Monthly Archives: January 2011

The astronomer who got my goat

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I will admit I am sometimes (often) out of touch with the latest entertainment news of the day, so when a co-worker recently decried the report that our astrological signs may not be as we thought, my response was, “What? When did this happen?”

My biggest fear was learning I was something other than a Capricorn. How could I possibly be anything else? I mean, Capricorn is the perfect astrological sign for me. Not only did I use to raise goats on the farm, I have amassed quite a collection of goat knick-knacks, stuffed toy goats, goat jewelry, a goat puzzle and, most recently, a sock goat. A magnet stuck to my fridge even says, “Love Me, Love My Goats.”

Yet, there it was … in black and white. Astronomers from the Minnesota Planetarium Society claim I can no longer be — and more earth-shattering never was — a Capricorn. Instead, I’m a Sagittarius.

What is a Sagittarius? A centaur — half human, half horse. The centaur may be grand in Greek myth and legend, but it’s certainly not a sweet, friendly, lovable, beautiful goat.

Now, I’m not one of those people who lives by the zodiac — and I’ve certainly never dreamed of getting a Capricorn tattoo. Still, I do enjoy reading my horoscope from time to time.

I once owned a Capricorn keychain, with a goat on one side (that’s why I bought it), and the traits of the Capricorn on the other. Practical, organized, hard working, realistic, strives for perfection … yep, that would be me.

Sagittarians, according to a website on the astrological signs, are energetic, versatile, adventuresome, enjoy travel and exploration, are ambitious and optimistic, honorable, honest and generous.

Hmm, I wonder if I can claim a new sign for people who are now conflicted?

Or maybe not.

As co-worker Kari wrote in her blog last week, astronomers made a shift in the sidereal zodiac, which she explained is not the zodiac by which our horoscopes in the Daily Globe are based. Apparently we follow the tropical zodiac.

In other words, I can blissfully remain a Capricorn.

Geesh, if only she’d have explained the difference right away, I could have avoided five minutes of chaos. We Capricorns are too practical, too realistic, too organized and too hard working … we don‘t need anyone throwing extra chaos into our lives!

Journalism, Jackson and jobs

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The other day, someone asked me what time I usually went to work.

My reply: Whenever I get there.

He laughed and said something like, “It must be nice to have a job like that.”

I shrugged my shoulders, then said I had to work late that night. It all evens out in the end.

Eric Fisher (left), director of AGCO Jackson Operations, listens to Gov. Mark Dayton following the press conference in Jackson Thursday afternoon.

Next week marks the start of my 18th year in this crazy field of journalism. Oh, it didn’t start out crazy. Back in February 1994, I was hired as an editorial assistant, working alongside my former SDSU teacher and mentor Sheri Poore. It was a part-time job in Sioux Falls, S.D., working for a bi-weekly farm publication. My job was to edit the copy of great story tellers like Jim Woster and Baxter Black. I did a little layout and design, but mostly my job was to proofread.

My life as a journalist began to get crazy after I moved to Redwood County and started working as a full-time reporter covering the city beat, the farm beat and anything else that was thrown at me. Crazy then and crazy today have many similarities … and two big differences – the weekly versus daily, and technology.

Typically when I’m driving back to the office after covering an event or conducting an interview, the words are swimming around in my brain. I mentally write the lead paragraph, think about how the story should flow and then let my mind go blank by turning up the radio until I reach the newsroom.

On Thursday, after covering the exciting press conference at AGCO in Jackson, I was telling co-worker Kari the lead paragraph and a few additional sentences before we climbed the big hill out of Jackson. She quickly typed the words on her smart phone’s Qwerty keyboard and, in a matter of minutes … long before we reached the Lakefield exit, Daily Globe readers were getting a breaking news alert with the basic information of the announcement.

What otherwise would have been about an hour delay (driving back to the office, logging onto the computer and sitting down to type out a few paragraphs) was shortened to maybe 10 minutes.

It kind of makes me wonder what technological advancements will have done to our jobs in another 18 years.

A few weeks ago, I began reading a Thomas Friedman book, “The World is Flat: A Brief History of the 21st Century.” Ordinarily, I probably wouldn’t buy a book like this, but it’s for a book report I and a few cohorts in the U-Lead Academy must give during our upcoming trip to Washington, D.C.

I’m about one-third of the way through the book, and so far I’ve found it quite interesting (initially, I was completely dreading the assignment.) Friedman, a journalist (that’s not why I was dreading the book!) walks readers through the advancements in technology and how those advancements are flattening the world. In essence, expanding modes of communication has made it possible for companies to do work from anywhere, and serve anyone.

The book has really made me wonder just what this world will be like in another decade. Will most of our manufacturing jobs be moved to other countries? Will our stores be filled with even more products that are made overseas? Will it matter that a phone call we make to tech support is answered by a person in Bangalore, India – a person who has been taught to speak in the English slang?

I don’t know.

What I do know is that I was awfully proud to be standing at AGCO’s press conference Thursday afternoon, listening to a recording of Alabama’s “40 Hour Week (For a Livin’),” followed up with Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the U.S.A.” and Johnny Cash’s “I’m Goin’ to Jackson” … and that was even before the big announcement was made.

Yes, the wonderful folks at AGCO are expanding in Jackson, adding jobs and bringing tractor production “back to North America” as Bob Crain said.

It is a great time for AGCO, a great time for the city of Jackson, the county, the region and the state.

And to be able to share that great news as a journalist, well, that made for an exciting drive back home in my little blue mobile newsroom.

One, two, 10 … ready or not!

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Nephew Reece straddled the back of the loveseat in the living room of the family farmhouse Saturday afternoon and, with a great big grin, said, “Count to 10, Julie, and then come find me!”

I pretended to close my eyes, started to count and smiled as Reece giggled and slipped behind the loveseat in a corner of the room that is a favorite among the little Buntjer kids these days.

I never made it to 10 … I’m not sure I even made it to 5 … before Reece called out, “OK, come find me.”

I don’t know what was more funny – that his giggle gave up his exact location (although it could just as easily have been the one-foot-over-the-loveseat move), or that he was surprised when I poked my head over his hiding spot and said, “Aha!”

By the second round, Reece and his cousin Katie – they’re both five, switched places. She hid behind the loveseat and he hid behind the chair. This was equally as funny, because as Reece giggled behind the chair, Katie kept peeking over the back of the loveseat, wondering if I was on my way to find her. Add 3-year-old Alayna to the mix and, well, Hide-n-Seek turns into Here-I-Am.

The kids were having fun, and I guess since we were all stuck in the house because of the snow and cold, that’s a good thing.

Still, I couldn’t help but think about the fun the kids and I had last summer playing Hide-n-Seek around the farm yard.

There was this one episode I’m pretty sure none of us will ever forget.

It was nephew Blake against Reece and I, and I found the perfect hiding spot … or so I thought. As Blake was counting on the front steps, Reece and I took off across the yard and through the big barn door. Oh yeah, my dog Molly was with us too.

We stepped over the cat food dishes, darted down the alley way, moved with precision across the bales of grass hay and ducked behind one of dad’s big steel tanks.

“He’ll never find us here!” I told a giggling Reece. “Ssshhhh!”

We were frozen in place for less than a minute when I just couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t that my legs ached from my standing-sitting position, or that Blake was remotely close to finding us – it was that my nose and my eyes were starting to burn and I just couldn’t breathe anymore.

The cause of my calamity? Cat poop.

What I thought was our perfect hiding spot turned out to be a veritable outhouse for the farm cats … and I, with my big feet, managed to step right into it.

Reece, bless him, never once said, “Uffda, you stink!”

He just giggled as he followed me back to the alley way, where I slid the soles of my shoes across loose hay and then tried to scrape them on the steps leading to the haymow.

From our position, we saw Blake searching for us under the big pine tree by the wash house, then behind the old garage. Every once in a while he’d look in the direction of the barn, but he never came toward us.

Eventually, Reece and I got bored, stood by the barn door (only the top door was open) and watched as Blake continued his search.

I think Reece’s giggle eventually gave up our location … although it could have been me making faces at Blake and chanting na-na-na-boo-boo.

On second thought, the words might have been … na-na-na-pew-peeewwww!

My poor shoes were never quite the same.

Playing Hide-n-Seek in the house may not be as much fun as playing outside, but at least it’s safer.

The Love Letter

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I never really knew either of my grandpas. Grandpa Buntjer died nearly 20 years before I was born, and Grandpa Kohls died when I was in the third grade.

I know Grandpa Kohls liked to fish, but he never took me fishing. I suppose it was because he and Grandma lived up in Kandiyohi County, where the sunfish were plentiful and the bullheads looked upon with disgust. Our lakes south of Worthington were filled with fish he had no interest in catching.

Grandpa Kohls always seemed a bit scary to me. He was a big man with a deep, booming voice — one that I’m sure yelled at me a time or two. My only recollection of him anymore is when he and Grandma babysat us kids for a few weeks one summer and I caught the chicken pox.

Wednesday night, on a visit to the family farm, my mom brought out a stack of cards she and Grandma found earlier this month in a box in the closet. There were Valentines, Easter cards, Christmas cards, post cards and birthday cards — the oldest dating back to 1910. (I’ll be sharing some of them on my blog near the appropriate holidays.)

I read each one with a smile, holding the paper delicately as if it would fall apart in my hands. Surprisingly, they’ve held up quite well over the past century.

The real treat came at the bottom of the stash, where I discovered a letter addressed to my Grandma, written by my Grandpa. The postmark on the envelope said Roseland, MN. (I’m pretty sure they don’t have a post office there anymore) and the letter was dated Jan. 26, 1936 — exactly seven months prior to their wedding day.

Grandpa began the letter by explaining why he couldn’t visit my grandma — listing all three of his reasons — snow, blocked roads and our frigid Minnesota temperatures.

“It is so blame cold out, of course it is a little warmer today, but that is about 10 below yet,” Grandpa wrote.

Even in a love letter, he made room to complain about the weather. I’d probably do the same thing!

Apparently Grandpa and I share a dislike for Minnesota winters. Then again, right about now, I think a majority of Minnesotans are complaining about winter!

Grandpa spoke of his concern for his bride-to-be and her mother being alone on the farm in the middle of winter, and then asked Grandma what she was doing to keep out of mischief.

Imagining Grandma getting into mischief made me giggle, and learning that Grandpa was concerned about her getting into mischief made me giggle more. (Grandma is now 94 and still has some spunk left in her, but mischief, well, I don’t know.)

Grandpa apparently stayed out of mischief by reading — he told her he read three books already that week, and was getting to the bottom of the barrel with the family’s reading selections. Now I know where my love of books comes from, (Well, Grandma Buntjer was an avid reader too.)

The last few paragraphs of the letter are my favorite, and I want to share them with you as just a little glimpse of blossoming love in the 1930s.

Writes Grandpa: “I must stop this old scribbling in case you haven’t got your glasses yet. You sure will have sore eyes reading this crap. Or you will have to go to town tomorrow to get some.

“Please excuse my mistakes and misspell words for I never did get out of the second grade at school.

“Answer soon if it keeps on storming. Might see you before this letter reaches you, but it will have to warm up a little first.”

He signed off by writing, “From your loving Art.”

I’m pretty sure the letter had to make Grandma smile … that is, after all, the key to a woman’s heart.

Tempted by the trivia

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Last year, the page-a-day calendar on my desk was “1,000 places to see before you die,” but it wasn’t actually 1,000 places – it was more like 261 places to see before you die (Saturday and Sunday shared a page each week in the calendar.)

By about the end of January, I was already annoyed with the calendar – for several reasons. One: I’d never heard of most of the places and, therefore, had no desire to visit them; Two: Even if I wanted to visit them, I didn’t have the money; and Three: Images of tropical places on calendar pages during the months of January, February, March, October, November and December … combined with the lack of travel money … made me want to chuck the calendar into the trash can.

This year, when I failed for the second year in a row to find a page-a-day calendar filled with lighthouses, I opted for Jeopardy. I love the game show – it’s the only one I watch (unless I’m at the farm, in which case I must watch Wheel of Fortune with my folks.)

I love my Jeopardy calendar – mostly because I found it for 75 percent off, two weeks into the new year (it cost me $3).

However, I’ve found a slight problem with it … I want to sit at my desk at the office and work through the Jeopardy round – a whole week’s worth at one time. (Co-worker Kari told me yesterday I am not allowed to skip ahead except on the weekends, but I can’t help it, it just sits there, tempting me to try a new category or wager all my earnings in the Double Jeopardy round.)

The calendar actually has a line for me to keep track of my daily and weekly winnings … how cool is that?

So far this week, I’ve won $1,200 on Hawaiian speak – much better than last week’s questions related to scientific elements.

Now, if only that money was real, I’d use it to fund a vacation to Hawaii. It sounds like the perfect way to escape the snow, the wind, the ice and, oh yeah, the below-0 temperatures.

Aloha!