BRISTOL THE PISTOL IS A SYMBOL OF SOMETHING MUCH BIGGER

           

I’m addicted to reality talent shows and am fascinated with Sarah Palin.  Hence, Sarah’s daughter Bristol’s stint on “Dancing with the Stars” held a particular interest for me.  Two days after the final show of the season, I’m still not sure what to think of the “teen activist’s” third-place finish on one of my favorite TV shows.

            First of all, she really wasn’t very good, although she was much, MUCH better than David Hasselhoff, Margaret Cho, and the Situation (who is an idiot, by the way).  Secondly, she did improve a great deal as the season progressed. Thirdly, I almost felt sorry for her at the end. Other than having a famous, polarizing mom and an jerk ex-boyfriend, she really has done nothing to deserve the abuse she ended up taking, other than quit her job as a receptionist for a much higher-profile gig as a contestant on America’s number one-rated show.

            A quick Google search shows that a lot of Americans cares very deeply about how well Alaska’s first daughter fared on DWTS.  Reactions to her success were often extreme:  a man ended up in jail after a police standoff which resulted from him shooting his television when Bristol beat Brandy to make the finals; Bristol received death threats on the set and even a envelope full of a “white, powdery substance” that looked a lot like anthrax.  Wow!  Those are some extreme reactions to a celebrity dance contest!

            So—why all this extreme reaction to such a seemingly innocuous television show?  The answer lies, of course, with the polarizing personality of the Mama Grizzly herself:  Sarah Palin.   ABC had no problem whatsoever showcasing Bristol’s mom every chance they had.  As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure Sarah did more actual talking on the show than Bristol, who appears quite shy. 

            Sarah’s amazing popularity and the activism of Tea Partiers were certainly the largest reasons behind Bristol’s success.  She had basically no fan base going into the show and she is a very timid dancer. The fans voted for her week after week because they like her mother—and perhaps because they wanted to send yet another message to America:  we’re conservatives, we’re proud, and we have POWER—get used to it!

            I just can’t help, but thinking that Bristol is a pawn in her mother’s ever-present quest for media attention.  As if “Sarah Palin’s Alaska” and her new book aren’t enough reason for her to be in the spotlight—she also sat right there in the front row most every week, rooting for her daughter—and looking quite fetching as she did so.

            Even little sister Willow jumped into the spotlight last week with her homophobic, profane rant on Facebook, where she used words like Faggot and the f-bomb with astounding ease.  Bristol joined in with some harsh language herself.  So much for America’s sweetheart, I guess.   Actually, I can’t say I blame Bristol or her sixteen-year-old sister for lashing back—things were getting pretty nasty and sometimes a girl’s gotta take a stand.  I’m not sure Facebook is the proper venue, but sisters stick together—even conservative, Alaskan sisters—and that’s a good thing.

            Once again, I find myself having a lot in common with the Palin clan. Occasional potty mouth:  check.  Habit of airing my dirty laundry on Facebook:  check.   Dedication to say or do whatever necessary to protect my family:  check. Need for the spotlight: check.  Not having a problem using my families’ accomplishments to get a little of that spotlight myself:  check (and have you met my amazing football-playing daughter Josie?).

            Too bad Sarah’s not a “Lib,” as my conservative friends call me.    If that were true, maybe I would have even voted for Bristol myself—even though she couldn’t dance very well.  Or maybe not.  Would I vote for someone that lacked talent just because I like them?  Let’s find out: someone out there there has to be a Democratic son or daughter that wants to compete on “Dancing with the Stars” and we’ll test my theory.  Wouldn’t it be fun to watch Chelsea Clinton shake her groove thing against, say, the Rock and Phyllis Diller—with Bill and Hillary sitting in the front row each night?  I’m tellin’ ya, ABC—that lineup would be a ratings success! Call me, let’s talk. 

It’s a ZOMBIE Christmas!

          Patrick, of late, has become obsessed with zombies.  Anything having to do with the undead holds a great fascination for my youngest child.  Apparently he is not the only person affected by this obsession.  A quick Google search finds 24,000,000 hits for “zombies.”

            Zombies where first made famous by George Romer's “Night of the Living Dead” back in 1965.  I remember one Halloween when I was at Coe.  I was waiting for a friend to pick me up for a party and decided to fritter away the time watching this film.  BAD IDEA.  I had to have aforementioned friend sleep on my couch for a week after, as I was too petrified of the living dead to sleep alone.   

            A more recent addition to zombie literature is the new AMC series “The Walking Dead.”   According to the official website, this series is based on the comic book by Robert Kirkman and tells the story of life following a zombie apocalypse.   Patrick has turned the watching of this show into his weekly “date night” with Mom.  Every Sunday at nine will find he and I snuggled on the couch, drinking cocoa and watching zombies try to catch humans and eat them.    We have a surprisingly good time at this; even I’ve begun to care for the fate of county sheriff Rick Grimes and his family in the wake of the unspeakable.
            I went to the “Walking Dead” web site and took a quiz to see what type of survivor I would be in case of a zombie attack.  According to this site, I’d be one “tough chick,” defending my kiddos at all cost from the scourge of the undead.  Cool.

            Patrick and Cody are both reading a book entitled “A Zombie Survival Guide” and I bought a hilarious parody of Jane Austen entitled “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.”  I tell ya, this zombie thing is taking over my entire house.

            Cody has a pretty detailed theory regarding zombie symbolism that he has actually talked his English teacher into writing into this year’s choral reading.    There is a zombie fan page on Facebook.  Daniel Drezner has written a treatise called “Theory of International Politics and Zombies.”  Zombies, zombies—they’re everywhere!

            We recently watched “Dawn of the Dead” while driving home from the Breitsprecher Christmas in Independence.  Well—Dean was driving; the rest of us were in the back watching.    Then we had a spirited family discussion regarding the safest place to hide during a zombie attack.  We finally agreed on a maximum-security prison as the ideal hideaway:  very secure, lots of weapons available, and weightlifting equipment for entertainment and exercise made it the perfect place.    I kept trying to talk the kids into hiding in a shoe store—but they didn’t think that would be very practical. It was really fun riding home from Indee, looking at the Christmas lights and discussing zombies as a family.  

            When I was younger and dreamed of the perfect Christmas with my children, I never imagined spending it watching the undead overtake Atlanta.    I imagined something more idyllic and less bloody.  But, you know, cuddled up under my leopard snuggie with Patrick is even better than the enjoying the Christmas lights in a one-horse open sleigh fantasy of my childhood.  

            I guess we can add “enjoying horror movies” to the list of things I said I’d NEVER before I had children.  I hope each and every one of you is able to add a new Christmas tradition to your wheelhouse of traditions this holiday season like I was able to add to mine.  It may not be baking sugar cookies from scratch, but discussing the perfect place to hide when zombies rule the earth is a fine way to spend Christmas Day

Our Iowa article

ALGONA ARTIST PLAYS MICHELANGELO AT CENTURY FARM

            St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome has nothing on a century farm located only a few miles outside of Algona. As a matter of fact, Michelangelo himself might be impressed with the work of local artist and high school teacher Mark Haverkamp, who has been painting murals of rural scenes on the home of Mike and Roseanne Schmit for the past several years.  Yes—you read correctly:  ON the home. 

            Mike and Roseanne came across this unique artistic idea on one of their many trips to Europe.  Both the Schmits have roots deep in Luxembourg and Germany and have visited that area quite a few times since the early 1970’s.   On a visit to Oberammergau, Germany they saw many examples of this unique kind of art:  scenes literally painted on the sides of home.    Upon returning home, they commissioned local artist Dave Strickland to paint a scene on their double garage. 

            Since then, they have commissioned Haverkamp to paint five scenes on their house proper, with two more in the works.  According to the artist, “The couple likes scenes with the theme of Early American Farming.  I have been painting these scenes in a more-or-less progressive manner.  I started with scenes from the pioneer days and then added some from the 1920’s.  The last scene I painted for the Schmits was from the 1950’s era.

            “Mike provides photos and other ideas that conjure up memories of his childhood.  Some of these ideas have come from covers of magazines like Wallace’s Farmers and others have come from books.  I combine the ideas and work up a rough sketch.  We work from there,” she said.

            Mary started out painting the murals directly onto the house itself, but had trouble getting the paint to adhere.    “It didn’t stick too well because of the oil-based stain on the house,” she said. “Even though we tried to remove the stain, enough remained to cause a problem.”

            Another problem she encountered was how, exactly, to get up high enough to use her paintbrushes.  “I started with a stepladder and then Mike set me up some scaffolding.  The scaffolding was more secure, but I was still out in the weather, dealing with the bugs and the heat and the wind.  Finally we solved both problems by painting the scenes on thin sheets of plywood and then adhering them to the house after they were completed.  This has worked much better,” said Mary.

            It isn’t just the large murals of one-room schoolhouses and horse-drawn plows that make the Schmit farm unique.  The original homestead of the property, built in approximately 1857, has been restored and sits basically in the front yard of the main house.    The log cabin was built by Mike and Sarah Schmit, who emigrated to the New World from Luxembourg when land became scarce there.  “They basically had two choices:  move to France and work in the coal mines or come to the ‘New Country’.  They chose to emigrate in 1855,” said Mike.

             Mike and Sarah lived in the one-room cabin until 1886 and raised three children there.  “I imagine it was pretty crowded,” said Rose, “with three young children underfoot in that tiny cabin.  I think they probably spent a lot of time outside.”

            When Mike started farming the land at the tender age of 16, he had no idea the log cabin was even there.  The structure had been covered with siding and used in a variety of capacities.    After purchasing the property from his father’s estate when he was 21, Mike discovered the cabin and uncovered its fascinating history.

Today the 19’ x 20’ cabin, which was built with locally grown oak, is restored and decorated with old quilts and other antiques from a day gone by.  “I’m even using one of our wedding presents out there—at slightly over fifty years it isn’t exactly an antique, but it still has plenty of memories,” said Rose.

            Mike, the grandson of the original owner, and Rose have one daughter Denise and three grandchildren.   Denise used to have sleepovers with her girlfriends in the old cabin.  “One time they were scared in a thunderstorm, so I had to bring a cot out and sleep downstairs while they camped in the lot,” said Mike. 

            “When I moved into the old farmhouse as a newlywed, my sister-in-law told me to be patient, I’d ‘get a new house eventually.’  Little did I know that not only would I build a beautiful house in 1977, but I’d also play a part in uncovering and restoring an historic log cabin. I guess you could say I have two houses now.”

            Between the cabin and the beautiful, original murals of rural farm life from days gone by, the Schmit century.farm is a unique piece of property indeed.

           

Happy Birthday Josie Jo!

** Josie's birthday is November 10--this is "her" column

      

Thirteen years ago today, Josie McKenna Breitsprecher came kicking and screaming into this world—and made me the happiest woman on earth.  I had so dreamed of having a little girl I could dress up in lace and with whom I could have tea parties.  Although my vision of a girly-girl for a daughter never happened, Josie still continues to make me the happiest woman on earth every single day. 

            The day I found out that I was expecting a second child I had no idea I was pregnant.  I remember it was the first day of the NCAA tournament and much of the staff was gathered in the library to watch those opening games, looking for that Cinderella upset.  It was starting to sleet outside and I needed to run to Fort Dodge to pick up my taxes at the accountant’s.  Mr. Lyons, the superintendent, told me to leave early before the roads got bad. 

            Less than an hour later I was on my way home—but the roads were faster than me and were already pretty icy.  It was directly in front of Shelton’s house that another driver lost control and hit me head on.    The Lord was with me and put my friend Deb Krug in the car behind mine.  She opened the door and said, “Oh my God, it’s Kendra” and then took control, calling 911.

            The ambulance took me to the hospital in Fort Dodge and about ten hours later I awoke in a room, recovering from extensive surgery to my face, which had gone through the windshield.  I was covered in blood and glass and wanted to take a shower. The nurse told me this wasn’t possible, as it was 3:00 in the morning. I then asked for a sedative and she said, “Okay, but it might not be a good idea.  You know you’re pregnant.”

            Huh?  I had NO IDEA I was pregnant and being told this after several hours of surgery was stressful, to say the least.  To say I freaked out was putting it mildly.  I spent the next few hours talking to God and deciding that this pregnancy was indeed a blessing and that I was thrilled to be giving Cody a sibling.

            Thrilled—but cautious.  I spent the next 8 1/2 months worrying that something would be wrong with my little bundle.  Even the anesthesiologist told me that there were many dangers in exposing a fetus to so many drugs as they did during surgery.   My doctor told me that there was a good chance I would lose the baby in the first trimester.  

            Some of my fears were alleviated at the first ultrasound.  Not only did the picture show two arms, two legs, etc. but also that this baby was a GIRL.  Dean and I ran out and bought every copy of the new song “Butterfly Kisses” in the store.  I immediately started shopping for soft dolls and frilly outfits.

            When Josie finally decided to make her entrance, she came fast and furious—and was really not cute at all.  Seriously—the girl looked like a blue monkey. The nurses took her away and she came back pink and beautiful—thank Goodness—and a serious love story deepened.

            Now, thirteen years later, the love keeps getting stronger and stronger.  As much as I fear the teenage years (with all the eye rolling and sighed “Oh Mom’s”), it can’t be as difficult as those first few months, when I wasn’t sure it Josie was going to be “okay,” let alone as exceptional as she turned out.

            The moral of this story is that a person’s political beliefs do not necessarily have to be their personal beliefs.  Although I strongly support a woman’s right to choose, I never considered having an abortion for an instant, even though quite a few people suggested it might be the best course.    Ten minutes in a doctor’s office would have erased the miracle that is Josie from the world—and that certainly would have been a tragedy.

            Josie is celebrating with a HUGE luau party this weekend.  I will be celebrating more quietly by thanking the Lord for listening to me that night so many years ago in the hospital room, when I asked for comfort and he gave it.   And thanking him for giving me Josie, as well.  Even though she prefers football to tea parties, playing catch to painting her nails, she is and will always be my perfect little girl.

Class Reunion Speech

            When Heidi asked me to give this speech, I almost said no.  I mean—I can’t remember things that happened yesterday or even this morning. Sometimes I forget the names of my own children.  How am I supposed to remember and make comments on a graduating class from 15 years ago, for Pete’s sake?

            So, I started in the logical place:  the 1995 Southeast Webster annual.  And the memories started flooding back.  Yep—there’s Chrissy and her dad, who was school board president at the time.  There’s Nathan—who won the band AND vocal award that year.    There’s Jon Walker and his long red hair.  K, it’s all coming back to me now.  It seemed appropriate to organize this little speech around the 1995 Aerie yearbook:  “Making our Mark.”

            Journey back with me 15 years, when the school down the road was not yet named Southeast Webster GRAND, but was no longer named Central Webster-Dayton.  Apparently plaid was really, really in style. I offer this class photo as evidence of that particular fashion trend (show yearbook photo).  You guys look a lot like lumberjacks, going into the woods to chop an oak to keep the cabin warm in the winter.    Another fashion trend I noticed was bib overalls.  Seriously—ladies—not a good look.

            Turning the page, we see the awards:  Let’s see:  Class Couple:  Chad Lambert and Chrissy Cramer.  Well—that one worked out.  Chad and Chrissy have now been married for 11 years and have 4 kids.  Chrissy is the elementary guidance counselor and my kids call her “Mrs. Lambert.”  I bet she’s a pretty cool counselor.

            Chad and Chrissy were the homecoming king and queen that year.  A few years back, Dave and Patty Cramer were named honorary homecoming king and queen at SWG.    I thought this had a certain nice symmetry to it. 

In 1995, the other candidates were Jodi, Rachel, Grant, and Jimmy Jennett.  Which one of these doesn’t really fit??  Wasn’t Jimmy the one that Jamie and Gina wrote a poem about their freshman year?  I tend to remember grading that, laughing my ass off, and then telling them it was inappropriate.   One Jimmy Jennett memory still gives me nightmares:  When he cut Ray Bass’ hair for his how-to speech.   I think he paid Ray five bucks and two video games for the privilege of showing the freshman “how to” give a Mohawk haircut.  I remember sitting there, as Ray’s hair dropped to the floor, thinking, “Bad idea—now I’m gonna have to talk to Eddie.  Poop.”  Speaking of poop, that was also the year that Kyla Hansen brought a dog to class for a speech and it pooped in the hall and Jim Brundage was FURIOUS with me.   My classroom was on the second floor of the old building and apparently Kyla’s dog had a little accident on the stairs. Oops.

            How many of you remember a speech you gave—or one given by your classmates?  I asked Gina what she remembered from my class and she said, “A lot is always two words” and “there is always a better word than got.”  Well—I guess that’s something.  What do you remember at your days as an Eagle??

            Bob Butrick was another member of the class of ’95 that is now also employed by the school.  He is the Behavior Interventionalist in the Burnside building and my daughter’s football and basketball coach.  His senior quote was “When you drop your keys into hot molten lava, just forget it man because they are gone.” Seriously Bob—someone who left that message for all eternity is now entrusted with the care and safekeeping of my only daughter??? Let this serve as a warning to today’s high school seniors:  choose your senior quote wisely for someday you may be asked to explain what the heck you were thinking.  And—yes, I did say that Bob is Josie’s FOOTBALL coach—that’s another story for another time.

            The other Behavior Interventionalist for SWG is Becky Davis, nee Vandi, also a class of 1995 member.  She married high school sweetheart Curt Davis, also a 95 grad.    She’s still a red head and still feisty and my kids love her.

            Jamie Liska’s senior quote was “If I’m going to get blamed for something, I might as well do it.”  Like:  If I’m gonna get blamed for dating my math teacher, I might as well go ahead and marry him.  Or something like that.

            On the faculty page of the yearbook, there is Andrew Everett—not smiling at all: Dan Fluckiger, who looks like he was just frightened:  Lori Ferrari, looking beautiful as always.  There is also a photo of Mr. Gilson, Mrs. Kalahar, and me dressed up like we are pregnant for Homecoming week.   I remember we wore matching maternity jumpers and used a beach ball for a pregnancy belly.  That was pretty clever if I do say so myself. 

            There’s also a shot of Joy Summers—remember her?  The special ed teacher who I always thought bore an uncanny resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the West.  Summers was her married name—she married Oscar Summers who was the little league baseball coach for over a decade.   He used to practice in the old tennis courts and put money in the fence; if you hit the money with a ball you could keep it.    I remember the first day I met her.  Her name was Meister then and she stood up at the faculty meeting and introduced herself as Joy Meister.  Mr. Fluckiger literally fell out of his chair to stop from laughing.  “The Joy Meister” stuck as her nickname for the next five years.

            Ralph Johnson was your principal and Ted Lyons was your superintendent—making you plenty lucky indeed.   In all my years of education, I never encountered a team that could live up to the standards set by those two gentlemen. They loved kids and they believed in education and they were simply stand-up guys all around—a real class act.

            That was also the year of the Donkey Ball game in the gym.   Remember that?  Mr. Everett looked like he was ticked at the donkey and we actually felt sorry for the animal.  I got a question:  did anyone ever see that man smile??  I was somehow talked into riding a donkey for this fundraiser.  Mr. Theobald was the announcer and my nickname was “Kendra ‘my Cody is cuter than Kathie Lee’s Cody’ Breitsprecher.” 

            I keep flipping through the book and I see my personal favorite spread:  the speech pages.  I need to say something public:  Hey—Becky—I apologize for making you do that mime.  “This is your life, Suzy Starlight’??  What was I thinking?  That year Jodi Collen went to all-state with Shadd Scharf for a play entitled “The Kissing Scene.” They kissed like 25 times in 15 minutes.  I remember them wanting to practice all the time.    Jon Walker and Alyssa Corson went to all state that year too—so I’m thinking you had a pretty creative and successful class.  Alyssa continued acting after graduation, doing several plays at Iowa Central and then at Hawkeye Community Theatre.  We recently auditioned for “Steel Magnolias” together—She received the part of Shelby; I received . . . nothing . Not that I’m bitter or anything, but the student getting a part and the teacher getting the shaft does not seem right, does it? I am thinking she should make it up to me by baking me a cake.  In case you don’t now it, Alyssa has a home business were she bakes and decorates gourmet cakes for special occasions. I have used her service many times and all I can say is YUM. Serious—Alyssa—a snickerdoodle cake delivered to my house would go a long way in helping me forget the whole play audition incident. I’m just sayin.

            And—while I’m apologizing—sorry Lindsay for the Catwoman suit you had to wear in the dinner theatre that year.    We had “mimes of ceremony” that year and Becky had to do it again—this time with Holly and Jennifer Barkhaus.  Yeah—sorry again.

            Three of you were also selected for all-state choir:  Alyssa,  Nate Eslick, and Toki Selby.  Remember how thrilled Mr. Albert was?  He put little signs on your lockers.

            As I continue to flip through the annual, I turn to the prom page.  There’s me, Mr. Theobald, and Mr. Lyons after our Prom Speech Championship. In case you don’t remember, this is the one where I whipped of my dress and did a little dance number to a song I wrote about Aaron Check.  Bad idea.  Really, REALLY bad idea.  I’m thinking I’m going to be apologizing all night long.  Sorry Aaron. Sorry senior theatre class for making you help me.  Sorry everyone for making you watch it.

I remember Mr. McClure threatening to walk out of prom if I made any jokes about him.   So, I gave my “Barney” jokes to Mr. Lyons to make—not like McClure could yell at the boss.  Being prom sponsor with Mr. McClure—not so much fun.  I am pretty sure that if I would have been allowed to make my Barney jokes, I would have won the stupid prom speech competition and not come in a miserable third.

Rachel Shanahan and Grant VanGilder were prom king and queen that year—Grant looks freaking thrilled to be wearing that crown.  Gina and her date are featured on this page as well—although Gina looks beautiful in a white feathery dress, Tracy is wearing a Mickey Mouse tux.  Another bad fashion choice.

There’s a photo of Carlos Silva, the foreign exchange student.  Does anyone ever hear from him? 

1995 was the year Mr. Theobald took a bunch of kids to London, France, and the Riveria.  According to the yearbook, it was an eventful trip.  Apparently, Jamie and Amy Flickinger were flashed by a streaker,  Jodi Collen was locked in a cemetery, and Gina DeGroote broke the handle of her suitcase and held up the entire trip.

It was the first year of the Talon chapter of the National Honor Society, started by yours truly and Jodi Collen, who—coincidently—was one of the first inductees.  Hmmm . . .

The senior girls on the annual staff were Amy Flickinger, Jamie Liska, Gina DeGroote, Jodi Collen, and Holly Gilliland—which might explain why there are photos of them on every single page of the yearbook. Seriously, folks, according to the 1995 annual Gina is on the football page and Holly is in FFA.  Those girls were ACTIVE.  I also remember Gina and Jamie giving a speech at graduation and everyone being all worried about “what would those rebel girls say??”  Alas, they were very dignified and said nothing at all naughty.

Moving onto sports: wasn’t that the year without a softball coach? Didn’t Jodi set some sort of three-point record?  Didn’t girls’ basketball go quite a ways in the tournament and have a really good season?  Yeah—I didn’t pay that much attention to sports.  The only reason I even remember the Jodi/girls’ basketball thing is because it interfered with all-state speech!  The yearbook did say that Chad was an all-state linebacker in football—so that’s a good thing, right?

I do wish I had paid more attention to sports when I didn’t have kids and had more time. Now I have children in all sorts of sports and spend a great deal of time clueless—or asking annoying questions to people like Heidi about basic rules of the games.  It is kind of odd to be friends with people I used to tell to walk in the hall.

The yearbook ends with some personal notes from parents to their graduating seniors—and a sappy poem written by none other than Jodi Marissa Collen.   And I end this speech with a reminder that you all were part of something special in high school.  Not only did you have great friends and great memories, but you were taught by great teachers and led by great administrators. 

As most of you know, I no longer teach high school and the last five years of my life have been difficult, to say the least. I choose to view these years as a “blip” in an otherwise fantabulous life of education and service.

This may sound odd in a class reunion speech, but I hope that high school just a “blip” in your life—a wonderful, beautiful, magical blip, but a blip none-the less.  You are all way too talented and smart and beautiful to have the four years of high school be the highlight of your life.   And—I have no doubt that every single one of you are leading successful lives and have some great stories to tell—whether you have 14 kids like Chrissy and Chad or you have an exciting, unusual career like Jodi or you defeated cancer not once, but twice like Alyssa—or if you are just quietly working every day to make the world a better place—I am sure that the class of 1995 are indeed MAKING THEIR MARK.

Here’s to the class of 1995.  I can hardly wait to mingle with you all after this dinner and hear all about your lives and travels.  Here’s to another fantastic 15 years.

'I believe in God'

*This was my writing published this summer in The Lutheran online magazine.  I have had requests to read it--so here goes!**

Our oldest son Cody has attended Riverside Lutheran Bible Camp in Story City, Iowa, since he was in the second grade. It was always the highlight of his summer. Our family is very active in our congregation, Emanuel Lutheran in Dayton, Iowa, and Cody was confirmed right on schedule. Cody received his driver's permit in October of his freshman year. He attends school about 8 miles from our home. Three days after he finally (after several attempts) received his permit, tragedy occurred. Breaking about 100 household rules, Cody decided to drive friends home after school, traveling on gravel roads. In less than 10 minutes after school was dismissed, Cody had flipped the van, injuring five friends and killing one.
Needless to say, the effects of this were far-reaching, including Cody's hospitalization for severe depression the following March. After this, Cody decided he no longer believed in God and would no longer attend church services with the family.
I told Cody that I wanted him to attend Riverside with "an open heart and an open mind." If he still didn't believe in God after that, I wouldn't make him attend church in the fall. Then I started praying. I also warned his camp counselors about his mind-set, and they all started praying as well. I activated my church's prayer chain and even posted a call for prayers on my Facebook page.
All week while he was at camp, I expected a phone call telling me to come pick up my very angry and disruptive son. The call never came. When I arrived at the cabin to pick him up, I was greeted with a huge smile, hug and an enthusiastic "I believe in God."
Cody told me that the last night there, they had an "open mic" time at chapel. He volunteered to tell his story. At that moment, he clearly felt the love of God and the burden of the accidental death of his friend lifted from him. He told me how the staff and his cabinmates spent the night with him, praying and talking.
Riverside Lutheran Bible Camp is truly a place of miracles, and I vow to send all three of my children there every summer, no matter what sacrifice we must make financially.
The Lord is present at Riverside in a mighty way, and I am eternally grateful for the role the camp played in giving me back my oldest child.

---

WEIGHING IN ON THE GROUND ZERO MOSQUE

 

Before you all whip out your poison pens (or poison keyboards for that matter), let me make this perfectly clear:  building a mosque at Ground Zero is a really, REALLY bad idea.  Not only is it insensitive to millions of Americans, it will causes even more division in our already deeply divided nation.

            That being said:  building a mosque at ground zero is 1) perfectly legal and 2) much in keeping with the principles on which this country was founded.  Just as freedom of speech gives people the right for repugnant speech (think KKK rally), freedom of religion give people the right to build places of worship pretty much anywhere they want. 

            Newt Gingrich recently stated on his blog: “There should be no mosque near Ground Zero in New York so long as there are no churches or synagogues in Saudi Arabia.”

            The logic behind this statement is not only flawed, but also somewhat nonsensical.  It is not logical to compare the USA with Saudi Arabia.  In my opinion, we are BETTER than they are precisely because we do offer freedom of religion (and all sorts of other freedoms as well—for example, our women can drive cars).  Saudi Arabia is a sovereign nation; they can make whatever rules they want for their own country—even offensive rules.  We are also a sovereign nation—one that prides itself on fairness and freedoms and leading the way in Democracy.  We make BETTER rules—that’s why people will risk their lives for a chance at living here.

            To be precise:  the proposed Islamic center is not to be located exactly at ground zero.  Even liberal commentator George Stephanolous agrees that this is “sacred ground” when discussing the issue with conservative pundit Laura Ingraham.  The center is to be located about two blocks from ground zero.  As a matter of fact, a person outside the center would not even be able to see ground zero.

            Still, majorly bad idea.  It’s just . . . tacky and in poor taste.  However, unless the US government declares the entire area a national park, there is nothing legal to stop it from being built.  And—if the entire are is declared a park—then NO ONE can build on it, Muslim or otherwise. 

            With New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg behind the mosque, it looks like it’ll be built—and Bloomberg will probably never get elected again.  Even the Anti-Defamation League says building a mosque so close to the site of the 9-11 tragedy is a bad idea.

            But there are LOTS of bad ideas out there.    A church in Gainesville, Florida sponsored a “International Burn a Koran” day September 11.   The pastor of Dove World Outreach Center (not exactly a major denomination) said he would go through with the event, even after General David Petraeus said it was a really bad idea and would probably cause even more Americans to be killed. "Once in awhile, you see that in the Bible, there are instances where enough is enough and you stand up," Terry Jones said. 

Just as I want to shake the Iman who wants to build the Cordoba Center at Ground Zero, I want to shout to this pastor:  “Hey—Terry—do you understand that doves are the symbol of peace and your idea for a “rally” is exactly the opposite of that?  Maybe change the name of your church to Moron World or Intolerance World or Bubba World.”  The “Burn a Koran” day even has a Facebook presence—seriously.  Their profile photo is a blood-red sign that reads: “Islam is of the Devil.”  However, because of that silly Freedom of Speech, they have the right to this page—and the right to host their offensive rally.  That’s the way it works, folks. The knife cuts both ways.

Idol Nation

            2010 will go down as the Summer of American Idol for me.     As the season of sunshine was winding down, I experienced not one, not two, but THREE concerts given by Idol Alumni.

            The first concert was a birthday gift from my neighbors Brad and Kim Anderson.   Thanks to a contest hosted by radio station 102.5, I was treated to a prime rib sandwich lunch and a mini-concert by Kris Allen at Fleming’s Steak House in Des Moines.   Kris was the winner of Idol’s 8^th season, defeating my personal favorite Adam Lambert. Kris was much shorter in person than he looked on TV.

            Only about 40 people were invited to this nifty event, so it felt very exclusive.  We dined and then Kris took the stage and sang about 5 songs, chatting with the audience in between.  He told a very funny story about how he was in the men’s room and heard his own song on the radio.  He said he didn’t sing along because that would have been “just weird.”    We then had our photos taken with the singer and were given an autographed photo.

            I was probably most impressed that Season 9 finalist and West Des Moines native Katelyn Epperly was sitting at the very next table.   I couldn’t keep myself from pointing and staring.  My lack of coolness concerning anything Idol continues to amaze even me.

            Just a week later, I sat in 8^th row seats at the Season 9 Idol concert at Wells Fargo Arena in Des Moines with my fine arts friend Lindey and my daughter Josie.  Coincidently, I won two additional tickets to this concert from the same radio station, 102.5.  Because of this we were able to take neighbors Kim and Cameron with us as well.  This was a full concert, lasting over two hours, and very high energy.

            My favorite Idol from that season was Casey James, who is GORGEOUS.  He might have sang as well, I don’t know—I couldn’t hear a thing over the thumping of my heart!  Probably the best performer of the group of ten Idols was 2^nd place winner Crystal Bowersocks, who was amazing.    It seems to me like the second place winner is always a little bit better and more successful than the actual Idol.  Clay Aiken, for instance, is experiencing more success than the winner of Season 2 Ruben Studdard. 

            Katleyn Epperly didn’t perform at the concert because she didn’t finish in the top ten. At first I thought this had to be hard on the Iowa native, but then I read some of her interview.  Methinks this little girl has a major attitude.

            Lindey and I spent the concert on our feet; we were unable to drag Kim away from her new Blackberry, and Josie and Cameron fluctuated between rocking out and sitting there sulking, like typical pre-teens.  All-in-all, a fantastic evening was had by all.

            My final Idol concert was 8 days later when Lindey and I once again ventured out to see Adam Lambert (the guy that finished 2^nd to Kris Allen) give an outdoor concert in Des Moines. It was supposed to be at the Simon Estes Amphitheatre, but was moved to a downtown bridge due to flooding.  Adam remarked that it was the first time he had ever performed on a bridge.  4^th place finisher Alison Iraheta was the opening act for glam rocker Lambert.  Man, that girl can wail!

            The crowd was almost more fun to watch than the concert.  It reminded me of my concert heyday in the 80’s when I’d whip out the zebra mini-skirt and the red high heels to go see the Kinks.   Much of the crowd was all dressed up in leather, velvet, platform boots, even feathers.  I felt like a middle-aged nerd wearing my jeans and tennies.  Actually, there were basically two kinds of people in the audience: super flamboyant young, obviously gay people and middle-aged women.   Adam draws an odd crowd.  I seriously didn't think there were that many openly homosexual people in Iowa.  I said this to Lindey and she pointed out that I basically live in the middle of a corn field and naturally wouldn't see that many drag queens.

           Speaking of drag queens, Lindey and I were checking out a gorgeous person with Pink-esque blonde hair and dramatic makeup, wearing a leather bra and mini  skirt, fishnet hose, and thigh-high boots.  We both remarked that we were jealous of this girl's "out-there" good looks--then the girl turned around it--and, yeah--you guessed it--it was a guy.  It just doesn't seem fair when a man is prettier than you are!

            Once again, Katelyn Epperly was at the concert and once again, I pointed and stared.  I’m nothing, if not consistent.  Towards the end of the music, the Iowa Cubs set off fireworks.  Adam laughed and said, “Of course the fireworks go off during my quietest song!”  The rest of the concert was high energy, with back-up dancers and lots of costume changes.   This concert was VERY different than the other Idol events—but, then again, Adam Lambert is not your typical, All-American Idol.   If you have no idea what I am talking about, Google him and you’ll see right away.

            Fall has officially arrived and I am eagerly awaiting Season 10 of Idol this winter.  In the meantime, Bristol Palin and Kurt Warner are both on Dancing with the Stars.    That should be good for a laugh or two until Idol starts up again and I pick a new singer to be my favorite.  I’m hoping American Idol stays popular for a long, long time.  If not for Idol, my concert-going would be limited to junior high band gigs, and although they are very fun, no one wears a purple top hat decorated with an ostrich feather and, geesh, what’s a concert without a little glam??

Bristol on DWTS--there's gotta be a column in there somewhere!

Bristol Palin is gonna be one of the "celebrities" on this season's Dancing with the Stars.  Pretty sure this might be the funniest thing EVER to this Sarah Palin-obsessed columnist.  At least it is Bristol and not Levi--who makes my stomach churn.  Just another reason to waste my life sitting on the couch watching television. More on this to come, I'm sure!

GUN STORY: HOW ONE ADORABLE BOY TURNED HIS PACIFISTS’ MOM HOUSE INTO AN ARMORY

   

You all know I am a left-wing, tree-hugging hippie, so it should be of no surprise that I hate firearms.  I think most guns should be illegal and that bullets should cost $100 each (yet another reason I’ll never be elected to the US Senate).  With this in mind, it might surprise you to know my house has its own personal arsenal.  Stored in a huge antique trunk in my son Patrick’s room a person can find everything from a .357 Magnum to a bright orange gun used to shoot aliens.  Yep—my youngest son somehow managed to become a gun enthusiast while growing up in the house of an avowed pacifist.  Say it ain’t so.

            I can take part of the blame for Paddy’s obsession with guns.  With my first-born Cody, I was militant about banning all toy weapons from our home (get it? Militant—toy weapons—sometimes I crack myself up!).  Cody wasn’t allowed to have any toy that even remotely resembled a gun.  By the age of four, whatever primal instinct makes kids want to play with firearms kicked in and he was literally chewing his toast into the shape of a gun so he could go “shoot” his sister.  Lego’s also became sub-machine guns and plastic cups were stacked to become anti-aircraft missiles.  I figured at least he was using his imagination as he waged an imaginary war.

            Josie was never into guns—the minute she attended her first t-ball game, sports were her number one priority.  By the time Paddy came along, I was worn out from being a working mom and I guess I became a little lax.  Patrick started trading his friends for their guns in about kindergarten.    He’d take a cute little stuffed animal that I had bought him to the playground and come home with a Luger.    At first I tried to make him either take it back or throw it away.  “No guns on my property,” I righteously proclaimed.

            Then the tears would well in my adorable son’s eyes and I’d relent—a little.  “Okay,” I’d tell him, “you can keep them in the garage and play with them outside, but they absolutely, positively, in no way can come in the house.”

            Yeah—that lasted about a month.  Then the weapons slowly started creeping inside, although I will give Patrick some credit for trying to hide them.  One day I was cleaning the living room and found three machine guns, eight handguns, and two light-sabers under the couch.  I moved them to the garage and reminded Patrick, once again, about the gun rule.

            This summer I finally gave up entirely and allowed Patrick to store his guns in his bedroom, as long as they are always returned to the “gun trunk” when he is done playing with them.  This happened when I came home from a yard sale with a huge antique trunk and Patrick talked me into letting him keep it in his room.  He explained that “real pirates” stored their guns in trunks exactly like the one I had purchased for $5.  It seemed completely logical to his ten-year-old mind that the trunk should be used as a place to store his ever-growing arsenal. 

            At that moment, I conceded the gun war (get it?—gun war—I’m a punning machine today) and moved the trunk into his bedroom.  I guess it was a good compromise:  I no longer find guns hidden behind my refrigerator and Patrick is one step closer to being a “real pirate.”

            Still, I wonder how exactly I went from “no guns in my house” to “what kind of gun do you want for your birthday, honey?”   I guess it is all part of letting our kids be who they are—not who we want them to be. Just like letting Josie play football and putting up with Cody’s taste in music, Paddy’s love for guns is part of his personality and I need to embrace that, no matter how it sticks in my craw.  Let’s just hope he doesn’t want to join the NRA next; I’m pretty sure I’d have to put my foot down on that one!

Veducation 2010: Amanas versus the Amish

One of the biggest thing I missed during my little break from writing a weekly column was telling readers about the Breitsprecher's annual "Veducation" (educational vacation).  By my reckoning, this is the fifth year the kids and I have set out on a summer adventure to have fun and learn about local  history.    So--here is my recount of our annual trip--a little late.

This year we chose to go to the Amana Colonies and in the waterpark hotel located there.  We had stayed in the hotel before (I had even written a glowing column about it several years ago) and always had a good time.  I figured after a day of learning about socialism, my kids would be eager for water slides.

We visited several sites in the seven Amana Colonies, including the last remaining communal kitchen.  It was emphasized over and over again that the Amana colonists were NOT Amish.    It is easy to see how a person could confuse the two:  The two groups both dressed in similar fashion, settled about 50 miles from each other in Iowa, spoke German, and had separatist views.   They also have very similar names and both like saurkraut.

The Amana Colonies were based on a communal lifestyle--as many as five families lived in one home, most of which did not have kitchens.  All eating (five meals a day!) was done in communal kitchen.  Washing was also done (for a time) in communal was centers.  At age 14, girls were taken from school and sent to work.  Boys might get to go to school longer--even to professional training like dental college--if they promised to come back and practice in the Colonies.  The people of the Amana Colonies--called Inspirationalists--were also pacifists.  The Amana Colonies voted to "break up" in 1932, primarily for financial reasons.

The Old Order Amish Community located near Kalona descended from the Anabaptist religious movement of the 16th century.   One big difference between the Amanas and the Amish is that the Amish still dress, act, and worship much as they did 300 years ago, while the Amana Colonies are no longer a functioning communal society.  There are no horse and buggies in the Amanas and the Amish don't sell wine.

Cody, Josie, Patrick, and I took a tour of Amana, led by a history teacher from Clear Creek Amana Junior High School.  Most of the old homes had trellises on the sides of their homes, covered in grape vines.  It is from these grapes that much of the famous Amana wines are made.  We then ate a HUGE German lunch at the Ox Yoke Inn and headed back into the heat and humidity to buy some souvenirs, including multiple bottles of wine for me.

We then headed to the hotel, which was much shabbier than when we last stayed there three years ago.  It was no longer a Holiday Inn, but now a Clarion Inn and although we still had a lot of fun, it was obvious things were in a state of disrepair.  From our television remote to hole number nine of the mini-golf course, items were broken.  We still had a good time and Josie was thrilled she wasn't asked to leave the hot tub, which was for "16 and over" only.  I didn't even finish dead last in mini-golf (that honor went to Patrick, who had 17 strokes on hole 12).

The next day we started our back-to-school shopping at the outlet mall in Williamsburg and then headed home to Dayton.  It was an inexpensive trip and the kids learned a lot about the 1800's, socialism, and communal living.   This is another trip I recommend to anyone interested in having a little mini-vacation close to home.  I even still recommend the Waserbahn Water Park, even though it is shabbier than it once was.

Next year is the last year Cody will be going on the veducation and we want to make it special.  I am now taking suggestions from readers on where we should go on Veducation 2011.  It's gotta be close to home and it has to have at least nominal educational value.  Any ideas??

Do we need to go to Garage Salers Anonymous? You decide

Dean and I took our vacation this year along Highway 141.  Much like Route 66 of old, Highway 141 has become something of a legend.  Once a year people that live along this road from Grimes to Manning hold garage sales on a specified weekend and literally thousands of people flock out to hunt for bargains.  This year the big event was August 6 and 7.  Dean took a couple vacation days, we hauled the back seats out of the van,  and were on the road to bargains by 7:30 AM.  This year our friend Brad came too, which made the day even more fun.

The garage sales actually started before Highway 141 in Ogden, which had about a dozen.  At the very first sale I saw a 9-foot tall blowup snow globe for only $35.  I know, right?   I decided to be a responsible garage saler and not buy something that large at the very first stop--it would have taken up a lot of room in the van and I wanted to be considerate.  I'm a saint like that.

The next sale was located literally in a ditch right by Highway 141.  Even though it was a somewhat hazardous place to have a sale, we stopped anyway.   I bought an antique chemistry set and microscope.  Cool.

After that we hopped on the highway and the headed towards Grimes.  At the very next sale, my husband bought a huge tent. He obviously isn't as considerate as I am when it comes to conserving van space.    At the next sale I said "screw it" and bought a recumbent exercise bike.  And then the gloves were off.  We bought turkey fryers, kids' clothes, Barbie dolls, musical CD's, a pair of Italian shoes--you name it, we purchased it. 

Our friend Brad's wife Kim had to work that day, so we kept sending her photos of us having fun.  She wasn't amused.  We told her we would pick her up at 4:00 for Harcourt citywide sales so around 3:00 we headed home.  This took us once again through Ogden and guess what?  The big snow globe was still there. I offered the man $30 and he accepted.  Now came the challenge--where were we going to put this big item as the van was pretty darn full.  The only place open was Dean's lap--so he held the huge box the final few miles into town.  By the time we reached Dayton, his nose was pretty squished, but it was so worth it to know we had something that would DEFINITELY win us the Christmas decorating contest this year!

We then switched vehicles (who has time to unload treasures when a whole new bunch of sales open in just ten minutes?), grabbed Kim, and headed to Harcourt for more garage saling fun. It is at this point we realize we just might need therapy.  Dean, for one, is under the delusion that he is an American Picker and we had to keep reminding him that he is actually a counselor at a youth shelter instead.

Harcourt was so much fun that we decided that all four of us should hop on Highway 141 the next day as well, this time heading in the opposite direction.  We promised we would only sale for two hours, as we all had many commitments that day. Yeah, right.  It was a real challenge for me to get home in time for Josie's parade at 1:30! 

A good time was had by all. We all agreed that heading towards Grimes produced better sales than the other direction.  We also all agreed that the very best sale was in Granger, where they are trying to raise money for a new football stadium/track.  The parents in charge of the fundraising had an "all sports" garage sale where parents donated used athletic equipment and all the money raised went towards to field.  We bought 8 pairs of shoes, as well as bats, bags, batting gloves, softball gloves, and other "stuff" at this sale.  Not only did we save a ton of money on athletic equipment for the kids, Woodward-Granger Schools raised some much-needed funds  for their pet project.  I think this would be a great fundraiser for the Booster Club during Dayton Garage Sale Days or even during Labor Day weekend.   I know we could donate a ton of stuff.  Anyone interested?

We've already decided to take this trip again next year--unless we are all in garage sale rehab by that time.   Where else can you get a pink typing table for two bucks or a dinosaur costume that roars for only $3.   Highway 141: it's addicting, but so, so much fun.

Iowa Private College Week

My oldest son Cody has started the college quest:  that search for the perfect college for him.  Of course, if I had my druthers, he'd magically get a full-ride scholarship to my Alma Mater, Coe, and graduate in four years Phi Beta Kappa, after which he'd attend Harvard Law.  However, it isn't that easy. 

The only decision Cody has made regarding his college selection is that he wants to attend a liberal arts college.  With this in mind, we decided to take part in this nifty thing called Iowa Private College Week.  This was started twelve years ago by 28 private colleges and universities in Iowa.  Each of these colleges  receive about 400 visitors that week.  Each college holds two sessions a day and each session lasts about 2 1/2 hours. 

Cody and I started our tour in Indianola at Simpson on an extremely hot and humid Tuesday morning.  In my opinion, the folks there were the most organized and put on the best "show."  There were golf carts to take us from our car to the first assembly and then back to our car at the end.  There were TONS of student and faculty volunteers, all very friendly and dressed in matching t-shirts so we could easily find them to ask questions. There was also tons of food and drink throughout the morning.  During the campus tour, there were actually people stationed along the route to give us water, lest we were too parched from walking.  Cody was bombarded with information and after lunch was given a Simpson t-shirt and a dilly bar from Dairy Queen. 

Cody spent lunch talking to the cross country coach, who gave us the official track and field recruiting brochure.  Imagine our surprise to see Scott Danielson on the cover.  Kelsey Castenson was featured on a bulletin board in the gym for winning the coed pool tournament in intermurals.  Our golf cart driver was Nate Sedlacek's roommate.  Add to that SWG alum and Simpson baseball player Ryan Dahlstrom and it is clear that there is some sort of mystical connection between SWG and Simpson. 

That being said, Cody was more impressed with our second school, Grandview, than he was with Simpson.  He liked the small college atmosphere in the middle of the big city (Des Moines), which was one of the reasons I chose Coe so very many years ago.  Grandview may be a better option for other reasons as well:  the offer athletic scholarships and the other schools do not and they are cheaper than most of the others.  Grandview also has a brand new, gorgeous art building and since Cody would like to major in art, that really impressed him.  SWG alumni Jenn Jorgensen attends Grandview and my own brother received his BA from there.  Grandview's theme was "Grand Old Fair" and we were treated to food on a stick and state fair-themed decorations.  Grandview also gave Cody a t-shirt.

After the Grandview visit, we hopped in the car and headed to Cedar Rapids, where we spent the night. Cody was supposed to do most of the driving on this little adventure.  Trouble is, the minute we'd get in the car he'd fall asleep and I couldn't wake him up to take his shift driving for anything.  I let him sleep from Dayton to Indianola, considering we left so early in the morning, and only woke him when I saw hot air balloons in the distance.  (Iowa Private College Week corresponds with the National Balloon Classic, which was cool.)

After Grandview, I told him I'd drive us out of Des Moines, as it was rush hour, and then I'd pull over and let him drive the rest of the way.  No such luck; I couldn't even hear the radio over his snores.

Cody and I spent Tuesday night driving around CR with me pointing and exclaiming, "LOOK!  That's where Mom used to (fill in the blank)" and Cody pretending to be interested.  Bright and early Wednesday morning we headed to Coe. 

I was SO disappointed by Coe's presentation.  Their tour was the worst of the four we took and their discussions were . . .  I gotta say it . . .  boring.  Cody fell asleep during the panel discussion.  Our tour group had about 12 people in it, which made it big enough that sometimes we couldn't even hear the guide.  Instead of showing us the brand new, apartment-style dorms, they showed us an uncarpeted room in Armstrong, that was old when I attended in the 80's.  I had to ask to show him an art classroom, and we didn't even go near the new Clarke recreation center. The cross country coach was late to lunch and basically had time to shake Cody's hand before the music tour began. 

I did make it to the bookstore, so I could stock up on Coe clothing and Cody was given yet another t-shirt.  Still, I left the City of Five Smells almost in tears. 

Our last stop was Cornell College in Mount Vernon.  My Coe friends were very, VERY surprised that I even let Cody take a tour there.  You see, Coe and Cornell have the "oldest college rivalry west of the Mississippi" and, as an alumn, I just have to hate Cornell. I remember going to Coe/Cornell football games and hearing the Cornell fans chant "Coe Sucks, Coe Sucks," to which we Coe fans charmingly answered "Cornell swallows, Cornell swallows."  (See why I like the blog; I don't have to edit that like I do for the Dayton Review!)

Cody really wanted to visit Cornell to check into their "one course at a time" option.  Cornell is unique in the nation is that students study only one subject for four hours a day for 18 days, then have four days off, then start another subject.  They have 9 terms in a school year.  When I was at Coe we had "J term" in January where we took only one class for a month and that was okay, I guess. I can't imagine doing that all year round, though.  I had to take Intro to Sociology my freshman year during J term and didn't learn one thing! 

Cornell is a beautiful, old campus situated on a hill in the small town of Mount Vernon. The entire campus is on National Historic Registry, which guarantees it will retain its charm and not give way to a lot of new construction.   Much to my chagrin, Cody really liked Cornell, which also gave him the obligatory t-shirt.  I took solace that the t-shirt was really ugly and I'm pretty sure Cody won't wear it.

On the trip home, Cody told me that he still thinks Luther College is the place for him to matriculate, if he doesn't start a band and tour the country in a van.  *sigh*  Still, I think the two days and four college visits were a success as they seemed to motivate Cody to at least start thinking about the future--when he can stay awake that is.

I highly recommend Iowa Private College Week for those of you with potential college students in your house. It is easy, efficient, and if you play your cards right you can come home with a whole new wardrobe, free. 

Coffee Break--Old School

The original Coffee Break may be returning to the Dayton Review August 11.  What do you all think of that idea???

Tomorrow I plan to sit down and write about my experiences with Cody during Iowa Private College Week. I am too pooped to do it now!

Let's give this a shot!

Since making the decision to take a break from my weekly column in the Dayton Review, I have been experiencing writer's withdrawal. All of a sudden, the lack of ideas I have had the last year or so has given way to more ideas than I can shake a pen at.  Some folks have encouraged me to start a blog and so, tonight, while my Introduction to Theatre class watched Marlon Brando's Streetcar Named Desire, I am composing my very first blog post.    I am predicting that I won't have to be quite so politically correct with this blog as I felt I should be with the local newspaper.  I guess I'm saying--if my Review columns caused you to raise an eyebrow or two, you ain't seen nothing yet. 

I am going to write my first column on the proposed fence around the Dayton school and playground.   I have five reasons for opposing the fence. 

First, why solve a problem that doesn't exist?  As far as I can tell, there has never been an accident where a school child followed a ball into the street and was hit by a car.  Never.  The chains and the recess monitors are doing their jobs very well.    I've lived across the street from the school for over 17  years now and have never even seen any close calls. 

Secondly, chain link fences are unattractive.  I tore one down in my backyard primarily because it was just so darn ugly. If we absolutely MUST do something about this non-issue, can we at least make it an attractive solution?

Thirdly, the park board is against it. These volunteers put a great deal of time, energy, and their own money into the park board and their wishes should be respected. 

Fourthly, it is expensive and the money could be very easily spent to solve problems that actually exist.

Fifthly, no matter what the school board says, it sure looks like one woman threatened to pull her kids out of SWG if a fence wasn't erected and so, by golly, it was decided to put up a fence.    She attended a few meetings, wrote a letter to the editor (where she quoted me incorrectly, by the way) and got her way.  I have more kids than she does.  Does that mean if I threaten to pull my kids if the school doesn't--for example--sign a contract to keep the softball field in Harcourt for another ten years, that the school will hop right on drawing up said contract? 

That being said, I would still support a fence if a few things could happen.  One--if someone could show me some hard evidence that it is needed (like statistics, etc) then I would certainly change my mind.  The aforementioned woman promised to bring stats to the next council meeting--and then she didn't even come to said meeting, let alone present statistics.  "All the other schools have fences" is not good enough for me at this point.

Two--If the school board and the park board would work together and bring a proposal to the city council. This entire process has been ass backwards.  It started with a woman standing up at council and demanding a fence.  There was no school board representative there.  Then, two weeks later, the school board submitted a building permit to fence in the entire school and park area, with the city paying part of the cost.  No school board members and no lady at this meeting.  We voted it down.  After this, the park board also voted to not erect a fence.

Then, the woman wrote a not-so-nice and not-very-accurate letter to the Dayton Review.  At the next City Council meeting, three members of the school board attended (still no lady) and it was approved for them to fence in their section only, but leave the city section as is.  The school board members agreed to go to the next park board meeting to work on a compromise. 

The concerned woman finally returned to the next council meeting to inquire about the progress of the fence.  We told her to go to the next park board meeting. She did not attend, but several people did stand up at the meeting and voice their opposition to the fence.

It looks like the school will fence in their property for sure and the city probably won't fence in theirs, although this is not 100% certain.  You know--the proposed four-foot fence really isn't that much of a deterrent.  Why not go all the way and put barbed wire around the top?  That would certainly deter bad guys.  Then we could change our city slogan from "Rodeo City" to "Dayton: We fence in our kids like cattle."

Okay, that was snotty.  But, I do want to make the point that the entire "Fencegate" could have been handled much differently from the very beginning--going through established channels--and the hard feelings out there never would have occurred.

Yes--we all want to do what is best for our children and our community. I'm just not sure this is it.