378 Thoughts on July 4

The first thing you notice about these workers is that they are young and in good physical condition; the second is that they speak to each other in another language. They are Slovakian students here on the peninsula on special visas that allow them to work during the summer at jobs that used to be filled by American college students.

Because I leave the grounds of Lakeside early in the morning to get coffee, I sometimes pass bicyclists in the dim dawn light. Several years ago when I noticed this I thought maybe they were athletes out preparing for a summer race. But it was just the Slovakian students on their way to work in the tourist industry--restaurants, motels, entertainment sites. They rent a cottage or two, buy some bikes and don’t seem to mind a 20 or 30 minute ride to work each day at dawn and sunset. Very few American youngsters would attempt this--it is a narrow, busy highway, and besides, it requires some athletic skill to ride a bike to work and then put in a full shift on your feet serving others.

Today I was a bit early, so I stopped at McDonald’s instead of Bassett’s where the coffee shop doesn’t open until 6:30. I heard the kitchen help speaking loudly to one of the counter people with many gestures. At first I thought she might be hearing impaired, but then realized that she was foreign, and the Americans were simply speaking loudly, instead of clearly. Then I heard her and 2 other counter staff speaking a Slavic language, and since we have Slovakians working in Lakeside, I assumed these young women were also from Slovakia. When I got a refill, I noticed their name tags--Maria, Petra, and Martina. Martina, who probably had the best English, took the orders at the window drive-thru and Maria and Petra filled the sacks. Soon three tall, slender young men arrived, perspiring heavily, wearing shorts and back packs, and walked behind the counter to the back room and reappeared wearing uniforms--they were working the kitchen.

As I got up to leave I spoke to one of the assistant managers and asked her if they were Slovakian students here on a work visa. She said yes, and she wished they had more of them. She also told me that the 3 women also worked at Lakeside in the evening, and that at least one of the young men had 4 jobs. I asked her about transportation, and she said sometimes they pooled their money and bought a car and shared it for the summer, but usually rode bikes and shared housing. I asked her some other questions about the visas, to which she claimed no knowledge, but I think she was beginning to be suspicious that I was checking up on them, and she didn’t want to lose her workers.

These handsome, athletic 20-somethings aren’t immigrants, they’re “guest workers” as the Europeans might say, but they aren’t afraid to work, and even at minimum wage jobs find housing, transportation and ways to get around language barriers. Here on the peninsula they are cleaning hotel rooms, tending yards and gardens, serving food and clerking. They certainly look more fit and happier to be working than American young people.

Paychecks were passed out while I was there, and I heard a supervisor calling out the names. The Americans just tucked theirs in a shirt or purse. The Slovakians held the pay sheet in both hands reading every entry carefully before putting it away. They looked like they were opening Christmas gifts. On this July 4 they are a good reminder to the rest of us that this country still offers a lot of opportunity for those seeking it.

377 Beach Reading for the lake

I don’t know why my “beach reading” ends up being such heavy stuff--like “John Adams” which I read during summer of 2002 and “First Mothers” last summer. The book I brought to the lake this summer is “Locust; the devastating rise and mysterious disappearance of the insect that shaped the American frontier.” by Jeffrey A. Lockwood, professor of Natural Sciences and Humanities at the University of Wyoming. He brings together the climatological, economic, religious and political forces at work in 19th century America when the plagues of locust struck. I didn’t think anyone grieved the loss of the locust (I’ve never forgotten Laura Ingalls Wilder’s story about the locust swarms in the Little House series), but Lockwood does, and thinks when billions of creatures disappear almost overnight, we are all the losers. So I was reading “Locust” everyday as the Mayflies pelted the screens wondering if I'd miss them if they disappeared.

When we arrived on Saturday for the first week of the season, the cars, streets, houses and screens were covered with Mayflies. They are attracted to the lights and under every pole is a crunchy slimy mess, with an odd odor. Some years the Mayflies are so thick they get drawn into generators and equipment and cause power failures. Mayflies lay their eggs (8,000 per female) on the water. They sink to the bottom and when they hatch into nymphs they burrow into the sediment and feed on particulates. They go through 20 or 30 molts and finally are ready for a final day, after a 2 year existence of getting ready for sex and us, the folks on land who really don’t like them much. After some inflight mating, they lay eggs and die.

According to an article by our neighbor, Joe Day, in this week’s Lakesider, the Mayflies arrived here because of the early European settlement which disturbed the ecological balance of the lake region with agriculture, but then they were killed off in the mid 20th century when oxygen levels in the lake fell too low to sustain the nymphs. When better water quality standards were enforced and sewage and chemicals were no longer dumped into Lake Erie, the Mayflies returned. The return of the Mayfly benefit the fisherman (perch eat them) and the birds.

Joe writes, “Looking up into the evening sky and seeing the amazing numbers of little fair-like mayflies in their reproductive dance-like ceremony leaves me in the quiet reflection of a humble soul in a wonderful town of this truly incredible world. Fly on little fellas.”

Lockwood writes, “As our current environmental crisis exposes our past act of destruction--and as it threatens human populations squeezed into our favored habitats of seaboards, riverbanks, and desert margins--one can only wonder what else we might learn from the Rocky Mountain Locust. . . Along with hurricanes and drought, such creatures serve to remind the industrial world that humility is still necessary.”

376 Slower than e-mail, faster than land mail

At the coffee shop here on the peninsula, I noticed a note written on the back of a sales receipt, propped up against an upside down Pepsi paper cup, with a little fuzzy bird attached to it. The note read:

“I’m reinstated and my new card is good no matter what excuses I use.”

I asked the staff person if someone had left it by mistake. “Oh no,” she said, “two gentlemen who come in at different times leave notes for each other there.”

375 Bumper stickers

I was driving behind an automobile--smallish, with some age--plastered with sayings and proverbs. Perhaps to cover up budding rust spots.

“Bring back Monica Lewinsky”

“Thank you for not breeding.”

“Stupidity need not be painful.”

And a Happy face with a finger in its nose.

Sort of makes me wonder what the guy’s T-shirt says.

374 Wednesday at the Lake

Many more people in the Confucian Ethics class--word is getting around what an outstanding instructor Gene is. Everyone says, "I wish I'd had college instuctors like this!"

He told about how Chinese children are taught to observe the roles by learning music, poetry and calligraphy. You write poetry to prepare for life's major decisions. "He is the best poet in the group," is a sign of who is leader (he may not be a good poet, but receives that honor). The more poetry, the more sophisticated the speech. Calligraphy is taught as character formation. Music and art are ad-ons in our society, and may be the first to be cut.

I've been reading "Locust," all week and have been taking it to the hotel porch and to the coffee shop to read. I'm determined to finish it and find out why the locust swarms, the scourge of the 19th century farmers, disappeared. The author tells many asides, from how he did his research, to the biographies of different entomologists, to environmental disasters stories, but I'm sure he'll reveal his thinking before the final page.

373 Tuesday at the Lake

Last night we had Wes and Sue over for supper on the deck. They are clients and have the cutest little cottage, just perfect for Lakeside. It is getting a lot of buzz because its style and size are just right for the tiny lots (33') we have in this old community with narrow streets and ancient trees.

We're enjoying a class on Confucian Ethics taught by Dr. Gene Swanger of Wittenberg University. Everyday the class grows larger instead of smaller as is usual in Lakeside. Dr. Swanger teaches American government officials and the military how to interact and live in an Asian environment. We learned there are 3,300 roles for behavior, and no real concept of "individualism" as we understand it in the West.

Art class is shrinking. Today we did figures, and I gave my drawing to the 15 year old model since he was so patient, and he liked it.

372 Monday at the Lake

The day started with a small rain squall, built to a big storm in early afternoon, cleared, thenn we had a big windy wet storm about 4 p.m., but I was already at the art center. The drawing class is a mix of adults and children, and as usual, the kids get pretty discouraged and end up drawing lighthouses or boats instead of the assigned task, which this day was a still life of old blenders, a fan and lunch box.

Last night's program was organist Paul Oakley. Such a beautiful program. We enjoyed him so about 10 years ago when he organized a "Masterclass" of musicians at Lakeside. We found the four chairs we had paid for and they have the names of our family on a plate in the back. These chairs are much nicer and more comfortable than the hard wooden ones.

371 At Lakeside

The perfect summer day at the Lake--clear blue sky and 72 degrees. Golf carts are becoming more ubiquitous each year, with corresponding restrictions on auto parking, but at least more are battery operated now, thus quieter.

The volunteers have been busy sprucing up the flower gardens. The Hoover Auditorium is 75 years old this summer, and they've really been working hard there. Our impatiens are blooming, but were sort of leggy when planted in May and have stayed that way rather than filling out.

A stroll through the business district (2 blocks) shows some changes. One of the antique dealers gave up because he got such a good offer for his building, and his wife needed to spend more time with her mother and couldn't mind the store. A delightful gift/art shop has been returned to a cottage "for rent." The realty firm on the corner has left that building and it is being remodeled into something that looks like a cottage, but the sign says coffee shop. The cokesbury Bookstore opened two weeks ago for the Methodists' conferences.

Tonight's program is the River City Brass Band from Pennsylvania. I love brass. Hope there is a lot of trombone, my weapon of choice.

370 This is not about Lustrons

You’ve probably seen a Lustron--a steel house of porcelainzed panels built in the late 1940s to help solve the housing shortage after World War II. Here’s a brief story from the Ohio Historical Society web site:

“At the end of the war, a severe housing shortage plagued the United States. Businessman Carl Strandlund sought to solve this problem by mass-producing prefabricated, porcelain-enameled, steel houses. With the support of veterans groups, he received millions of dollars in federal loans to establish his factory, which he modeled after General Motors and Ford. The new Lustron Corporation leased the abandoned Curtiss-Wright factory adjacent to the Port Columbus airport. The government also allocated the new firm a generous supply of rationed steel for its enterprise.”

There have been reunions in Columbus, Ohio, of the designers, builders and owners of Lustrons, and I usually get an invitation because my grandparents built a Lustron in 1949, and for awhile I was part of a listserv concerning Lustrons after my Dad purchased that same home fifty years later, and we needed to do some repairs for him. My home town in Illinois has close to 20 Lustrons and it is a very small town. Pink, blue, yellow and tan--just hose ‘em down when they get dirty.

However, this is not a blog about Lustrons, it is about the WWII housing shortage. All my life I’ve been hearing about housing shortages after the war. I never even questioned it. We had a bit of one ourselves when the people who had been renting our house while Dad was in the service wouldn’t move when we came home, and we had to live with my grandparents.

I’ve been reading Thomas Sowell’s book, Basic Economics (rev. 2004). He says that after WWII, there was no scarcity of housing--severe or otherwise. He says scarcity is when a tornado or earthquake destroys housing, but shortage is created by prices. The ratio between housing and people had not changed (from 1941 to 1945), so there was no greater lack of housing. What had changed was artificially low rents due to rent controls during the war. When rents were low, some people rented larger spaces than they needed, and some landlords took properties off the market because they couldn’t cover maintenance costs and make a profit. So there were just as many housing units, but many people looking for places to live at prices they could afford. He said in different decades, the same thing has happened in Sweden and Australia--the more rent control laws, the more housing shortage.

New York City, says Sowell, has had rent control longer than any other American city with the consequence that turnover of apartments there is less than half the national average and it contributes to homelessness, because the small guys who might have housing the poor could afford, are pushed out of the market. People are sleeping outdoors, while buildings stand empty. Very wealthy people keep their rent controlled apartments just because they can, but don’t live there. San Francisco also has rent control, which drives up the cost of living there for everyone.

Also, when price controls on meat were ended in 1946, all of a sudden there was enough meat for everyone because it killed the black market. He also says there was no gasoline shortage in the 1970s. Price controls led to a cutback on the hours that filling stations remained open, so they could stay open for a few hours a day instead of having the costs of being open 12 or 24 hours, and make the same profit.

I never knew that about Lustrons. The government created the shortage, and then supplied the loans to relieve the shortage. I never knew there really wasn’t a housing shortage (less housing) after WWII. I’ll have to think about that and try to undo a lifetime of indoctrination.

369 Low Carb Hysteria

Partnership for Essential Nutrition is a group of non-profits concerned with health and nutrition that hope to bring some common sense to this low-carb stuff. I have no idea if it is legit, or just another “follow the money” group getting funded by the food industry.

I’m now getting a low-carb biz newsletter because I asked for their premiere issue of their print publication, and I’ve been surprised by the push and rush to low carb. Especially I’m surprised at how bad the commercially prepared low-carb foods taste. Panera’s is putting out two low carb bagels for samples in the morning, and I’ve tried them both. The asagio cheese bagel is my all time favorite, but low carb, it tastes like library paste. The result of eating low-carb food is the same as eating fat-free--taste free and leaves a craving which will in turn cause many people to eat more. I purchased a loaf of low-carb bread, and threw it away after we ate some. I bought low-carb yogurt for my husband, and he said, “Tastes like your foot’s asleep.”

There’s only one way to lose weight, and it always works, and it works for anyone. Burn more calories than you consume, and that means Eat Less, Move More. ELMM. But there is no way to market it and it does require some motivation and will power.

368 The job jar dwindles--pt. 3, Getting ready for the painter

I adore my son-in-law. After I handed my husband the list of 14 major in-house moves necessary before the painter comes, tastefully illustrated with clip art of a painter putting paint on the wall, he called Mark. He is very strong, cheerful, and formerly worked for a moving company. He knows every trick in the book. And I get a big sweaty hug when he is finished. Major moves so the painter could get to the walls included the desk, on which resided 2 printers, 2 speakers, a router and a scanner, as well as all the computer stuff; 2 large dressers and a dressing table; miscellaneous framed pictures; a double bed; a bookcase full of photo albums; an exercycle and an aerobo-something (like a rowing machine); and all the stuff that resided under the double bed--including the porta-crib.

I had forgotten the porta-crib and my decision to stop grieving about not ever being a grandmother, but there it was: 37 years old and waiting like an abandoned puppy, reminding me about why I'd saved it all these years. It's in the garage now, and it is a toss up whether it will go to a garage sale or the trash pick-up. No one uses wooden portable cribs anymore, and you probably can't find a mattress for one. They fit beautifully in the back seat of a sedan, with two legs on the floor, but it is illegal to let a cranky baby sleep like that without being strapped in sitting up the way we did in the 60s.

I suppose you could restrain a dog in one of these, but even my grand-puppy is an 18 year old chihuahua.

367 Noted in the language

What's with the words "her then," as "She came to this country with her then husband in 1987." What ever happened to "former" or simply, ex? I see this frequently.

I saw an ad today asking for "hysterecotmized women."

Joe Blundo says that if Clinton were Abraham Lincoln, the Gettysburg Address would have been longer than the battle.

There was a huge crowd in town yesterday to hear Zig Ziglar, Jessica Lynch, Jim Tressel and Rudy Guiliani. Outside the event there was a man holding up a sign, "College grad--will work for $40,000." Must not be a librarian--they'll work for much less.

I saw cookie recipes from Laura Bush and Teresa Kerry last week. Surely, we can get beyond that. However, Ms. Heinz-Kerry's did look awfully good--Pumpkin Spice Cookies.

Dow Jones, the owner of the Wall Street Journal was having a labor dispute with the union that represents its reporters last week. They wrote for the paper, but without a by-line. I don't get it.

The black-out last summer that affected northern Ohio, Michigan and many eastern states, caused cleaner air. It sharply reduced the concentrations of ozone and sulfur dioxide. Maybe we could just shut everything down for a week every August and forget all the rules and regulations, if it is that easy.

The Friendship

We've been friends for over 30 years, having met in a women's Bible study group. Early on, we learned we shared a very important quirk--we'd drop everything when the other called and "go for coffee." We'd dump everything on each other that we figured our husbands didn't want to hear.

Although our age difference isn't significant--particularly at our current ages--her parents were about 20 years older than mine. I listened carefully as she worked her way through the "sandwich" generation stage. I was well prepared for what was to come. Although my parents lived to an older age than hers, I learned a lot by what happened to my friend. The same with schools and our children. I learned from her about negotiating nursery schools, elementary teachers, high school cliques, and college sororities--it was really comforting to have a pathfinder as a friend.

She also moved in different social circles. Actually, I hardly moved at all, truth be known, and really didn't care that much. I'd always liked having one or two really close friends. She cared deeply about social position and status in the community. So I listened and learned--about fashion trends, popular themes in home decor, and investment ideas--even technology. The very first VCR I ever saw was in her home. ("What would you do with it?" I whispered.) She belongs to an investment club, her college sorority alumnae group, and several women's clubs, one of which is over 100 years old. She's traveled more than I can even dream about--China, Russia, Europe, South America. When her children have had jobs in interesting cities like New York, DC, Seattle, Denver, San Francisco and Knoxville, I've listened patiently all these many years about her visits and their activities. Perhaps I was just a bit smug that my own daughter works two miles from here and can stop by for lunch. She's had season tickets for the various musical and sporting events around the city, so I keep up on what's going on around town--by listening, but not sharing in the seats.

However, there was a tiny crack developing, and as I look back I think it is because of our positions within our original families. I am the third of four siblings and am accustomed to jostling for attention and space, to arguing, to "kiss and make-up" discussions. She is an only child. This means she has a sense of entitlement that is totally foreign to me. Eldest children in larger families have this too--it is not confined to "onlies." They are completely unaware of their behavior, and will deny it if you point it out. So this meant that if she decided against discussing a topic, that was it. Done deal. Finished. Sometimes I wouldn't catch on--I'd continue rambling on, and then she'd say louder and more firmly, like a school teacher talking down to a child, "We're not going to argue about this any further, Norma." I was usually caught short since I hadn't been aware we were arguing. She had her opinion; I had mine. Or that's what I thought. I let it slide--just let her be "boss," because I enjoyed her company, she was well-read, intelligent, and cared about many of things I cared about.

After about 25 years of being the "little sister" to a woman who never had a sister, I began to rebel in the only way I knew how. I stopped calling. The alpha-female usually doesn't do the calling, so the effect of this was we saw a lot less of each other. Instead of getting together once or twice a week, we get together several times a year. We're doing lunch today and I'll listen and nod and smile--I can turn off my mouth for 30-40 minutes, especially when it is filled with food. I'll feel sad because I really miss her. And for the first time in 30 years, I had to look up her phone number.

366 What Librarians do when they get together

The American Library Association (ALA) claims it represents 64,000 members, many of them librarians, but as the name implies, it isn’t an association of librarians, but of libraries. What it really needs is a taxpayers’ action group, TAG (not TAGS, which is an ALA group to teach teen-agers how to be political activists), to put its bloated bureaucracy that lives on alphabet soup on a diet.

I never joined ALA, because even in 1966, it was beyond the pale for me, then a liberal Democrat. Soon they, or it, will be meeting in Orlando, Florida, world of fantasy and make believe, where librarians will meet to pretend that our society will some day pay them what they are worth if they make everyone else's business their own.

I shouldn't poke fun. Disney World is lots of fun, even for librarians. So therefore it is appropriate that . . .

“Fahrenheit 9/11 will be shown at ALA in the Auditorium at the Convention Center, Sunday night, June 27, at 10 pm, two days after it opens nationwide. There will be a $10 donation that will go to ALA's efforts in the areas of the First Amendment, Intellectual Freedom, and the struggle against the USA PATRIOT Act.”

Also, the GODORT (government documents) folks will be fussing about access to government information considering current security concerns, and

The Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgendered people will be protecting and pushing gay books for children and

The AILA (American Indian) will be honoring their elders and tracing their roots and

CALA (Chinese American) is establishing sister relationships with libraries in China, Australia, and other countries, but seem to only be a support group organized by ethnicity, and

SRRT (Social Responsibilities) is supposed to working to make ALA more democratic, but that is a huge joke because they are so left wing democracy is an endangered species needing protection and should be on the environmentalism sub-committee, and

The Ethics Committee, which says it distinguishes between personal convictions and professional responsibilities, has a special sub-group (its only sub-group) on Ethnic and Multicultural Information that has an extremely long set of by-laws and list of committees, but no accomplishments listed and

The Literacy group, which has an expanded vision for library users which includes technology and information needs as well as reading, has a web site that doesn’t work, and

ANSS (I wonder how they pronounce that) is the Anthropology and Sociology Section which seems to be doing library stuff like bibliographies and indexing rather than lobbying about social issues, as the name might suggest, and

The Black Caucus is all caught up in the Brown issues.

365 Dump and Run Sale

Ton of cast offs--that's what OSU students have left in 25 dormitories. To keep it out of landfills and to raise money for several charities, volunteers are gathering the junk into bins for recycling and sales.

There is enough clothing to fill a Good Will store, including a size 40DD bra with the tags still on it, according to the Columbus Dispatch June 18. There are similar sales at other colleges.

I wonder if parents know how much of the "gotta have this" stuff ends up sold for junk or charity? Whatever. It is still a good plan and I'm glad to see the young volunteers taking this seriously.

364 A tribute to a mentor

I certainly didn’t become a librarian because of Miss Coblentz. When I first met her, she seemed rather stoney-faced, mousey and plain, with an unattractive voice and demeanor. I have no idea how old she was--I turned 18 that fall, so anyone over 30 appeared up in years. But she was definitely older than my rather elderly, 45-year old parents, who were so ancient they could remember the bells tolling at the end of World War I!

My first job in the Manchester College Library was something she considered very important--shelf reading. She believed tidy, well-placed books helped my fellow students find what they needed. Imagine that! I think the job included dusting. From shelving tasks which gave me a sense of subject arrangement, I moved “up” to helping at the circulation desk, something I‘d learned in the public library of my home town, and from there I received the rather favored job of helping in Miss Coblentz’s office writing classification numbers on books with a stylus and sheet of white marking paper. I may be one of the select few in the world who can appreciate and understand the Cutter system, and with effort, I can still do a pretty good imitation of a well-placed Dewey number.

This technical services student job provided an opportunity to take an occasional trip to the bindery, and also an opportunity to meet and know the other “adult” staff. I was invited to Miss Coblentz’s home, which was a wonderful, large gracious early 20th century home on North Wayne within walking distance of the campus. Miss Coblentz had holiday teas for her student staff--and being typical teen-agers who never had enough to eat, we really loved that. Over time, I came to see her kindness, scholarship and skill--and even if I didn’t appreciate it when I was 18, I certainly do now because isn‘t hindsight 20/20?

Memorable moments with Miss Coblentz. My boyfriend was attending the University of Illinois (where I transferred and graduated). I decided I wanted to send him a package of Rice Krispies squares--the kind made with rice cereal, butter, and melted marshmallows mixed in a very large bowl. My roommate, Jo-Ella, and I were pretty good about building a stash of the small containers of cereal, but managing the rest of the task was beyond what we could do in our dorm room with a hot plate. Miss Coblentz to the rescue. She let me use her kitchen and utensils to create this magnificent treat for the boyfriend of her silly employee. She even attempted to teach me to needlepoint--something that gave her much pleasure and covered her dining room chair seats, but I never had the patience or interest (still don’t).

After I left Manchester at the end of my freshman year, we corresponded on holidays, and I sent her an invitation to my wedding, notice of my graduation later, and the birth of my first child. My memory is fuzzy here, but I think she knew I went back for my MLS later and became a librarian. She probably thought she had a hand in that career choice. Imagine that.

Update: I contacted the current librarian, Robin J. Grantz, who wrote:

"In my own 15 years as library director at MC, I’ve come to admire all the things she accomplished. Chief among them was her wonderful planning for this 1966 building, which we renovated in 1999. So many things were done well in the original plan, and I’m sure she never received the credit she deserved. I’m passing your blog on to the library staff, who continue to supervise a wonderful group of student assistants.

Ruth Coblentz (Manchester BA ’27), came as “Chief Librarian” in 1945. She served until 1970, all of the years in that position, except for 1957 and the last year, when she was cataloging librarian. She died in 1994."

(Note: if you google “Ruth Coblentz” you’ll find that she had a mentor at Manchester who influenced her and many others to become librarians.)

363 Abu Ghraib prison video

Abu Ghraib prison video was shown for the benefit of journalists by the American Enterprise Institute, but most didn’t take advantage of the opportunity and those who did got ill and had to leave. Of course, it was video of when Saddam Hussein's thugs ruled the prison and limbs and tongues and fingers were being chopped off.

Why does the press harp on American abuses and ignore Saddam's? Deborah Orin, a reporter who did attend the showing quotes AEI's Michael Ledeen as saying it's because most journalists "want Bush to lose."
Reported by James Taranto at Best of the Web.

362 The big book shift--pt. 2, Getting ready for the painter

Today I set up temporary shelving in my garage so my office can be painted sometime in July. I had a minimum of 30 ft of books to relocate, and another 12 ft of miscellaneous (photos, collectibles, audio gear, TV, paper supplies, and magazines). I figured I had about 26 ft of useable space in the garage, by clearing counter tops of garden tools, empty boxes, kitty litter, etc. and setting up folding chairs to hold 10 ft of boards. However, by using my Illios (yearbooks from the University of Illinois) and a board, I was able to create extra shelving and fit all the books on top of the counter and didn't need the chairs. I cleared out one lower cabinet for magazines.

I found many interesting things that caused me to stop my work and sit down, which is good, because with A-fib, the heart rate goes crazy with lifting and changing positions.

A letter from my sister Carol written for my 16th birthday when she was 18 and in Brethren Volunteer Service training in Maryland.

A really interesting book by Luther Mott on American best-selling authors, including an item about Harold Bell Wright, whose book That Printer of Udell's, influenced Ronald Reagan.

A really wonderful article on the name of Jesus as " The Lamb" which will really help in the dedication of our two new paintings purchased for church.

Various certificates of perfect attendance.

A lot of outdated financial stuff I'll need to work through.

A package of ink cartridges for my HP 5550 that I'd forgotten I had.

Having lived for 34 years in a house with no attic or basement, I learned how to weed, winnow and remove anything not needed. But once we moved here, with lots of built in storage for books and an attic over the garage, I just lost all that good training.

My daughter is having a garage sale this coming week-end, and maybe I can find a home for 40 yards of drapery fabric.

361 Mixed metaphor

"We had hybrid cabbage, but cauliflower is a different kettle of fish," said Dickson, who retired in 1995. "If you don't have the right parents, you don't necessarily get a nice color, you get a pale, pukey color." Story here.

360 How it played out in 1957

Erin Moriarity of CBS News is the graduation speaker for 7,000+ graduates at The Ohio State University today. In 1957, Ronald Reagan spoke to the graduates of Eureka College in Illinois. I reviewed that speech today and was amazed at how "right on" he was, even then. In 1957, I don't think anyone thought he was too special--sure, he was a graduate who had made good, but his movie career was over and he was a spokesman for General Electric Theater on TV. He reminded the class of 1957 that when he was a student there in the Depression, the teachers often went without pay, and most of the students were poor. And even in 1957, he sounded like the President he became:

Now today as you prepare to leave your Alma Mater, you go into a world in which, due to our carelessness and apathy, a great many of our freedoms have been lost. It isn't that an outside enemy has taken them. It's just that there is something inherent in government which makes it, when it isn't controlled, continue to grow. So today for every seven of us sitting here in this lovely outdoor theater, there is one public servant, and 31 cents of every dollar earned in America goes in taxes. To support the multitudinous and gigantic functions of government, taxation is levied which tends to dry up the very sources of contributions and donations to colleges like Eureka. So in this time of prosperity we find these church schools, these small independent colleges and even the larger universities, hard put to maintain themselves and to continue doing the job they have done so unselfishly and well for all these years. Observe the contrast between these small church colleges and our government, because, as I have said before, these have always given far more than was ever given to them in return.