Monthly Archives: December 2010

Molly and the rubber chicken

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While the Buntjer family Christmas won’t be celebrated until this coming weekend, my lovable mutt Molly and I exchanged our gifts on Christmas day. Her gift to me was lots of laughter, which of course stemmed from my gift to her.

Each year since our first Christmas together seven years ago, I’ve purchased gifts for my precious pooch. They’ve ranged from puppy pillows and colorful collars to squeaky toys and tasty treats.

On Saturday, Molly’s gift bag (it had photos of Snoopy on it – perfectly fitting for a canine Christmas present) was filled with a couple of pouches of doggie treats and a squeaky toy.
I sat the gift bag on the kitchen floor of the farm house as Molly looked inquisitively at the one thing she could see – the long neck and face of an  “it’s-so-ugly-it’s-cute” rubber chicken.

She cautiously approached the bag, wrapped her teeth around the chicken’s neck (squeaking it ever-so-gently) and wandered over to the door to sit and whine.

Unbelievable … she completely ignored her doggie treats!

And whine – seriously? My Molly doesn’t whine. She runs like a deer, barks like a drill sergeant and kills snakes with a whip and a roll – but she is not a whiner.

When she realized she wasn’t going to be let outside just yet, she wandered back in my direction. That’s when I noticed a line of drool starting to dangle from her mouth.

I snatched back the toy before the drool dropped, but Molly did not appreciate that. Our little round of keep away was officially under way, but I was at a disadvantage sitting on the kitchen floor. Her nose was even to my nose, and her eyes were intent on the prize – getting back her ugly rubber chicken!

When she successfully pulled it from my hands, she returned to the back door, sat and whined again until the door was opened and she could make a bee-line for her igloo dog house (yes, she has finally succumbed to sleeping in it!)

She did not come out for the rest of the day – not even for Christmas dinner leftovers.

Yes, my dog was really sick … sick with puppy love for a rubber chicken.

A flashlight revealed the problem – Molly was curled around the squeaker and licking it like it was her little baby.

Uh oh – that wasn’t quite the reaction I’d hoped for.

Needless to say, Molly was not happy when I grabbed the ugly chicken once more and started another round of keep away. She was less than thrilled when my bum shoulder sent the squeaker into the snow drift instead of onto the cleared path behind the house, and when she retrieved it she was more determined than ever to race back into the garage and hunker down as far back in the igloo as she could get.

For the first time, I realized I forgot to train Molly one important lesson (well, I’m sure there are many) … she never learned to share her Christmas toys. Maybe my parents ought to have a talk with her about that!

Where are you Christmas?

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I was running some errands over my lunch hour on Tuesday when a favorite Faith Hill song began flowing from my radio.

“Where are you Christmas? Why can’t I find you? Why have you gone away?
“Where is the laughter you used to bring me? Why can’t I hear music play?”

I began to sing along — a bit off-key, I’m sure — as I drifted toward thoughts of Christmases past.

Where are you Christmas? I know you’re just four days away, but it sure doesn’t seem like it. Maybe it’s because our family won’t be gathering until New Year’s.

Then again, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t feel like Christmas because I’ve lost that magical feeling about the holidays. Christmas as an adult is so much less fun than Christmas as a child.

“My world is changing. I’m rearranging. Does that mean Christmas changes too?”

As a child, it always seemed to take forever for Christmas to come and, when it was all over we were too preoccupied with our new toys to despair about how quickly the presents were opened, the parties over and the decorations removed from the tree.

It seemed like we had Saturday morning practices the entire month of December to prepare for the church Christmas program. And then there were the school Christmas concerts, the 4-H Christmas party potluck and the annual Christmas trek over the river (Minnesota River) and through the woods (of North Redwood) to grandmother’s house in Kandiyohi County.

“Where are you Christmas? Do you remember the one you used to know?
“I’m not the same one; See what the time’s done. Is that why you have let me go?”

My Christmas tree has been up and decorated since Thanksgiving, the lights have sparkled and the presents have neatly been stashed underneath.

Each night for the past month, I’ve sat mere inches away from the tree as I’ve worked calluses into the tips of my fingers trying to finish up my latest needlework project for nephew Matt. I’ve been so busy stitching that I haven’t even taken the time to soak up the Christmas spirit.

Each year, for at least one night, I like to sit in the dark and admire my illuminated tree — no distracting sounds from the TV, just the sparkle of the lights bouncing off the ornaments and me with my thoughts of the holiday.

“I feel you Christmas. I know I’ve found you. You never fade away
“The joy of Christmas stays here in silence — fills each and every heart with love.”

Here’s wishing all of you a merry Christmas. May you find the spirit of the season within you and have safe travels wherever the holidays may take you.

Red-faced over A.I. definition

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At least one night a week I get to serve as proofreader at the Daily Globe. It isn’t every page I proof – basically it’s the front page, region and tri-state pages, business and nation/world news pages.

Proofreading a newspaper isn’t quite the same as just simply reading a newspaper. The first takes work, the second not so much. Proofreading takes time, whereas reading can be done quite quickly.

I will admit there are things that can get by the best of proofreaders, no matter how careful we are. Spelling errors, incorrect dates on pages and unending sentences are among the worst mistakes.

Aside from looking for errors, proofreading is always educational. Take, for instance, my experience this evening.

I should preface this by saying I’m a farm girl – just in case you didn’t know that fact already or hadn’t gleaned it from the name of my blog.

Anyway, I was proofreading a story on the business page for Friday about driving sim games. To be honest, I had never heard of driving sim games – or at least I hadn’t heard them referred to as that. Sim was short for simulation, which made me think of my brother’s old Atari game of “Pole Position.”

OK, that I could visualize, making the first sentence of the story “make some sense” for me.

Then came the last sentence of the first paragraph:

“Both titles require a lead foot and laser focus as the built-in AI skills are canny and aggressive.”

What?

I read it again, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

What? I don’t get it.

Now, the farm girl in me was intepreting the AI to be, of course, artificial insemination. The reference comes up from time to time in ag publications, as well as my farm vocabulary.

Well, by the third time I’d read the sentence through the third time I was not only shaking my head, but starting to giggle. That’s when I read the sentence aloud to copy editor Joe.

Then it was his turn to shake his head and giggle at me.

Two words were all he needed to say: “Artificial Intelligence!”

Oh!

(I must say, Joe had never heard of the farm definition of AI, which made us both blush!)

It certainly does make more sense to put his definition in the sentence … “built-in ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE skills are canny and aggressive.”

That sounds so much better than canny and aggressive AI of the farm reporter’s definition!

Letters from friends

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Flipping open the mailbox during these last few weeks before Christmas is always a joy for me. I can’t wait to see Christmas cards from friends and family, especially those with photos and detailed Christmas letters.

I’ve never minded getting the Christmas form letter. In fact, I usually write one myself. This year, however, the people on my list may not get theirs until New Year’s – the time just slipped away from me. It must have slipped away from my mother as well, as she hasn’t yet asked me to type hers up.

One of my favorite Christmas letters each year comes from friends Lois and Clark (no, not Superman and his inquisitive reporter female friend), who always write a rhyming recap of their year. It usually includes their fishing excursions, farming endeavors and travel expeditions.

It is the shortest of any of the Christmas letters I receive, but it always makes me laugh. I can’t wait from year to year to see which of them caught the biggest fish. (Today’s card had a picture of Clark with his big walleye and Lois with her little chub-sized fish.)

They don’t have e-mail, so the Christmas card exchange has been our way of keeping in touch ever since I moved away from Redwood County eight years ago. Last year, my letter to them led to a video arriving in my mailbox in January – an instructional guide on filleting a northern pike. I watched it a couple of times, took some notes and sent it back to them with a thank you.

In all the time I lived in Redwood County, I never took advantage of Lois and Clark’s expertise on the lakes. They love to fish and they’re good at it. I love to fish, but I’m not good at it.

This year, my Christmas note to Lois and Clark will read something like … “I tried and tried and tried some more; but those darn fish just wouldn’t bite my lure!”

Yeah, it doesn’t really rhyme. That’s OK though – I’m not a poetic Christmas letter writer – I’ll leave that to Lois and Clark!

Dearest Mother Nature

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Dear Mother Nature,

Thank you kindly for dumping 10 inches of snow on my hometown on Saturday. It looks so pretty outside my windows. Oh, wait a minute, I guess I’m incorrect there. What I see is snow piled up between the screen and the storm windows. You put it there with your ferocious wind gusts, which were impressively clocked at 60 miles per hour on Saturday afternoon.

That blessed wind can be thanked for taking your measly 10-inch snow storm and turning it into thigh-high, hard-packed drifts in my driveway, and another in my back yard.

Neighbor Alyssa especially appreciated the design – she could step right over my chain-link fence and come visit me while I tried to dig a path from my back door to the garage. I welcomed her to make a snow angel in my yard, but she said maybe tomorrow.

I, on the other hand, was too busy appreciating all of the hard work you put into my driveway. Snow angels, now they can just wait for a cold day in, well, you know what I mean!

I realize you tried your hardest to create power outages across this vast frozen tundra of southwest Minnesota. I thank you for not giving it “your all” since my friends and family in the rural areas sure needed to keep warm, what with the -32 wind chill you so joyously delivered on Sunday morning.

In all sincerity, thank you for delivering that big beam of brightness in the sky this Sunday morning. While it certainly isn’t powerful enough to melt these mounds of white (you shouldn’t have wasted so much energy on the wind gusts), the sun certainly feels good on my face.

Then again, I’m pretty sure I can’t feel my face.

Oh, my beautiful Mother Nature, is this really your best effort? (I really don’t want an answer, especially since it’s so close to Christmas!)

Yours in nearly total sarcasm,
Julie

And now, Letter No. 2:

Dear Santa Claus,

I’ve tried to be really good this year (well, except for my above letter to Mother Nature). Please bring me a snow blower with instructions on how to use it. If that last part proves too difficult, you are welcome to provide a good, strong man … with the snow blower, of course.

Lots of Love,
Julie

And in all seriousness, thanks a whole bunch to my kind and good-hearted neighbors for coming to my rescue. One day, when I have a snow blower, I will be sure to return the favor – and you have that promise in print!