Bob and Bob

Here are the "boys" checking out the building that "Hot Springs Bob" purchased to start a business in Hot Springs. "Minneapolis Bob" is offering suggestions. They both agree that people in Hot Springs should not have to travel afar to have motorcycles and bikes and other items serviced. Locals should have the opportunity to purchase "wheel" items close to home, saving money on time, gas, and wear and tear on their vehicles.

So here's to the success of WWW. WILD WEST WHEELS!

Wait for it. There is much to do in fixing, cleaning and repairing the building before the store officially opens. It will be worth the wait. If your bike can't wait, contact Bob and he may take the time to tune it up for you, saving you the long-distance trip.

It all began with a dream - a dream to open a closed storefront. Then came the purchase, followed by repairs and soon there will be rental spaces available in the heart of downtown Hot Springs. In time there will be a shop to bring your wheels for tune ups. You break it, Wild West Wheels will fix it!

Here's to all the "boys" with a dream!

Happy Father's Day

Once a year we have a special day to honor fathers. Mine is always with me in spirit through the challenges that I face in daily living. My responses are often in reaction to what I witnessed in this amazing role model that I had while growing up.

My father passed on values to his children from early on. We observed a strong work ethic, honesty, respect for nature, interest in current events and past history, caring for others, openness to new ideas, the value of education and the persistent search for knowledge.

My father moved in with us during his final years and continued to pass on his values to his family. We were blessed to realize the continuation through our daughter and grand children.

It is with enduring gratitude that I thank you, Dad, for all you taught, that has inspired me these many years through my life's journey.

Happy father's day to all the fathers out there. Remember, you teach more by example than by words!

The Sounds of Silence

Sunday afternoon. The sky is blue, the breeze is gentle, the clouds are white and puffy. I quit my reading and walk outside. It is too beautiful to stay indoors. There is a difference from early morning when I went outside to tend to our backyard chickens. They were fussing for their treats with the demanding clucking that insisted, "feed me, feed me." The neighbor was mowing his lawn and trucks were rumbling down the alley.

This afternoon is strangely silent. The chickens and the lawn mowers have gone still and at this point in time there are no cars or trucks passing in the front or in the alley. The only sounds I hear are a few chirpings from some distant birds high in the elms. A bird glides silently past and a lone robin on the grass in the back yard is equally noiseless in his concentrated quest for worms.

What happened to the sounds of laughter from the neighborhood children bouncing on the trampoline? Actually what happened to all of the people usually passing by on the sidewalk or crunching down the unpaved alley? Where is everyone?

The hush hangs heavily and delightfully. This is so rare and such a treat. I sit in the lawn chair drinking in the stillness. After a time a hear a faint meow. The alley cat, Muddy, has just woken from his nap under the picnic table. The late afternoon sun has reached his place of rest and may have warmed him to his waking point, or it could be that it is getting close to his dinner time when he expects food provided for him in return for his keeping our yard mouse free.

He jumps on my lap, turning and rubbing, but, as always, he remains purr-less, respecting the silence for my continued pleasure. Two cars pass quietly by. Strangely absent is the roar from muffler-less trucks or motorcycles.  There is no buzzing from the bees who have recently departed seeking flowers still in blossom. Our roses are just beginning their pink, red and yellow appearances while the tulips, alliums and poppies in swift succession have taken to seed for the season.

Ah, peace and quiet! My husband returns from his place of work downtown, informing me that it is equally deserted on the main street. He switches on the TV and I am abruptly returned to the world of sound. The silence was delicious while it lasted.  

I am grateful for the afternoon interlude of serenity and solitude.

The Blue Blanket

In times of disasters people come to the aid of those affected. If you have experienced first-hand a tornado, a flood, an earthquake or fire, you will have been surrounded by assistance, be it financial, caring words of comfort and support, the use of another's home or vehicle, nourishment or supplies.

Thoughtfulness comes flooding in and helps ease the shock of the sudden change to one's life. The stresses of the event are somewhat softened by the generosity of others. Then there is time, the healer that takes its time.

Nine years after the uprooting wildfire that changed our lives forever, few scars remain. Life goes on and the wounds smoothed over with ever-changing events and just living life. The help, cards, notes, gifts and financial assistance received have dimmed, along with the pain, as the passage of time has continued to fill in the scars.

But today, and each day as I make our bed, I fold the blue blanket over the sheets and remember my friend, Dorothy, who sent that cozy blanket through the mail to our temporary residence. I have used it daily since that horrific fire. It has been a comfort through the seasons and the permanent move to our new home. Each morning as I make the bed I remember Dorothy and her mindful gift since it is still being used after all of these years, be it as a cover for warmth, or easily folded down during the heat of summer.

Dorothy writes several times a year, now through the ease of emails. I follow the adventures of her encounters with our former co-workers and their on-going lives, her volunteer work in the Twin Cities, her difficult move with her husband from their home of many years to an apartment, her children and grandchildren and the more recent death of her husband.

Contact has been lost with many of my former colleagues, but I remain kept in the loop through Dorothy and her regular newsy emails in addition to her annual Christmas letters. I am grateful for her continual connections and as I make the bed each morning I feel the softness of her thoughtful gift of the blue blanket.