SPRING RAIN

"SPRING RAIN" - John Sloan (1912)

It's thundering, it's lightning, it's raining, it's POURING!!!!

Rain has finally come to us parched folks in Bismarck and across a large swath of North Dakota. And no grownup will, I dare say, complain (at least aloud) that this rain has ruined their Memorial Day weekend. We NoDaks have needed rain so badly for so long that it is entirely welcome. We'll gladly sacrifice a weekend of camping, ball games, boating on the lakes and rivers, gardening or just sunning on the lawn.

It's been raining at least since I woke up this morning at 7, and the thunderstorm came up a while ago. I had actually gone back to bed (how nice to sleep in on a rainy Saturday), but a little scritch-scritch at my door told me a certain dog was scared of the thunder boomers.

Right now I have not one but two dogs at my feet as I type. And when one of those dogs is a golden retriever, there's not much room for feet.

I was looking forward to having lunch with my sis, but she just now called and postponed it until tomorrow (she received unexpected company). I guess I'll just take some books and magazines and bundle back into bed with a couple of dogs and the TV for company.

The rain certainly didn't spoil OUR holiday plans, because we didn't have any - never do. Dan always has to work Memorial weekend Saturdays and Mondays.

In fact, I really, really dislike Memorial Day. Don't get me wrong, I have always loved this holiday, the kickoff to glorious summer. But in the past few years terrible things have happened to us on Memorial Day. One year, my niece and nephew's dad shot himself in the hand with a bow and arrow. Another year, Dan had his heart attack. And still another year, Kristen was hit by a car.

So all in all, Memorial Day means "Jinx" to me, with lots of time spent in the emergency room or intensive care. I think I'll stay home all Monday too, and hide under the covers, whether it's raining or not.

WELL, WHAT DO YOU KNOW!!

David Cook, 2008 American Idol Winner

David Cook pulled it off! Cook has been my favorite American Idol contestant for weeks (ever since Michael Johns was - shockingly - eliminated). Cook was my daughter's favorite too.

This is the first year I have watched American Idol. I started watching when the contest had been winnowed down to 24 contestants. (I'm too embarrassed for the bad singers to watch the preliminaries.)

I always thought the Top 3 would be soul rocker Cook, youngster David Archuleta or Aussie Michael Johns. When Johns was eliminated, I was stunned, along with the judges, host Ryan Seacrest, the other contestants and the live and TV viewing audiences.

Last week, I even did something I never thought I would do - voted! But last night I didn't vote because frankly I thought Archuleta had won the contest. (Thanks to Simon Cowell who all but named him the victor.) Little David does have the smoother voice, but frankly, he is bland. His personality never shines through. Last night Cook was nervous, his voice seemed strained, and the song choices weren't as good. But Cook is a genuine star. He puts his heart and soul into every song. The emotion is always right at the surface with David Cook. "Subtle and wistful" was one description of last night's performance of "The World I Know" by Collective Soul. Besides, Cook is a rocker, bless him. He won by 12 million votes, so I don't think anyone can say David Archuleta got robbed.

I wouldn't worry about little David A. He's only 17 and he has a great singing career ahead of him. I see him as fitting into the Josh Groban-type category, where he will do very well. And I predict Michael Johns will have a great run too. In my opinion he has as much charisma as that other Aussie, the late INXS lead singer Michael Hutchence.

It was a great ride. What I missed out on by not watching the first first six seasons, I think, was getting to know and love - or hate - the contestants. Who could forget sweet Brooke White, stopping and re-starting her songs? Even always-kind Paula Abdul says you can't do that. And dreadlocked Jason Castro, you're cute and cool, but what the huh happened with you? Then there was Irish-born Carly, who couldn't catch a break with Simon, and Syesha Mercado, who couldn't catch a break with any of the judges. Danny Noriega? Ick! Biker chick Amanda Overmeyer? Not my style. For sure, I'm going to watch next year.

An Entertainment Weekly online poll tonight reveals that 85% of respondents thought the right David won. Congratulations, David Cook!

Michael Johns, not an also-ran at all.

MOONSTRUCK

I've selected the name of the person who gets to read about a moongazy girl and the other folk at Stonewylde. The winner of the drawing to receive "Magus of Stonewylde" by Kit Berry is Tea, of "Tea and Margaritas in my Garden" in Ontario, Canada. Congratulations, Tea! Please send me your real name and address so I can get that book out to you right away. I know how long parcels take to get to Canada!!

OH HAPPY DAY!

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, SEPTEMBER 1987

Today has been a happy, happy day for our family!

Almost 21 years ago, our daughter, Kristen, entered the doors of Will-Moore Elementary School in Bismarck for the first day of kindergarten. Over the years she moved on to Hughes Junior High School and Bismarck High School, and then went on to college at Georgetown University in Washington, DC. She earned a B.A. degree from Georgetown in December 2005.

And today, she received her Master of Science degree in library science from Catholic University of America. Sadly, we were not able to be there, but we were there in spirit.

Effective June 1, she has been appointed director of acquisitions, serials and fast-track processing at the CUA library. (She was acting director of serials; this promotion brings a hefty raise!)

Kristen was a much-lauded student of languages in high school, taking first place in the state French and German exams, and earning the national gold metal in Latin. She studied German and French at Georgetown, eventually settling on French for her major.

But along the way, she changed her mind about her future vocation. We might have suspected that Kristen, a gifted reader, would someday turn to library science. I used to bring her to the Tribune after school some days, and my fellow reporters would marvel at this petite child, almost dwarfed by the newsroom desk she sat at, totally absorbed in reading books like "Gone With the Wind" and "The Stand."

Because she was interested in languages, I encouraged Kristen to go to Concordia College in Moorhead, Minnesota, just a three-hour drive away with a superb languages program. "I'm not going to a religious school (Lutheran)", she declared. (The truth: "I'm not going to college so close to home.")

It's a standing joke in our family that Kristen ended up attending two religious universities. Georgetown is a Jesuit institution, and CUA is obviously Catholic. And we are not Catholic!

For Kristen, a trip to the East coast at a tender age clinched her college decision for her. She fell in love with Georgetown and with the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, VA and would only consider and apply to those two.

Over the years, Kristen walked miles of hallowed hallways and entered many an ivy-clad building. She had some bumps along the way - problems with physical and emotional health - but she overcame her obstacles and bounced back better than before.

I salute her strong work ethic (yeah, she's a North Dakotan), her intelligence, her strength, her humor, her tender heart and her wisdom which is far beyond her years and far beyond mine.

To celebrate her graduation, she and her boyfriend are taking a trip to California. Well deserved, Kristen! We love you so much and we are SO proud of you. Love from Dad and me and the puppies, and Glori, Kelsey and Mike.

MAY 2008 GRADUATE OF CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA

THE MAGIC OF STONEWYLDE

“If you feel a little strange when you gaze up at the full moon …

If you sense some greater power when you stand on a hilltop

With the skies arching above you …

If you’re touched by the presence of something unseen

When walking in the woods …

Then ... enter the world of Stonewylde …”

**********

You may have noticed the new banner at the top right side of my blog. It is a portal to the website for the “Stonewylde” series of books, with which I am totally enraptured at the moment.

If you click on the banner, you’ll see this description, which begins to explain the allure of the Stonewylde books: “Stonewylde is somewhere that lives in our imagination. A beautiful Dorset estate hidden away in the depths of rural England, where the community live in harmony with nature. Stonewylde is the perfect place, a place where you can escape to in your dreams.


“Stonewylde is a real entity, an enclosed sanctuary where nature is unharmed and undamaged by modern exploitation. It's a place of standing stones and earth energy, an idyllic refuge from the stress of ordinary life.


But although the place may be perfect, human nature never is. Behind the organic farming, rural crafts, colorful festivals and pagan ceremonies, there's a darker more sinister side to Stonewylde. It's a place of secrets and mystery, where menace stalks in the shadows. “


There’s no doubt that Stonewylde itself is a main character in the books. It’s been described as an alternative community, a walled enclave for a religious sect and a modern feudal utopia. It is a place of pastoral delights and beautiful scenery, dotted with standing circles, dolmens and a hilltop where hares cavort each full moon.


With its green magic, earth energy and moon energy, Stonewylde is a place that strongly calls to me. The descriptions of "the old ways” of village life and farming, and the celebrations of the wheel of the year, are enchanting, and make me yearn to have experienced the Dorset of the past.


I wrote earlier that the website's description only begins to explain Stonewylde's allure. It’s Berry’s powerful storytelling skills and the fully-fleshed-out characters that KEEP me so enthralled.


The three main characters, Magus, Sylvie and Yul, are especially well-drawn. The first book begins with Sylvie, age 15, and her mother coming to Stonewylde from The Outside, Sylvie having the unmistakable, silvery-haired looks of the Hallfolk, the aristocrats of Stonewylde.


I don’t think I’m revealing too much when I say that Sylvie is what Stonewylde folk call “moongazy". She feels a deep urge to sing and dance with the hares on Hare Hill in honor of the moon goddess.


Yul is one of the village youth, who suffers greatly at the hands of his cruel father and the Magus. Sol, the Magus, rules Stonewylde with a benign hand. Or does he? The village folk call him Magus, believing it means ruler. But magus also means wise man, and, more tellingly, magician, and Sol is no stranger to deception.


After having finished the first two books (“Magus of Stonewylde” and “Moondance of Stonewylde”), I begin to sense unrest among the simple village folk who live in complete service to the Hallfolk. Will there be a rebellion? Will Sylvie and Yul’s love persevere? (Yes, it’s a love story too!) Who will prevail in their struggle for dominance: The all-powerful Magus or Yul, the seemingly simple woodsman who, it is suggested, is destined for bigger things.


I was turned on to the Stonewylde books (there are three so far) by a British blogger. Written by former Dorset resident Kit Berry, they are very popular in Britain. They have been described as fantasy, but I would not give them such a narrow classification, especially since I don’t like the fantasy genre. I prefer “earth magic adventures”, as they are dubbed in the website.


Berry has encountered quite a few obstacles in her path to bring these novels to the public. She is self-published, and needs to recoup her costs each time before bringing out the next book. She also had difficulty getting her books into bookstores, although, in Britain at least, this is no longer a problem. And Berry has also persuaded booksellers that the Stonewylde books - deservedly - belong in the adult sections as well as with the teen books. (In fact, I think they're a little too mature for all but the oldest teens.)


Some people, especially in the United States, may be turned off by the clearly pagan aspects of the Stonewylde community. Since I am a Celt, I am open to learning all I can about “the old ways”. I, too, feel the pull of the full moon, although not as strongly as Sylvie.


Actually, I (and I hope potential readers will) consider reading the Stonewylde books as being no different than reading about strange – to me - foreign practices in a couple of other excellent books I read lately (“A Thousand Splendid Suns” by Khaled Hosseini and “Bliss” by O. G. Livanelli).


In the end, when a story is as good as the Stonewylde books, it doesn’t matter how strange the landscape.


I really, really want to read the third book, “Solstice at Stonewylde”. The first two books have taken me through a number of pagan holidays, each of which has been marked by very dramatic events. I can’t wait to see what the Winter Solstice brings!


But I also want to put off starting it in order to savor the experience! There will eventually be five novels in the series, but the publication date of the fourth book is unknown. I know of only one source for the Stonewylde books in the U.S.: Amazon.com.


Kit Berry also has a personal blog. To check it out, go to: http://www.moongazygirl.blogspot.com/.

IN HONOR OF MY 300th POST, COMING VERY SOON, I AM GIVING AWAY A NEW COPY OF THE FIRST BOOK IN THE STONEWYLDE SERIES. JUST POST A COMMENT TELLING ME WHY YOU THINK YOU'D LIKE THE BOOK, AND I WILL DRAW A NAME FROM THE ENTRIES.


Added 5/14:

I will draw for the book on Tuesday, May 20, so please be sure to enter the drawing before then. I have learned that some people cannot click on the banner. To get to the website, go to www.stonewylde.com. I also learned of a new source of the books for American and Canadian readers. Go to www.magusbooks.com.

Kit Berry, author of the Stonewylde books

SOMEWHERE IN TIME

VANILLA COKE AND GREEN RIVER

FOUNTAIN DRINKS WERE MY FAVORITES

Not long ago I wrote a post entitled "Where I'm From," which basically outlined where I came from, geographically and socio-economically.

This time, I thought I'd show "Where I'm From In Time," by listing items from my childhood in the 1950s and 1960s. Although old-fashioned soda fountains appear now and then, I doubt that many of these other products or customs are in use or found any longer, unless they're in a vintage shop.


35-cent movies, with 10-cent popcorn and 10-cent bottled pop.

Bags of white margarine with a color dot (you squeezed the bag until all the color was distributed).

Silver dollars in wide circulation (especially in Montana).

Black-and-white newsreels before movies.

“Two-Holers” (outdoor wooden toilets with two seats).

4-cent postage.

Rabbit ears on TV sets.

The Watkins Man – a door-to-door salesman of vanilla, nectar and other household products.

ORIGINAL BARBIE LOOKED ORIENTAL

(WHICH IS WHY I NEVER HAD ONE)

The Grit – a folksy tabloid newspaper delivered door-to-door every Saturday.

Station wagons instead of SUVs for large families.

Toni perms.

The candy: Black Jack gum, Pixy Stix, Dots, candy cigarettes, Chuckles, Necco wafers, Sugar Babies and Sugar Daddies, candy buttons on paper strips, wax bottles with colored sugar water.

Water pails with dippers (everyone dipped and drank from the pail).

Wooden screen doors.

Hank Williams on the radio.

Enamel coffee pots, cups and pans with the inevitable chips.

Scrapbooking meant pasting magazine clippings into scrapbooks made with coarse buff paper.

Cigarette and liquor ads in magazines.

EVERYONE GATHERED AROUND THE TV FOR BONANZA AT 9:00

SUNDAYS (THE KIDS GOT TO STAY UP AN HOUR LATE)

Stirrup pants, Capris and flip flops were in, and they were not retro wear.

Thongs were another name for flip flops, not underwear.

78-rpm records.

Granny panties for everyone.

Skippy Peanut Butter in fancy footed glasses.

Sugar-loaded cereals. (Sugar Pops, anyone?)

Scarves tied at the throat and the ends knotted at the back of the neck.

Wearing dresses to school and church.

Hair set in pin curls with bobby pins.

WOMEN AND GIRLS HAD TO WEAR SWIM

CAPS IN PUBLIC POOLS

Pop-It Beads.

Easy Bake Ovens (how I loved the flavor of the little cakes they made).

The phrase D.A. meant a duck-tail or duck-a-- haircut for teenage boys.

Spiral notebooks with brown covers.

Five and Dime stores.

Velvet hair bows a la Rose Marie on The Dick Van Dyke Show (I had them in all colors).

Spam (the meat) was not a joke but a regular on the dinner table.

One-speed bikes.

Flypaper strips.

Rope and board swings.

Ditto machines at school.

Running boards on cars.

TONI PERMS MADE MY HAIR OH-SO FRIZZY

MY TWO DAUGHTERS

Kristen, left, and Val

**********

I've been looking for photos to go with a post I'll be writing next month when my daughter receives her master's degree.

I found this one and thought I'd post it now with a memoir of the time when I had not one but TWO daughters.

When Kristen was a senior in high school, the family of one of her friends hosted a foreign exchange student from Venezuela. I first met Val in October when she went trick or treating with Kristen and her pals. Little did I know that she soon would be part of our family.

Unfortunately for Val, things didn't work out with her first host family. Val was about to be sent back to Venezuela when Kristen asked Dan and me if we could host her instead. At first, I thought our house was too small and shabby to take her in, but in the end I couldn't abide the thought of Val having to cut short her year in the U.S. (Dan and Kristen would have worked on me until I gave in anyway).

So, for the second semester, I had two daughters. We had extra fun on Valentine's Day, which is also Val's birthday (her full name is Valentina in honor of the day).

I loved making two Easter baskets. Even more, I loved Val's reaction to receiving an Easter basket. She was thrilled! (In fact, when she left, she carried the pastel green wicker basket onto the plane!)

Val and our family got into serious trouble when we let Val take a trip to Canada. (That was a big no-no, but since we never formally applied to be exchange hosts, we didn't know the rules.) I thought Val couldn't possibly be safer, because she was escorted by the wife of the warden of the state penitentiary. (Who better to keep kids out of trouble??)

The exchange agency didn't see it that way. They were highly miffed and were going to send Val back to Venezuela. We fought back. We contacted one of our senators and he intervened. We were delighted to have won, especially since the agency had gotten its knickers in a twist over such a niggling (to us) issue.

Val was always up for anything, even eating Dan's wild-game meals. I remember when we were eating elk steaks. Dan was going on and on: "Isn't this good?" Val, Kristen and I exchanged meaningful looks that clearly said, "Yuk, no, it isn't." The only time Val palled is when she found some buckshot in a pheasant breast.

That year, I went to two graduation ceremonies, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Val had started the year at Century High School and thanks to carpooling friends, was able to continue there. That's why you see Kristen in Bismarck High School maroon and Val in CHS red.

The graduation ceremony for Val was a formality, as she had already graduated from high school or its equivalent in Caracas.

Right after graduation, Dan and I took the girls to Medora, North Dakota's "Wild West" town. When we toured Theodore Roosevelt National Park, Val loved the prairie dog towns, and kept looking for some "boofalo" (her pronunciation). We were afraid we weren't going to see any but as we were nearing the end of the drive we saw an entire herd and Val was able to get photos of her "boofalo".

Having a second daughter was a great experience for us, and having a sister was wonderful for Kristen, too. Val is sweet, smart and funny. I'll always remember her pretty rosy-pink cheeks, her bubbly personality, and how fast she talked when she spoke in Spanish. Va introduced me to a phrase which I hadn't heard at the time: "It's all good!"

Yes, it was all good, a truly positive experience, except for one thing. With the two girls around, I could NEVER get on the computer. And because we had dial-up Internet back then, I was forever getting a busy signal when I tried to call them at the house.

Val and Kristen still keep in touch, and Val visited Kristen once at Georgetown. Knowing Val, I was sure she would end up living in the U. S., but it hasn't happened yet. I'm hoping she will at least come back to ND for a visit someday.

A WEEK IN THE LIFE

I lifted this painting from Joyce's blog so I can't tell you who painted it. Sorry. I tried finding it on the web, but I was too tired to continue. That's why I chose the painting in the first place: I'M SO TIRED!! (The lady might be sad instead of tired, but Joyce and I like to think of her as being tired. Or maybe she is tired of being sad because she's been crying her eyes out. You know how tired your eyes feel after crying your eyes out. Anyway, she's all tuckered out.)

(Note added later: See first comment by Joyce.)

I haven't been blogging, reading blogs, commenting on blogs or answering emails. I issue no apologies for the first three, but I am sorry for ignoring emails and I will try to reply to them soon.

This has been my life this week:

My first week on the new job: A half day of orientation, two full days of new software training, then two half days of training. I was excused from attending the break-out afternoon sessions yesterday and today. Yay!

Most of the 15 women attending the training have worked in conference, enrichment classes and event planning for years. The instructor, learning I was brand new at this, told me my training experience would be akin to arriving at a play at the beginning of Act II, all the while trying to find out what went on in Act I. She was right, although it felt more like coming in at the beginning of Act III.

The software we are learning has been used for such massive events as the Olympics. You wouldn't believe how many variables are involved in setting up a conference: registration, transportation, meals, accommodations, break-out events, instructors, contracts, contacting the media, medical condition of participants, setting up websites, receiving money, accounting for money, printing brochures, booklets and pamphlets, etc. etc.

And I cannot BEGIN to tell you how many ways there are - for EACH of these variables - to enter, track and generate reports on them. My mind has been well and truly boggled this week. I am exhausted. I think every one's mind was exhausted.

On the home front:

Gracie is in heat. For those of you who have a female dog who hasn't yet been "fixed", you get the picture. For those of you who don't, I won't go into details.

I attended book club Wednesday night, which is always a wonderful experience, but due to the combination of stimulating conversation, coffee (even though it was decaf) and a huge slice of sinfully scrumptious Bacardi rum cake, I was awake until 3 AM.

Dan needed my car this week, so he had to give me rides to and from work. Every morning, he paced to and fro and and champed at the bit in a hurry to leave the house. "Wait", I wailed, "Give me a minute to check my email!!" It's amazing how much I revel in the freedom of having my own transportation.

On the weather front:

We had a thunderstorm in the wee hours of Monday morning. Unlike most people in Bismarck, I wasn't awakened by the loud thunder. Oh, no, I was already awake, with new-job jitters.

We've received about 2/3 of an inch of precipitation this week. It's a start, but it's not enough to break our severe drought. We need several two-day soakers, NOW! Winter has returned to North Dakota, with some of that precipitation arriving in the form of snow. Wednesday afternoon, it was raining/snowing/sleeting/thundering and lightning all at once. High temps have only been in the 30s, and there is a blizzard predicted for the extreme southeastern corner of the state for tonight.

On the positive front:

Two days off, lunch and a bit of shopping with my sis tomorrow (I need nicer work clothes desperately), good meals all weekend, a terrific book to read ("A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini), blogging and reading blogs, naps and more naps.

This very boring view of a week in my life was written as an all-inclusive answer to those of you who posted or emailed to inquire about the job and the rain situation. Thanks for your prayers and good wishes.

AT THIS MOMENT IN TIME

"THE ROOM OF FLOWERS"

Childe Hassam

**********

At this moment in time, 3:30 on a Friday afternoon, I sit at my computer table, composed of a wooden top affixed to the stand of an old Roberts brand treadle sewing machine. As I type, I gently move the treadle with my foot, as if I were actually sewing. I'm not sure if the rhythm of my typing creates the rhythm of the treadle, or vice versa.

I bought this table at an antique shop a few years ago. I was immediately entranced by its unique makeup and its top painted with white wisteria on a sage green background. It was never meant to be a computer desk, but now I wouldn't dream of using anything else.

As I look to the left I see the stone fireplace, made of rounded, river-polished rocks. Centered at the top of the fireplace opening is a Native American stone club, probably Lakota (Sioux). And probably a war club.

If I look to the right, I see the Gothic arch between my living and dining rooms. Beneath my feet are red oak hardwood floors. These three things, combined with the arched brick nook that holds my kitchen stove, are what prompted me to fall in love with, and buy, this house 26 years ago.

Like the one in Childe Hassam's painting, my living room is chock full of dark wooden furniture, little tables, a chintz-covered couch and chairs, books and more books. Some might call it cluttered, but nothing is out of place; everything is carefully positioned.

There are other treasures in my living and dining rooms: my precious Roseville, my mother-in-law's antique clock topped by the figurine of a Grecian woman, my beloved blue and white china.

As in Hassam's painting, the walls are crammed with pictures and paintings. No single color- coordinated picture above the couch for me! I consider my wall-to-wall picture style as English Style. The pictures include my Scottish castle oil painting, my print of the Washington Cathedral gardens, a large faux-oil dog painting above the fireplace, a Maxfield Parrish print, my bucolic English Lake District print, all combined with a couple of wildlife prints as a concession to the fact that my husband lives here too. (That shabby old recliner is his as well.)

There aren't any fresh flowers or plants at the moment, but there often are, most recently Easter lilies and daffodils.

In the kitchen, Gracie, my puppyish German short-haired pointer, is chowing down yet again. Penny, "The Big Red Dog", a golden retriever, sits patiently - oh so patiently - beside her ball, waiting for me to throw it outdoors. Every once in a while, if she is being ignored, she lets out a plaintive little groan.

I have left the patio door open on this glorious "finally-it's-spring" day. Through the doorway, I can see our giant American Elm's budding branches, which sweep down so gracefully over our deck. Though the dogs are free to go in and out as they please, they check on me frequently, worried that I might abandon them again, as I did earlier. Horrors, the thought that they might be left alone for an hour or two!

For once, I'm dressed up, in a nice pair of black slacks and black shoes, with a flowered top in magenta, tan and black. And for once I have put on earrings - magenta glass beads. I am dressed this way because I had a job interview at 1:00 p.m.

On my way back from the interview, I ran into a book lover's/rummage sale goer's dream: a rummage sale that was all books. I came away with seven books for $3.50. Afterward, feeling optimistic, I went to a Mexican restaurant for chicken fajitas, selecting one book to read while waiting for my meal.

Now, I type, with Oprah and Dr. Phil as background TV noise.

**********

With these few paragraphs, did you get any sense of me as a person? The reason I ask - the reason I wrote this post - is that one of my book purchases today - the one I brought into the restaurant to read - was "Writing the World" by Kelly Cherry. In the book's prologue, Cherry does a similar point-in-time "exercise" about herself (she may not have considered it an exercise). I got a very good sense of her personality, so I thought I would give it a try too.

I didn't put a lot of time into this exercise - I wanted it to be off the cuff and spur of the moment.

Also, I was using it as a way to calm my nerves and pass the time until I heard the result of the interview.

**********

At 4:45 PM:

P. S.: I just got the job. I'll be working in the continuing education department of our local state college. It is part time to begin with and hopefully it will become full time. I start Monday, so please pray for my success in this endeavor.

**********

Also, please, PLEASE pray for rain here in Bismarck and all of North Dakota. We need it so badly.

We have had two grass fires this week WITHIN the Bismarck city limits. In my lifetime of living in North Dakota, I have seen prairie fires and river bottom fires. Three years ago, three area volunteer firefighters were, sadly, burned and/or otherwise injured when a prairie fire engulfed their fire truck. But I have never, ever, seen grass fires within the city limits.

MY FATHER, FORREST "SONNY" ROCKNEY

FORREST "SONNY" ROCKNEY

U. S. NAVY, WW II

**********

This is going to be such a difficult post to write. I can scarcely continue. One of the reasons I started my blog 15 months ago was to write this very post.

I grew up not knowing who my natural father was. I have written previously that my mother was a Florence Crittendon girl - a young pregnant woman who went away to have her baby at a home for unwed mothers.

Mom never shared my father's name with me, and never once said anything about him. Even my blabbermouth Aunt Mary never mentioned him.

I had given up ever knowing anything about my father's side of the family. But three years ago, I learned the truth. It was a lovely April evening, and Dan and I were watching the UND Sioux hockey team play in the national Frozen Four championship (as they will be tonight).

The phone rang and I answered it. A male voice on the other end said he was looking for relatives of Myrtle Munro of Crosby, ND. That was my mother, I said. Well then, he said, I'm Mark, your second cousin.

Mark, from Missouri, is the official genealogist of my father's family. He became the caretaker of a packet of letters and cards my father left behind after his death. Knowing my mother's maiden name and hometown, Mark tracked me down via the Internet after my Uncle Dave's obituary was published in the Divide County (ND) Journal.

We talked. Or rather, Mark talked. I cried. I cried a lot. I hung up dazed. After 55 years, I finally knew the truth.

Over the next few months, Mark called, sent me DVDs, and emailed me photos, a genealogy chart and family histories. I learned that I was 1/4 Irish, from my grandmother Hazel Johanna Cody.

One precious evening, Mark phoned to read me the entire series of letters and cards that my mom sent to Forrest. They started out on such a light note - all about their dates, and how much my mom enjoyed his trips to Crosby, where he worked in construction. Then came the letter that began something like, "You know how you mentioned that I was getting fat the last time you were here..."

Obviously, the news did not go over well. And who could blame him, I think in my more rational moments. To learn that he's going to be a father would be hard on any single young man (he was 24), especially back then. I could tell that my mom was in love with Sonny, but he was distancing himself more and more over time. One of her last letters before I was born says, "You promised to pay for half of my fee here, but you haven't sent it." So it had come down to mere money.

Mom sent Sonny news of my birth, about how difficult it was. But there was no offer of marriage, perhaps even no acknowledgement. If you're a regular reader, you know that my mom, bravely, did not give me up for adoption, but brought me home to live with her, my grandma and aunt and uncles. Surprisingly, mom wrote Forrest a couple of letters over the next two years, and included a picture of herself with "little Julie".

Forrest kept that picture and letters all his life. Does that mean he cared about mom and me? Did he follow my scholastic career, which was easy enough to do. Did he ever intend to track me down, or did he close that chapter on his wayward young life forever?

Forrest never married or had any other children. Mark told me he died in Denver, Colorado, in 1982, alone and probably "from the drink," as the Irish say.

I have written before what it felt like to be "a little bastard" in the 1950s. I have not written about the anger I felt that my real father never came to rescue me from my stepfather. Yes, that's how I pictured it - being rescued by a knight in shining armor whom I could call Daddy.

After I saw my grandmother's photos I was angry all over again - angry that I was denied knowing her too. Did she even know she had another granddaughter? Apparently Forrest - called "Uncle Sonny" by his nieces and nephews - was great with kids. Why couldn't he have been great with me?

FORREST AND HIS MOTHER, HAZEL, 1950s

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It would be terrific to end this post on a happier note, telling you that Mark and I are still in touch and that I am still learning a lot about my family. But that is not to be. I haven't heard from Mark since August 2005. He abruptly - childishly, I feel - cut off all contact after I declined to attend the Rockney family reunion. I could not afford to fly to Missouri, and I would not accept his offer to pay for the plane tickets. More to the point, I also felt that I didn't want to be thrust into the spotlight in the midst of a bunch of people who were still very much strangers to me.

I have come to accept the fact that Mark has dropped me as quickly as he found me. What I cannot accept, cannot tolerate, is the fact that Mark is still in possession of my mom's cards and letters - letters that Mark promised he would send me. I feel that these letters - sent by MY mother to MY father, belong to ME. I have emailed and written Mark; I have threatened him with legal action, to no avail.

Going back over Mark's emails today, I realize I learned quite a bit about my mom and dad's relationship. But really, I haven't learned much about Forrest's family. Yes, I can now say I'm 1/4 Irish, and I can add another 1/4 Norwegian from my Rockney grandfather, so I'm finally able to complete my genealogical "pie".

The Rockneys farmed near Jamestown, ND. My dad fought in the Pacific in WWI and my grandfather Clarence fought in France in WWI. I'm related to famous football coach Knute Rockne and may be related to Buffalo Bill Cody. Who knows, Mark might have made that connection by now. He might also have tracked the Codys all the way back to Ireland by now.

It suppose I'll have to be content with what I do know. Fortunately, I have quite a few pictures. It's more than some people have.