Word etc. He's adding the cinnamon and raisins at the beeps. (I don't know if all bread machines beep in the middle so you can add those ingredients, but ours does, so the analogy holds.)
And then of course, we coming to the baking. That's often really tough. But it's the time when our faith becomes stronger. We're no longer moldable dough that can be turned and twisted any direction. The fiber in the dough is brought out and strenghthened as it cooks to become crusty and strong on the outside and soft and moist on the inside. When we're being baked, we often only look at the intense heat we're being subjected to. But in reality, we're learning to 'stand firm.'
After all that heat, we may be so hot that people won't come near us. God uses the time of cooling to temper our faith and maybe chip off some rough edges. And finally, we get the reward. The baker gets to eat his/her bread. Isn't that rewarding! (And man does it taste good!)Hopefully, we won't truly get eaten. But we will get our reward in heaven. I look forward to the day when He will say, "well done, thou good and faithful servant."
(This has been: Fountain of Thoughts. Look in next time to read: A Day in the Life of:__)
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Tidbits of: Iowa
I tried, I really really did! The truly interesting history of each individual state in the U.S. is difficult to find. I confess I didn't find much until I happened to search the history of fire horses. You know, once upon a time, there were no fire engines (gasp!) the first fire station was made up of volunteers, handpulling a cart loaded with water buckets. As things became more sophisticated, horses were used to pull the pump wagon and the hook and ladder wagon. So that's what I was researching. Almost everything I came up with was about the California fire stations. Yes, I can just hear you all saying, "now wait a minute, how did she get California mixed up with Iowa.
It was this way. While researching fire horses (I wanted to see if a book I read was based on true facts or not) I came up with the famous Iowan fire horses, Snowball and Highball. ("Yay, now you're in the right part of the country) Probably this is beginning to sound interesting. I hate to disappoint you, but since I was dissapointed myself...You're probably wanting to know why these two horses were famous. HOwever, while I discovered the fact that they were famous, nothing anywhere would tell me why. The few facts I found were simply that they came in second not first, at a fire department race competition, and were hugely popular. Oh, and when they were retired, because fire engines came into fashion, they had their pictures taken with the 1912, and 1922, fire engines. During a picture, a fire whistle blew signaling that their was a fire. The two old fire horses were the first to arrive, although it was a false alarm. (I think that's pretty funny myself.) Legend has it that the alarm was rigged by dissidents to prove that fire engines weren't as quick to respond as the old methods of reaching a fire.
That's some of Iowa's history, but I was going to explain my opening apology. I still didn't find much about the state's history, even after discovering the bit about the fire horses. However, one thing leads to another. (I now know that if I want interesting history, it might be a good idea to check fire department archives.) Somewhere in the article about the fire horses I came across the word folklore. "Aha!" I thought, "That's a good word to search when looking for history."
When googling Iowan folklore, I came across a link to a story about "the counterfeit silver dollar." Since I like detective stories etc., I looked it up. And that's where it hurts and brings joy. The December 4, 1884 Fairfield, Iowa Weekly Journal only mentioned that a 'very cleverly executed' silver dollar was in circulation. "there is no proof against the suspect passer and he was discharged. All attempts of the U.S. officers to locate the criminal have been unsuccessful." How anticlimatical is that! Well, not too discouraged, I decided to see if there was a followup. There wasn't. But if I find it somewhere, I'll let you know.
In reading the 1884 newspaper, I was astonished to note how incredibly dissimilar it was to the modern media. And then again, it was pretty similar. News in those days was concise and to the point, and yet, hopelessly unimportant, most of it. The first words that greeted my eyes were along the lines of "G.B. Corns, Pittsburgh, is here" "B.B. Frase, of Des Moines, is in the city" A little further down, (after a long list of people who were apparently "in the city") I came across, "A new grocery store has been opened in the former Republican headquarters" (neglecting of course, to say what grocery store had opened.) Still further down the page I came across a couple of amusing tidbits, such as "A man stopping his paper wrote to the editor: 'I think folks otten to spend their munny for paper, mi daddy didn't and everybody nod he was the intelligetist man in the country and had the smartest family of boiz as ever dugged taters." Still further down was an admonition by the paper to consult the paper's office before subscribing to any other paper. And then followed "An old man who said he had two sons in the newspaper business recently applied for admission for the almshouse. The sons, who are traveling in the same direction, say they were willing to support their father, but he refuses to live on cough syrups, kidney pads and liver regulators...the man chose the almshouse instead"
I wondered, even as I laughed at this paper, whether it was really any different from today's paper. So, I looked up Fairfield's Daily Ledger (the weekly journal, can anyone be surprised? is out of business.) My eyes were greeted with headlines such as "City plans to disconnect sump pumps," "Goodwill store moving to town" (at least they said the name of the store.) Obituaries followed, with only an occasional interesting headlines such as, "grenade scare closes parts of town" and "fire fighter's fight smouldering hay fire for 9.5 hours."
Am I the only one that sees a strong similarity? The only dissimilarity that I could see was that modern newspapers are a little bit more detailed. You know, instead of 10 words, they use an hundred to make the same boring point.
So, that was my adventure while researching Iowa. While I didn't find very much, I think that if I refine my researching a little, I can utilize useful things such as old newspapers and fire department archives. Hopefully, I'll run across something more interesting however. Oh, and a couple of more things about Iowa. Iowa is home to: tinsmithing, quilting, willow basket weaving, gardening, cooking, and zither playing. (whatever that is.) (Never mind, I looked it up) A zither is a flat board with strings. It is used extensively in Hungary, Slovenia, Austria, and Germany. It looks kind of fun. (The picture went and stuck itself at the top...oh well.)
(This has been: Tidbits of Iowa. Look in next time to read: Foutain of Thoughts)
Monday, October 4, 2010
Stories of My Life: Sticky, Sticky, Sticky
I don't actually remember this experience, but I've been told about it so often, it feels like I remember it. It all happened once upon a time, a long time ago. I was very small.
Two of my older siblings were sitting in the living room doing school with Mom. Except for Mom's voice, and an occasional answer from the two, all was pretty quiet in the house. My other sibling and I were two young at the time to be doing school, and so we amused ourselves in another part of the house. Thus, it was only mostly quiet. For a while that is.
Gradually the noise proceeding from my part of the house ceased. Most people other than a mother would assume that my brother and I had fallen asleep. When Mom noticed the quiet however, she knew otherwise. For little children, quiet just as often means trouble as it does sleep.
Mom finished quickly her studies with my two older siblings and proceeded towards the kitchen. There, she was confronted with a horrible sight. Earlier in the day or week, my oldest brother had been (clandestinely) in the honey. He had forgotten to screw the lid of the 3 gallon jar on tightly.
Seated happily in the middle of the kitchen floor, I had a pool of honey around me, one hand in my mouth and one in the jar of honey. Yum, yumm, yummm! Mom swooped down upon me, and started to pick me up, (probably to give me a spanking. I deserved it. Naughty girl!) Unfortunately, all Mom's efforts to pick me up were thwarted by the pool of honey surrounding me. I was stuck to the floor.
When she finally released me from the sticky grasp of the kitchen floor, Mom had to call Poison control because I had eaten so much honey and had become sick. While this was going on, more horrors were being perpetrated. My other brother, you will remember, was an accomplice in the crime.
My brother had become tired of actually eating the honey. Fastidious at times, it was in evidence now. He had discovered that his hands were sticky and wanted to get the honey off. With this goal in mind, he wandered around the house wiping his hands on everything; door knobs, towels, cupboards, floor, wall, and carpet.
Needless to say, he also got in trouble. (I think I avoided a spanking because I got sick.) My oldest brother also got in trouble, for getting in the honey earlier that week. Now, we all live happily ever after, and somewhere in my lifetime, I acquired a taste for honey. Now I wonder where that came from!
(This has been Stories of My Life. Look in next time to read Tidbits of:__)
Two of my older siblings were sitting in the living room doing school with Mom. Except for Mom's voice, and an occasional answer from the two, all was pretty quiet in the house. My other sibling and I were two young at the time to be doing school, and so we amused ourselves in another part of the house. Thus, it was only mostly quiet. For a while that is.
Gradually the noise proceeding from my part of the house ceased. Most people other than a mother would assume that my brother and I had fallen asleep. When Mom noticed the quiet however, she knew otherwise. For little children, quiet just as often means trouble as it does sleep.
Mom finished quickly her studies with my two older siblings and proceeded towards the kitchen. There, she was confronted with a horrible sight. Earlier in the day or week, my oldest brother had been (clandestinely) in the honey. He had forgotten to screw the lid of the 3 gallon jar on tightly.
Seated happily in the middle of the kitchen floor, I had a pool of honey around me, one hand in my mouth and one in the jar of honey. Yum, yumm, yummm! Mom swooped down upon me, and started to pick me up, (probably to give me a spanking. I deserved it. Naughty girl!) Unfortunately, all Mom's efforts to pick me up were thwarted by the pool of honey surrounding me. I was stuck to the floor.
When she finally released me from the sticky grasp of the kitchen floor, Mom had to call Poison control because I had eaten so much honey and had become sick. While this was going on, more horrors were being perpetrated. My other brother, you will remember, was an accomplice in the crime.
My brother had become tired of actually eating the honey. Fastidious at times, it was in evidence now. He had discovered that his hands were sticky and wanted to get the honey off. With this goal in mind, he wandered around the house wiping his hands on everything; door knobs, towels, cupboards, floor, wall, and carpet.
Needless to say, he also got in trouble. (I think I avoided a spanking because I got sick.) My oldest brother also got in trouble, for getting in the honey earlier that week. Now, we all live happily ever after, and somewhere in my lifetime, I acquired a taste for honey. Now I wonder where that came from!
(This has been Stories of My Life. Look in next time to read Tidbits of:__)
Friday, September 24, 2010
Snippets of: Seattle, Part 1
Seattle is doomed! But in order for you to understand this, you need some basic Seattle history. This story is actually something I wrote for something else some other time, so it may not sound quite the same as I normally write for this blog. Let's just say that by studying Seattle, we are studying a city built on folly
Underground Seattle is a complex maze of passageways and basements in downtown Seattle. In the mid-1800s, when Seattle was just beginning, Underground Seattle was really the ground level. The city was built on the tide flats of the Puget Sound and thus flooded frequently.
The original buildings of Seattle were made of wood, and as the University of Washington Library states, the floors of the buildings were made of “wood chips and turpentine.” (University of Washington Libraries) The streets were muddy, and the people were coarse lumberjacks who seldom took baths.
Seattle was founded on November 13, 1851. A party of settlers led by a man named Arthur Denny landed on Alki Beach in November. (I may do another story on Seattle some other time. If I do, there will be more about the folly of his early settlement.) A man who was interested in the Northwest since an early time in his life, Arthur Denny seized the chance to go west when it came. He was partly influenced by his wife Mary. The city was also founded by the Terry group, and the Hines group. Little is known about these groups, but it’s better not to give all the credit to Arthur Denny.
When the Denny party landed on Alki Beach, now in downtown Seattle they named the place New York and then added bye and bye. Bye and bye became the Washington state motto. Part of the reason that Seattle was once named New York may have been because the biggest city, New York City, New York, where most of the Denny party had come from, was a three month journey. The Denny party hoped that Seattle would be able to take New York’s place as a large social center. Later the city was named Seattle after explorers met the powerful local Indian chief, Chief Sealth, or, Seattle, as we Americans called him.
This story was intended to be mainly about why Seattle is doomed so, enough of Seattle’s background. Let us instead skip to one of Seattle’s first mistakes: the Great Fire of Seattle. It started on June 6th, 1889, at 2:15 p.m., just after a beautiful spring.
The Great Fire started in a carpenters shop when a pot of glue, which was put on the stove by John Back, boiled over onto the sawdust and turpentine floor. The floor, of course, caught fire. When it was noticed, it was already too late to stop it. The fire soon ignited the liquor store on the one side, and a hardware store on the other side. Because of the massive logging industry of the time, all of the hardware stores carried dynamite, while everyone knows that alcohol is highly combustible. You can well imagine the result.
An equally important contribution to the greatness of the fire is Skid Row. The term Skid Row started in Seattle. It was really called Skid Road at first. The lumberjacks would skid the logs down the steep hill behind Seattle to the Puget Sound. After the logs had been put into the Sound, the lumberjacks would enter the bars. Thus, Skid Row was born.
At the time of the fire, drunken teenagers and men set fire to other buildings thinking that it was all in fun. Amazingly, no lives were lost in the fire. An article titled the Great Seattle Fire of June 6, 1889 tells us of the devastation caused by the fire. It says, and I quote, “Thousands of people were homeless, and 5,000 men were without jobs. The city estimated losses at more than $8 million, and that did not include personal property losses.” (U-S, comp.)
Where was the fire department all this time? Unfortunately, the fire Chief was out of town at a fire prevention conference! No one seemed to mind that. After all, they had two brand-new fire engines that would fix the problem in no time. However, they neglected to see if the fire engines were filled with water. Of course they weren't. No problem, said the city’s government, there’s the Sound just a hop, skip, and a jump away. So, they drove the fire engines over to the water. At least, they tried to. Un-happily, the tide was out causing the beach to be muddy. The engines got stuck and the people were forced to put out the fire in the old fashioned and unconventional way. A line of men passing buckets back and forth. The city of Tacoma, about half a day away, did send over their fire engines in time to help put out the fire, but it wasn’t enough to save Seattle.The fire destroyed almost the entire city. Thirty blocks were utterly demolished.
(It sounds like Seattle has already gone through its doom-edness. But this is only the beginning. Other, more terrible things are to come in Snippets of: Seattle, Part 2. However, Part 2 must wait it's turn. Next up is: Stories of My Life:__)
Underground Seattle is a complex maze of passageways and basements in downtown Seattle. In the mid-1800s, when Seattle was just beginning, Underground Seattle was really the ground level. The city was built on the tide flats of the Puget Sound and thus flooded frequently.
The original buildings of Seattle were made of wood, and as the University of Washington Library states, the floors of the buildings were made of “wood chips and turpentine.” (University of Washington Libraries) The streets were muddy, and the people were coarse lumberjacks who seldom took baths.
Seattle was founded on November 13, 1851. A party of settlers led by a man named Arthur Denny landed on Alki Beach in November. (I may do another story on Seattle some other time. If I do, there will be more about the folly of his early settlement.) A man who was interested in the Northwest since an early time in his life, Arthur Denny seized the chance to go west when it came. He was partly influenced by his wife Mary. The city was also founded by the Terry group, and the Hines group. Little is known about these groups, but it’s better not to give all the credit to Arthur Denny.
When the Denny party landed on Alki Beach, now in downtown Seattle they named the place New York and then added bye and bye. Bye and bye became the Washington state motto. Part of the reason that Seattle was once named New York may have been because the biggest city, New York City, New York, where most of the Denny party had come from, was a three month journey. The Denny party hoped that Seattle would be able to take New York’s place as a large social center. Later the city was named Seattle after explorers met the powerful local Indian chief, Chief Sealth, or, Seattle, as we Americans called him.
This story was intended to be mainly about why Seattle is doomed so, enough of Seattle’s background. Let us instead skip to one of Seattle’s first mistakes: the Great Fire of Seattle. It started on June 6th, 1889, at 2:15 p.m., just after a beautiful spring.
The Great Fire started in a carpenters shop when a pot of glue, which was put on the stove by John Back, boiled over onto the sawdust and turpentine floor. The floor, of course, caught fire. When it was noticed, it was already too late to stop it. The fire soon ignited the liquor store on the one side, and a hardware store on the other side. Because of the massive logging industry of the time, all of the hardware stores carried dynamite, while everyone knows that alcohol is highly combustible. You can well imagine the result.
An equally important contribution to the greatness of the fire is Skid Row. The term Skid Row started in Seattle. It was really called Skid Road at first. The lumberjacks would skid the logs down the steep hill behind Seattle to the Puget Sound. After the logs had been put into the Sound, the lumberjacks would enter the bars. Thus, Skid Row was born.
At the time of the fire, drunken teenagers and men set fire to other buildings thinking that it was all in fun. Amazingly, no lives were lost in the fire. An article titled the Great Seattle Fire of June 6, 1889 tells us of the devastation caused by the fire. It says, and I quote, “Thousands of people were homeless, and 5,000 men were without jobs. The city estimated losses at more than $8 million, and that did not include personal property losses.” (U-S, comp.)
Where was the fire department all this time? Unfortunately, the fire Chief was out of town at a fire prevention conference! No one seemed to mind that. After all, they had two brand-new fire engines that would fix the problem in no time. However, they neglected to see if the fire engines were filled with water. Of course they weren't. No problem, said the city’s government, there’s the Sound just a hop, skip, and a jump away. So, they drove the fire engines over to the water. At least, they tried to. Un-happily, the tide was out causing the beach to be muddy. The engines got stuck and the people were forced to put out the fire in the old fashioned and unconventional way. A line of men passing buckets back and forth. The city of Tacoma, about half a day away, did send over their fire engines in time to help put out the fire, but it wasn’t enough to save Seattle.The fire destroyed almost the entire city. Thirty blocks were utterly demolished.
(It sounds like Seattle has already gone through its doom-edness. But this is only the beginning. Other, more terrible things are to come in Snippets of: Seattle, Part 2. However, Part 2 must wait it's turn. Next up is: Stories of My Life:__)
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