Compostings (267)
Echoes from the Loafers' Club Meeting
I’m getting older.
What was your first clue?
It gets late earlier.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: An ancestor of mine fell in love with the Lady Gail. He rode for a week without rest to the castle in which she lived, only to be met by her father, King Gene. My ancestor stated his intentions. "No problem," said the king, "but to win the hand of Lady Gail, you must defeat my five greatest swordsmen and then slay the fire-breathing dragon that lives in the sewer while you’re armed only with a toothpick, the flat kind of toothpick, not one of the round and sharp ones. Well, you can all guess what my ancestor did. He asked for directions to the castle where the Lady Trixie lived.
Stop it
I’m like most drivers. I suffer from amberbivalence. I’m uncertain whether to stop for a yellow light or put the pedal to the metal. But I stop for rural stop signs religiously. Such a stop sign isn’t stoptional. I stopped at one recently that I didn’t want to stop for. There was a dead skunk on the road right where my car would be stopping.
I stopped. It was the right and safe thing to do.
It was a smelly stop. The windows were up, but the odor found me. As I drove away, I said, "So long, Flower. Sorry for your loss."
In the movie, "Bambi," a skunk is sleeping in flowers and Bambi mistakes it for one of the flowers and names it "Flower."
I believe we should stop and smell the flowers. I even stopped to smell Flower.
The news from Hartland Harold
Gnarly was a meek fellow. His wife ruled the roost. Some called him henpecked. His brother felt sorry for him and gave him a book on how to be more assertive. Gnarly read it while on a business trip. Inspired, he came home and told his wife that he was the head of the house and his word was the law. He told her to fix his favorite meal and to make it snappy. He wanted a gourmet dessert afterwards. For the first time, he spoke to her in an assertive tone. He ordered her to pour him his favorite adult beverage and that from now on, he was in charge and she’d do everything that he said. He told her that as soon as the meal was finished, she should prepare a bath for him. He was going to relax as long as he wanted to in that bathtub.
"When I’m done, guess who will dress me and comb my hair?" he asked.
His wife replied, "The funeral director."
Those thrilling days of yesteryear
We climbed the rope in gym class. It ran to a beam near the gymnasium’s ceiling. There was a red mat positioned under it. As we found our way to the end of our rope, we were comforted by the knowledge that should we fall, a cushiony, nearly one-inch thick mat protected us. It was red so that the bloodstains wouldn’t show. Plus it gave the teacher something to roll a body up in. It was more dangerous than lawn darts, which were nothing more than harpoons for kids. We each got a turn trying to climb that rope. We did both rope climbing and dart tossing without wearing bicycle helmets. This was during a time when we got skinned up a lot. We were told that skin was free. It would grow back. Maybe other body parts were supposed to, too.
Nature’s notes
It may be only 19th among the states in apple production according to USDA figures, but Minnesota is the birthplace of the Honeycrisp apple. The University of Minnesota developed it by crossing a Macoun and a Honeygold. The first seedling was planted in 1962 and the apple was released for commercial propagation in 1991. It’s one of 2,500 apple varieties in the U.S. and one of over 7,500 worldwide.
Doris Day sang, "I love you a bushel and a peck. A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck."
A bushel of apples weighs 42 to 48 pounds and is equal to 4 pecks.
We must love the Honeycrisp apple a bushel and a peck. It became the state fruit in 2006.
Soup & Pie goes together like Green Bay and Packers
Cross of Glory Lutheran Church in handsome Hartland will be having their annual Soup & Pie Supper on November 4 from 4:30 to 7 p.m. Ask for the four and 20 blackbirds baked in a pie. Feel free to lick both bowl and plate.
Meeting adjourned
Med vennlig hilsen ("Best regards" in Norwegian) and be kind.
Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting
I'm taking a first aid class. You should, too.
Not me.
What would you do if you came across a badly injured car accident victim?
I’d probably throw up.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: The traffic was moving fast. Too fast. I keep telling myself that life moves right along without any need of being pushed. How is furniture always able to find my shins in the dark? There are few things more disappointing than sweet corn that looks good, but tastes bad.
The cafe chronicles
"You can’t come in here while wearing a tie," said one of the gentlemen seated at the Table of Infinite Knowledge. They get testy on Clean Fork Friday.
The waitress poured a cup for those with cups while saying, "Here’s whatever kind of coffee you want it to be."
One loafer said, "I had to eat out. My toaster is broken. That was good food. If I were a tipper, I’d leave a tip."
I believed him.
A slice of pie and marriage
The waiter brought a slice of pie and two forks. My wife used the second fork to fend off any of my attempts to steal a bit of the dessert.
I remember when two good friends were getting married. Not to each other, but they were getting hitched on the same day at the same time. I was invited to both weddings. I talked to both friends. John asked me to go to Chuck's wedding. Chuck encouraged me to attend John's nuptials. My wife went to one. I went to the other.
I’m not proud of this, but I fell asleep in church once. I was footsore and wayworn. I’d been working far from home and had traveled most of the night. That’s not a good excuse, but it was the only one I had. I was dreaming of singing birds along dirt roads when I felt an elbow in my ribs. It was threatening enough that I began my road back from my dream place. A second elbow hit me with a painful thump.
"I’m up!" I said and gave the elbower a dirty look. The woman wasn’t my wife. My bride sat smiling on the other side of me.
Those thrilling days of yesteryear
My mother was driving me to play practice at the grade school in Hartland. My father had told her that the car’s taillights didn’t work. My mother said that she’d use hand signals. These were not the kind of signals that some folks make when they are cut off in traffic.
When we neared the stop sign at the entrance to the nearest paved road, my mother fretted aloud that she wasn’t sure which hand signal indicated stop or the left-hand turn that she needed to make.
To signal a right turn, rest your left elbow on the windowsill and raise your forearm so it forms a 90-degree angle with your arm. Keep your left hand open. To make a left-turn signal, stick your left arm straight out with your hand extended past the side mirror. To signal a stop or a slowing down, stick your left arm out the window, pointing down, with your palm facing behind you.
My mother did all three of these just to be on the safe side. If there had been a car behind us, the driver knew that Mom was going to do something.
I added another signal. I raised my hand. I needed to go to the bathroom.
The nature walk
My wife and I were walking down a trail in Weslaco, Texas. It was a lovely day. I was happy to see a blue-black snake stretching across the entire width of the trail.
"Look at the beautiful Texas indigo!" I said, thrilled to see the big snake.
My wife was unable to form words. Probably not because she was dumbstruck with delight.
The indigo is a large nonvenomous snake, reaching up to 8 feet long. A male’s territory could be 3,000 acres. An indigo devours nearly anything it can overpower, including birds, frogs, lizards, small mammals, salamanders, snakes, toads and turtles.
Meeting adjourned
Be kind by encouraging others to encourage others.
Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting
I walked into a room three times and I still couldn’t remember why I was there.
That’s too bad, but life is set up to be forgotten as you go. Think of your forgetfulness as an exercise program.
I know and I’ll try, but the worst part was that the room was the bathroom.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: We are all traveling at the same speed, 60 minutes per hour. Why are "dip" and "bump" signs seldom in the right place? When a man says, "Fine," he means it.
Way up north
My wife and I were volunteering at a crowded, but worthwhile function in Haines, Alaska. A woman had just told me that she was a triplet. I was wondering if triplets refer to themselves in the third person when a fellow standing near me started behaving in a way that could have been best described as peculiar. He was a little guy, but he was loud, very talkative and waved his hands in the air wildly. People from some parts of the world are that way, I’d guessed. This event drew people from all over the globe. I didn’t expect them all to speak English any more than I expected to be able to speak their languages. I had no idea what language he was speaking or what he was saying, but he seemed enthusiastic. That’s a fine thing that should be encouraged. I tried. I smiled and nodded stupidly. It was then that someone standing next to me said, "You're standing on his foot."
Uncle Rob and the will-o'-the-wisp
I was headed to a store. When it comes to shopping, my favorite entrance is the exit. I’m on my best behavior in stores that include bacon.
A van covered in bumper stickers passed me. I suffered from drive-by sticker shock. I’ve always been more of a duct-tape guy than a bumper-sticker guy. Bumper stickers are temporary tattoos for automobiles. The van had a video player of some kind in it. It glowed eerily, like a will-o'-the-wisp, as the van sped down the road. A will-o'-the-wisp is an atmospheric ghost light seen at night, especially in marshy areas. It resembles a flickering lamp and is said to retreat if approached in an attempt to draw travelers from safe paths. A neighbor told me that the only way to make the haunting spirit go away was by throwing a handful of dirt from a graveyard at it. I’d seen will-o’-the-wisps often during my boyhood years and not once did I have a handful of graveyard dirt with me. There were many causes given for the presence of will-o'-the-wisps. I didn’t know which one to believe.
For some reason, this caused me to think of the Austin TV station, KMMT, most commonly referred to as Channel 6, and Buff Setterquist, also known as Uncle Rob. Buff, from Cloquet, joined the station in 1963 and started a program called "The Uncle Rob Show" and/or "Uncle Rob’s Funny Company." It appealed to anyone who could laugh. The station’s call letters were changed to KAUS in 1968. Flashlights acting as spotlights showcased a clubhouse and bleachers. It was a peanut gallery that was popular in those days, such as on Bart’s Clubhouse on Channel 3, KGLO in Mason City, from 1958 to 1976. Uncle Rob’s favorite drink was Blurp Cola and he was on a quest to find the perfect peanut butter sandwich. There was a safe named Sidney. Kids sent in hundreds of combinations, but Sidney the Safe never opened. Rob’s pet, Terrible Thomas the Termite, received letters containing toothpicks for food. Rob, who later became a radio disc jockey of note named Rob Sherwood, played the piano and sang, "Ah, sweet mystery of life at last I’ve found you."
With the van’s video, the sweet mystery of the modern day will-o’-the-wisp had been found.
A tip from your Old Uncle Al
Don’t forget to replace the summer air in your car tires with fall air. Otherwise your tires might crepitate.
Nature notes
"Why is bird poop white?" It’s actually brown. The white part is uric acid, the equivalent to a mammal's urine.
Meeting adjourned
"If you have only one smile in you, give it to the people you love." - Maya Angelou. Be kind.
Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting
I’ve been eating an all-vegetarian diet.
How is that working for you?
I don't know. Vegetarians are really hard to catch.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: During this time of year when many roads are passage-restrictive, I realize that the true fall color is that of an orange barrel. Average things are made in a satisfactory. Experience matters and batters.
The cafe chronicles
He ordered a leg of walleye and talked about his old washing machine. An intrusive R turned it into a warshing machine. He was Hartland Harold, purveyor of local news. He told of a church asking for an organ donor and the music store recovering stolen lute. He claimed it was all just as true as there was rice in the salt shaker.
Finding a fridge
I didn't want to go. She wanted me to go.
We compromised and I went.
I'm a good shopper because I'm content to wait by the cart.
I sang the theme song from "Super Chicken" in the car in the hopes it would cause a trip cancellation. "Super Chicken" was a cartoon produced by the creators of "Rocky and Bullwinkle" that ran with "George of the Jungle" in the '60s and '70s. Henry Cabot Henhaus III, the world’s richest chicken, drank a Super Sauce that transformed him into Super Chicken, with no discernable superpowers. The song went like this, "When you find yourself in danger. When you're threatened by a stranger. When it looks like you will take a lickin'. There is someone waiting, who will hurry up and rescue you. Just call for Super Chicken!"
We’ve had our refrigerator for years. We're due for a new one. The old one is ailing. I love it when an appliance store worker puts a refrigerator on a cart to move to a delivery vehicle. It gives me the opportunity to say, "Don't spoil your dinner."
A man, a photo and a slip
This story is told with the permission of the protagonist. A friend, Paul Lynne of Hartland, was off on a pilgrimage. He was far from home visiting relatives. A nice thing to do. His wife, Linda, needed to stay home, but she aided his travel by booking a bed-and-breakfast for him. Paul checked in. Linda called to make sure all was OK and asked Paul to send her a photo of the room. Paul, a dutiful husband as are all the husbands I know, took a picture of it with his cellphone and texted it to his wife. It looked good, except for the woman’s slip hanging on the wall. There had been a slip up and someone hadn’t removed the previous renter’s slip from the wall. It’s a good thing that Linda is understanding.
Other Loafers' Clubs
Connie Weakley of Plain City, Ohio wrote, "Der Dutchman is an Amish restaurant in Plain City. Years ago, farmers met for coffee after they had done their early morning chores, so their table was rightly named “The Farmers' Table.” After they retired, they continued with the morning ritual, but the name of their gathering is now 'The Stretching the Truth Table.' At the Der Dutchman in Sarasota, they call it the 'Meet Loaf Table.' My paternal grandmother and my dad were very superstitious. If you came in one door, you had to go out the same door or you would have bad luck. You couldn't have 13 around a table for fear of bad luck. If you saw a black cat cross in front of you when you were walking or driving, you had to spit in your hat and put it back on your head or you would have bad luck. You had to eat pork and sauerkraut on New Year's Day or you would have bad luck all year. If you took down your Christmas decorations before New Year's Day, you would have bad luck. I still adhere to these. Who wants bad luck?"
Nature notes
Marge Mutschler of Bricelyn asked why there were no birds at her feeders. There are a number of possible reasons. Natural foods are plentiful. There could be predators in the yard--cats and hawks. Changes occur--migration and nomadic tendencies. I know your feeders are clean and the food fresh, so expect the birds to return.
Meeting adjourned
The flowers of kindness never fade.
Echoes From the Loafers’ Club Meeting
Do you want to go to a Twins game?
When?
I don't know.
Who are they playing?
No idea.
Who else is going?
I'm not sure.
I think I'll pass.
Oh, great! And after I’d made all the arrangements.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: Road construction crews work in mysterious ways. If you think that air is free, you haven't bought a bag of salty snacks lately.
The cafe chronicles
"Where the swine come to dine," he said with a smile. Like many people, his attitude matched the weather. He called others "pal" and "buddy." He was on a forgotten-name basis with many people. He said that the waitress had given him some herbal tea yesterday that was supposed to bring stress relief. He burned his tongue on it. No more tea for him. The waitress came for his order.
"I'd like a venti, skinny soy, half-sweet, one–pump, caramel, macchiato, half–caff, extra whip, with a peppermint stick," he said.
"Is a regular coffee OK?" the waitress replied.
It was.
NFO, YES or NO
I grew up in a wonderful rural neighborhood. Great people. They were different as we all are. Lots of great makers of pies. I'd eat a piece of pie and feel like upper crust. I'm not sure how the upper crust feels, but I imagine they feel just as I do when I eat a piece of good pie. One of the neighbors, Joe Holland, was a member of the NFO — the National Farmers Organization. He proudly displayed a sign at the end of his driveway proclaiming his membership. The NFO was a populist agrarian movement begun in 1955 in Iowa. It advocated collective bargaining via holding actions. They did this by such measures as withholding milk from the market in order to improve the prices paid to producers. Two of my former neighbors and classmates, Keith Wakefield of Burnsville and Tom Miller of Green Bay, took the sign from Joe Holland's drive and put it in place at the end of the driveway of Karl Pedersen's farm. Karl would have been the last guy who would have been a member of the NFO. Joe and Karl had different ideas about such things. I can reveal the shenanigans of Keith and Tom now only because the statue of limitations has run out. Besides, everyone thought it was funny. Everyone except Karl and Joe.
Temperature cricket
I listened to the pastor’s sermon. It was on the importance and the power of prayer. It was a hot summer day and the church windows were cracked open slightly. A fall field cricket chirped loudly and constantly just outside the end of the pew where I sat. The cricket was an obvious believer in the importance and the power of chirping. I don't think it was broadcasting the temperature. The chirping thermometer that I’m familiar with is the snowy tree cricket that sounds like sleigh bells. If you count the number of chirps in 13 seconds and add 40, you’ll have a fair approximation of the temperature. I suppose all crickets could be thermometers, but the snowy tree crickets are more accurate.
This week’s travelogue
Virgelle, Montana has a population of three, down from a high of 25, which once supported a post office, lumberyard, grain elevator and bank. Big sky. Small Virgelle. It’s located in the midst of the Upper Missouri River Breaks National Monument. I stayed in a century-old, 8-by-10 homestead cabin featuring period furniture and lacking electricity. I traveled on the Virgelle Ferry, a flat-bottomed, 50-foot long ferry pulled by cables and winches. It took 1 1/2 minutes to get a vehicle across the Missouri River. I visited Virgelle Mercantile. Everything was for sale. The owner promised not to sell my chair while I sat in it. I enjoyed waffles made from locally grown wheat with chokecherry syrup made from berries handpicked along the Missouri River. I was there for work and canoeing. It was a quiet place. The owner threatened to move somewhere quieter.
Meeting adjourned
I attended the funeral of Betty Miller of Kasson. Betty believed that every day was a blessing. She made it clear that after her death, there would be no visitation on the day before her funeral. She didn't want people to spend extra money on gas. Her final and thoughtfully prepared words were, "Thanks to everyone in my life for your overwhelming kindness."
Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting
Why must you be so cantankerous?
I’m not. I’m a people person.
No, you’re not.
Yes, I am. I’m just not an idiot person.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: There is an unending stockpile of people who want to be president of this fine country. Life is a walk in the park, sometimes one where no one picks up after their dogs. It's hard to lose weight when you own silverware.
The cafe chronicles
The waitress spilled my tea. That was good. I was too tired to do it myself. The cook had buttered the toast on both sides so that my lower lip could enjoy it, too.
I scream. You scream. We all scream. It wasn't for ice cream. It was because Old Man McGinty, the youngest Old Man McGinty ever, had left his hearing aids at home. He determined that it was important that he let us all know that he didn't like hotdish because it looked like someone had already eaten it. I asked him, "To what do you attribute your longevity?"
He smiled, it may have been gas, and said, "My birthdate."
An alligator would have spit
I’d returned from telling tales in Louisiana. A friend asked if I’d seen any alligators. I’d seen a congregation of them. I was told that is the most commonly used collective noun. The friend asked what was the difference between a crocodile and an alligator? The difference is when you see them. You'll see a crocodile in a while and an alligator you will see later.
I was happy to see a lucky 10-year-old relative carry the rosin bag to the pitcher’s mound at the start of a Minnesota Twins baseball game. As one who loves baseball, he was a happy camper, but I’m sure several in the family breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t spit before leaving the mound. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that the Twins have a spitting coach.
Poutine on the grits
I saw a mobile food stand headed down the highway. OOf-da Tacos of Erskine, Minnesota. The name made me smile and say, "Uffda!"
I’ve not had an OOf-da Taco, but I’ve eaten poutine in Canada and in Minnesota. It’s french fries and cheese curds covered in brown gravy. Gravy covers a multitude of sins. I’ve eaten grits in the south and here. Grits have become available almost everywhere. Hominy grits are coarsely ground, hulled corn that is boiled and served as a breakfast dish. The first time I ordered breakfast that came with grits was a long time ago. I didn’t know what it was. I asked and the waitress told me that it was grits. I said that I hadn’t ordered grits. She replied, "Honey, if you didn’t want grits, you shouldn’t have ordered breakfast."
I should have asked her how to eat grits. I had the part about using silverware to shovel it into my mouth figured out, but that was it. I had to wait until the guy at the table next to me got his grits for breakfast so I could see what to do. He put butter and salt on them.
A good Midwesterner might assume you put milk and sugar on them like oatmeal, creating a sweet porridge. That’s good, but maybe not the best way to eat grits. Grits have a corny taste, somewhat like corn chips. They are meant to be served as a savory hot dish. You can top them with bacon or cheese. I know they’d be good covered in brown gravy or maple syrup. Everything is.
How are grits? They are as good as grits.
Nature notes
Duane Swenson of Waseca asked if all grasshoppers could fly. There are more than 10,000 species of grasshoppers. Most of them can fly, but not all of them. They develop wings as adults.
"How can I get the boxelder bugs off the siding of my house?" If you asked them nicely to scram and they didn't, mix an ounce of dish soap to a quart of water or 1/2 cup to a gallon of water and spray it on them. That should send them to the happy house wall in the sky.
Meeting adjourned
"The best way to cheer yourself is to try to cheer someone else up.” — Mark Twain
Echoes from the Loafers' Club Meeting
I'm too tired to go anywhere today.
That's a shame.
It’s OK. I have nowhere to go.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: I’m man enough to admit when others are wrong. If a hotel has bad curtains, it's a bad hotel. All shopping malls should be drive-throughs.
The cafe chronicles
I sat in a restaurant that offered vegetarian meals featuring meatless cookies. There was a fly that insisted on visiting my table regularly.
I thought about the schoolboys back in the day that attempted to catch a fly in hand and then pretend to eat it. There is a word, gobemouche [GO-buh-moosh], which refers to someone who swallows flies. It can also apply to someone whose mouth is always open.
Above the door of the eatery was a ziplock bag filled with water and containing a few pennies. It was supposed to act as a homemade fly repellent. The idea is that the water-filled bag created an optical illusion that scared flies away, that light refracted in the water confused the flies or the flies are frightened by their oversized reflections in the bag. None of these hold water. A TV show called "MythBusters" tested the bags and found them of no use in discouraging flies.
The fly landed on my knife. I growled at it and it flew off the handle.
Marsha, Marcia, Marzha
I taught some writing classes. The kids were amazing — nice, polite and smart. In this day and age when the name Portia has given way to Prius, I’m troubled that their names are becoming more difficult for me to get a handle on. The creative names of today’s children require a lot of spelling aloud.
It’s a dog’s life
I received a press release recently about dogs. When www.PoochPerks.com quizzed 1,000 American dog owners who were in relationships, 94 percent said it was important that their dogs liked their significant others, while 71 percent said that if their significant others disliked the dogs, it would cause problems in the relationships. Forty-three percent of respondents would end relationships if their partners couldn’t get along with the dogs. Nearly 80 percent of the dog owners said that their dogs were the first to greet them when they got home. One in five of those polled trusted their dogs more than their partners. Twenty-three percent said that their dogs loved them more than their significant others did, while nearly 20 percent thought that their partners loved their dogs more than them. On average, the respondents said that they would be more devastated if their dogs ran away than if their main squeezes broke up with them.
I’ve often said that every married man ought to have a dog. A harried husband arrives home on days when the entire world seems to be angry with him and his dog meets him at the door. It’s the family’s official greeter. The dog’s enthusiastic greeting says, "Why do you have to go away so often?" and "Promise me that you'll never change. You're perfect just the way you are," without requiring any words.
It gives a man the encouragement needed to become the kind of man that his dog thinks he is.
This week’s travelogue
I spoke at some things in Louisiana. While there, I visited the Tabasco Factory on Avery Island, a lovely spot surrounded by a southern bayou. Tabasco is a product that people use to spice up foods. Try it on your breakfast cereal. It will spice up your morning even if McIlhenny, the Tabasco maker, might not recommend doing it. Avery Island is also home to a 250-acre Jungle Gardens and Bird City, where visitors can see endless egrets, alligators and other local fauna and flora. The Tabasco tour chronicles the business, the people and the region while offering a culinary history lesson with tastings. I left with a lagniappe. My Christmas shopping was done.
Nature notes
After breeding is completed in midsummer, the male mallard undergoes a complete molt, resulting in a dull-colored and basic plumage, termed an eclipse plumage. Mallard drakes in eclipse plumage look like females, but their bills are a light olive green. A hen's bill is orange marked with black. It’s the hen that quacks.
Meeting adjourned
"No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted."– Aesop
Echoes from the Loafers' Club Meeting
What’s your brother doing these days?
He's racing cars.
That doesn't surprise me. He always was a fast runner.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: Any direction can feel like progress. Autocorrect has become my worst enema. You can do something about the weather. You can talk about it.
The cafe chronicles
"There is a beetle in my hotdish!" complained the diner.
"Shush," said the waitress. "Everyone will want one."
When I was a small boy and the only toy that came with any meal was a fork, I didn't want to eat food that was touching other food on my plate. Then I fell in love with hotdishes. The various food items in a hotdish not only touch one another, they hug.
If I'm sitting and not eating from a plate of hotdish sitting in front of me, it's because I have no silverware and I'm waiting until the food cools enough so that I could eat it by hand.
The man told me that I was lucky to be in a great restaurant. "The worst thing you’ll find here is the food," he said with a smile.
He told me that he had been married for 50 years, or as he put it, he’d been involved in an 18,262-night stand.
My wife and I haven’t been married that long, but we hope to make it. I married up. "What are you thinking about, honey?" is one of my wife's favorite questions.
"Nothing," I answered, trying not to squirm in my chair.
"That's what you said you were thinking about when I asked this morning," she said.
"I know," I replied. "I’m still not through."
It’s all relative
I spoke at the Hoover Auditorium in Lakeside, Ohio. A woman asked for my autograph after my talk. I signed happily, still amazed that anyone would want my scrawled signature. I inquired about her family. She had one son. He was a doctor who specialized in knee replacements. I asked her if she had availed herself of his expertise. She said, "Only to mow my lawn."
My wife is a much better mower of lawns than I am. She pays greater attention to the job. She was mowing the lawn while I was brewing a cup of tea. My wife's cellphone, perched on the kitchen table, dinged whenever a text arrived. I thought of it as another angel getting his wings.
My wife’s great grandfather, Rezin Nelson, was born in Pennsylvania in 1837. His parents moved to Wisconsin and in 1862, he enlisted in Company A, 32nd Wisconsin Infantry, fought in the Civil War and was discharged after one year. In 1863, he moved to Minnesota, settling in Wilton Township in Waseca County. In 1865, he re-enlisted, this time in the First Minnesota Heavy Artillery where he served until the war’s end. On March 18, 1866, he married Rhoda Sutlief, a daughter of Asa Sutlief, the first white settler in Waseca County.
Maybe Rezin was one of those who got his wings.
The Hartland Geographic Society
I was working in a state that shares the most borders with other states. Any idea what state that was? Tennessee and Missouri each share borders with eight other states. Tennessee shares with Kentucky, Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas and Missouri. Missouri shares borders with Iowa, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Kansas and Nebraska.
I spoke in the Show-Me State. Congressman Willard Duncan Vandiver is credited with coining the phrase when he declared in 1899, "I come from a state that raises corn and cotton and cockleburs and Democrats, and frothy eloquence neither convinces nor satisfies me. I am from Missouri. You have got to show me."
Nature notes
An odonate is a predatory insect characterized by a long, slender, often brightly colored body, two pairs of transparent veined wings, large compound eyes and an aquatic larval stage. Dragonflies and damselflies. The easiest way to tell whether an odonate is a dragonfly or damselfly is to see how it holds its wings at rest. If they are flat and parallel to the ground, it’s a dragonfly. If the wings are held together over the back, it’s a damselfly. Dragonflies fly more than damselflies. Damselflies perch more than dragonflies.
Meeting adjourned
"If you must choose between being right or being kind, choose kind." — Bob Perks
Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting
I wish you wouldn't complain about everything.
You do the same thing.
Then you should know how annoying it is.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: The world always steps aside for people who know where they are going and for giant fuel tanker trucks.
The cafe chronicles
The waitress brought the twins — salt and pepper shakers. She was an uptalker. She gave her declarative sentences an upward intonation that made them sound like questions. He ordered a small orange juice. The waitress brought him a large orange juice. He complained, not wanting to pay for a large orange juice. She drank half his orange juice. Everyone was happy.
I miss the local café. It closed. It was like the old TV show, "Cheers." Everybody knew your name. When one of the central characters walked into that bar, everyone said "Norm!" It was the same for me at the old cafe. When I walked in, someone always said, "You again?" That was nice.
The sign said, "Road work ahead, behind and on both sides"
I put a "Road work ahead" hood ornament on my car. That saved me having to look for the ubiquitous signs. Cratered roads are automotive suspension test tracks.
"I'll curse that bridge when I come to it," I grumbled. I added that it was roads like this one that made me want to talk to myself. Then I realized I’d been talking to myself.
I fantasized that walking might have been a faster way to travel. I remembered a day long ago when I pulled alongside a hitchhiker with my old Rambler that I’d bought from Jeddeloh’s. "Hop in," I said.
He looked at my chariot and replied, "No, thanks. I'm in a hurry. I’d better walk."
I drove through a series of orange barrels signifying road construction on my way to a nursing home. I walked to the right room. "I feel guilty about not coming to see you sooner," I said. I hoped he appreciated my guilt feelings. I guess the most important thing was that I was there. I've learned that the perfect birthday, thank you or sympathy card is the one I send. We talked about sweet corn. We both loved the stuff. He told me it was best if you had a boiling pot of water waiting at the end of the corn row as you picked it.
I told him that whenever I went to town this time of the year, I made sure to lock my car to keep people from depositing excess zucchini into it.
He said that his new home was OK. He’d just attended services at a new church. He was worried that the pews might prove too hard for him, but he slept right through the whole sermon, just as he had in his old church.
And the teacher said
"Your paper is exactly the same as Tommy’s, how do you explain that?"
"We used the same pencil."
"I don't think so."
"I was paying homage to another’s work."
That wasn't me. I didn’t copy from anybody's paper. I specialized in creative answers. I once wrote a poem in Pig Latin, because that made it easier to rhyme. I read it aloud to myself. My teacher snuck up on me.
"Don't let me catch you doing that again," she warned.
"I'll try not to," I replied, "but it’d help if you stopped being so quiet when you walk."
I must have had great teachers because I still take classes. I took one on straw bale gardening, a variant of container gardening. The idea is to grow vegetables in a bale still secured by twine by planting once the straw began to decompose. This offers a warm, moist and nutrient-rich environment for seedlings. The added height is good for anyone with difficulty bending over or doing the heavy work of turning the soil. Weeding is eliminated.
Kolacky Days
The sign said, "Parking for Czechs only." I had a check in my wallet, so I parked. My wife and I attended Kolacky Days in Montgomery, an annual celebration of that city’s Czech heritage. A kolacky (some spell it kolache) is a sweet pillow of dough with fillings of prune, poppy seed, apricot, etc. We bought some at Franke’s Bakery, which makes up to 2,000 dozen kolacky for the weekend event.
Meeting adjourned
An ordinary day becomes extraordinary when served with kindness.
Echoes from the Loafers' Club Meeting
I have a lot of animal heads mounted on the walls of my home.
I didn't know you were a hunter.
I'm not. I'm a bad driver.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: I drove by a convenience store offering gas for $2.43 a gallon. I needed gas. I decided to stop at the next gas station. I drove a few miles and found one that charged $2.47 per gallon. How far do you drive back to save 4 cents a gallon? I had to ask myself, "Do you feel like driving back? Well, do you, punk?"
I didn’t drive back. I stayed in a nice hotel. The only fly in the ointment was a car alarm that went off for most of the night. It was the victim of the world’s slowest car thief.
The cafe chronicles
"I knew you were from out of town," said the waitress.
"How did you know that?"
"You’re wearing shoes. What can I get you?"
"Could I have what that fellow is having?"
"Of course, but not until he’s through with it."
Still rocking after all these years
I moved about the store as if I were a displaced person in a strange land. I paused to look at a rocking chair. I have fond memories of rocking chairs involving my mother and other elders in my family. A rocking chair was a comforting place. If I misbehaved, they rocked me until I behaved. If that didn’t work, they took me outside and rocked me with actual rocks. Not really.
Once upon a time, there were three TV channels. A fellow could rock himself to sleep three different ways. Today, no one knows how many channels there are. The old TV was like a family hearth. Family members gathered around it and shared a TV show. Now we have little screens. I'm guilty of that. I have a smartphone and a tablet. It's as if we chopped up the old TV into a number of little screens.
Once upon a time, we used a telephone to call someone and ask, "How are you?" Now we use a cellphone to call and ask, "Where are you?"
A family member called me and asked, "Where are you?"
I told her that I was working at a county fair. Just then, a friend told me that his vehicle wouldn’t start. The battery needed assistance. The batteries in his hearing aids had also died. When I talked to him, he nodded when he should have been shaking his head and shook his head when he should have been nodding, so I knew he wasn’t hearing me. I asked around the fair, but it’s hard to find jumper cables in August. I finally found someone to save the night.
I got home late and sat in our rocking chair to celebrate.
Cat hockey and baseball
The cat found a discarded twist tie on the floor. It batted it around in a spirited game of cat hockey. To the cat, life is full of wonder. The cat didn’t need ice to play hockey. Our seasons are spring, summer, fall, winter and air conditioning. The feline played air conditioning hockey.
I moved from air conditioning to nature’s furnace as I watched a grandson play in the State American Legion Baseball Tournament. He played exceptionally well. I watched with head, heart and hands. I applauded robustly, so much so that I could feel the burn.
By the time his team had finished third, I was nearly finished, but I was filled with wonder and ready to play cat hockey.
This week's travelogue
I spoke in Peshtigo, Wisconsin. Peshtigo is famous for not being as famous as it should be because of Chicago. On the evening of October 8, 1871, the worst recorded forest fire in North American history raged through northeastern Wisconsin and Upper Michigan, claiming 1,200 to 2,400 lives. It covered about 2,400 square miles (1.5 million acres). Chicago endured a terrible fire that same night. The death toll in Chicago was about 250.
The Hormel Nature Center is a magical place
My thanks to the wonderful crowd that filled Ruby Rupner Auditorium for my presentation at the J.C. Hormel Nature Center. I delighted in the company.
Nature notes
The most commonly seen hawk perched upon roadside utility poles is the red-tailed hawk. They are watching for fast food, primarily small mammals. This raptor uses a wait-and-see hunting style that works best from an elevated perch.
Meeting adjourned
You don’t need a reason to be kind.
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Echoes from the Loafers' Club Meeting
A police officer pulled me over for speeding last night. I told him that I’d never gotten a ticket in my life.
What did he say?
He said, "Congratulations, you have now."
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: As I watched a driver drinking from a soft drink cup large enough to be a bucket, I realized that the car playing the worst music will always have the loudest speakers. If older people are the only ones using phonebooks, why do they make the print so small?
The cafe chronicles
His breath smelled of Copenhagen and coffee. He claimed that his wild rice soup had gone bananas. "She comes and stays in every month with an R in it. She’s either a mother-in-law or an oyster," he growled.
He wasn’t the family optimist. It was up to his wife to stitch silver linings into dark clouds.
Popcorn and cellphones
My granddaughter Everly told me that she didn't like seafood. She likes land food, like popcorn.
My wife and I went to the movies. I held her hand the entire time we were in the theater. That kept her from eating my popcorn.
My wife and I attended a friend’s wedding reception. It was held two days before the wedding. There was good food, fine company and swell fireworks. The pyrotechnics were so impressive that many people attempted to preserve the moment by taking photos with their cellphones.
Gunnar Berg of Albert Lea told me that he has a different cellphone. He added that he gets his wife’s hand-me-down phones. His previous phone had fallen into lakes and other containers of liquids. It still worked unless Gunnar dialed a phone number with a five in it.
I saw a bumper sticker in Owatonna reading, "CFICARE."
I attended Kernel Knudson's funeral. I’d known him all my life. Kernel was a remarkable man. After his father died and his mother’s health made it impossible for her to care for her eight children, Kernel took over. He kept the family together and made sure his seven siblings graduated from high school. His sister, Janet McDermott, told me that Kernel was much more than a brother. He was her father, grandfather and uncle. Quite an accomplishment at an age when just being a brother is a sufficient challenge. When I was a boy, Kernel was the township clerk who paid me for trapping pocket gophers. Later, I dealt with Kernel when he was on our county’s draft board. But mostly I knew him as a friend. Kernel could never have had a vehicle carrying a CFICARE license plate. Kernel cared.
Pondering a press pass
I was driving down the potholes when a highway suddenly appeared. I used it to go here and there. I ran into a friend at events in Hopkins, Eden Prairie and Maple Grove. They were sites of girls’ basketball tournaments. The parking lots held cars sporting bumper stickers reading, "You can't scare me. I have daughters." My friend teased me that I got into all of the games free with a press pass. I’ve written forever and four days, but I’ve never had a press pass. My own fault, I suppose. I’ve never requested one.
He asked me where I’d want to go if I had a press pass. World Series? Been there. Super Bowl? No way. NBA finals. No. March Madness. Nope. Wimbledon? Nay. Hartland’s Annual Bocce Ball and Bratwurst Juggling Championship. Of course, but they don’t charge. I’d use my press pass for sporting events involving a grandchild.
There were no quiet corners in those places in Hopkins, Eden Prairie or Maple Grove, but I found the quietest available to do a radio show. Right before I went on the air, a tournament official gave me a free pass. Sort of. I’d already paid.
This week’s travelogue
Reiman Gardens is on the Iowa State University campus in Ames. Situated on 17 acres, the year-round attraction features both indoor and outdoor gardens. As I enjoyed the many species of live butterflies flitting by me in the 2,500-square-foot Butterfly Wing, I noticed a monarch butterfly outside. I felt like the middle of a butterfly sandwich.
Nature notes
"Is there a way to tell the sexes of owls?" Males and females look alike. If you see two owls together, the female is larger than the male.
Meeting adjourned
Benefit all humankind by being the kind of person who is kind.
Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting
"How is life treating you?"
"It isn't. It’s making me pay for everything. How about you?"
"If things were any better, I'd be twins."
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: Someone asked me what powers the wind turbines when there is no wind. It's road rage and texting while driving. If you want to get more exercise, misplace the remote control for your TV.
The cafe chronicles
He was wearing a T-shirt reading, "In dog beers, I’ve had only one." My T-shirt should read, "I read T-shirts."
He stared long at the menu, delaying the inedible. He believed in moving slowly in case he happened to be going in the wrong direction. He’d written a protest song about turning 70 years old. He told everyone that he was 15 years older than he really was so that everyone would tell him how young he looked.
Those thrilling days of yesteryear
I’d sit on the steps and scan the sky, looking for a falling star to wish upon. If the hour was late and bedtime beckoned, I’d wish upon an airplane’s blinking light.
I’d wish that I could travel.
Ibn Battuta said, "Traveling – it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller."
Much of my boyhood traveling was by school bus or farm tractor. We had a cow manure pile that had to be somewhere and the back of the barn seemed a good spot. Cow manure is good fertilizer. One of my jobs was to apply it to farm fields by use of a manure spreader. That was a farm implement, not a politician. It wasn’t a bad job, but it was nice to have it finished. It was a good feeling when it was a dung deal.
Tom Miller of Green Bay, a former classmate, reminded me of the time when the road we lived on was far too muddy to be traversed by school buses. We needed to find our way to a hard-surfaced road where we’d be picked up. Our fathers, not wanting to be burdened with our presence for more days than absolutely necessary, wisely organized and found ways to put us on pavement.
One day, my father took us to the bus with his Allis-Chalmers tractor. We sat on the fenders and the trip was uneventful.
After school, the bus driver, happy to be rid of us, dropped us where he’d found us in the morning. Another neighbor picked us up. He was driving a tractor pulling a manure spreader. He thought that the spreader would be an appropriate conveyance for us.
He might have been right.
Men are right occasionally. Husbands much less often than bachelors.
"You are right," my wife said in reference to a trivial matter.
"I am?" I was stunned and unsure as to how to accept the news. Being right was foreign territory to me.
I thought it might be a trick, but she appeared sincere.
I didn’t even have to employ a manure spreader.
This week’s travelogue
I spoke near Dixon, Illinois. I visited Ronald Reagan's boyhood home. He moved there at the age of nine and described Dixon as "heaven" and considered it his hometown. Reagan didn’t think Ronald sounded tough enough, so he asked people to call him "Dutch," after his father’s nickname for him, "Dutchman." The former president said the following things.
"There is no limit to what a man can do or where he can go, if he doesn’t mind who gets the credit."
"We’re going to close the unproductive tax loopholes that have allowed some of the truly wealthy to avoid paying their fair share. In theory, some of those loopholes were understandable, but in practice they sometimes made it possible for millionaires to pay nothing, while a bus driver was paying 10 percent of his salary, and that’s crazy. It’s time we stopped it."
Nature notes
"There is a male cardinal visiting my feeders. He has a bald head. What’s wrong with him?" Late summer and fall is when people see bald cardinals and blue jays. Staggered feather replacement is the normal pattern for a cardinal’s molt. For an unknown reason, some birds drop all their head feathers at once. The bird’s baldness is caused by an abnormal molt and the head feathers will be replaced.
Meeting adjourned
"Let no man pull you low enough to hate him."--Martin Luther King, Jr. Be kind.
Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting
My cousin Earl lost his job as a lifeguard because he couldn’t swim.
Why didn't he learn how to swim?
Because Earl and water don't mix.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: I see dead insects while I’m driving. My windshield is covered with kamikaze insects that came to a glassy end. They are particularly numerous this year. I clean the windshield regularly, but there are always replacement splatters at the ready. What is the last thing that goes through an insect’s mind when it hits a windshield? The rest of its body. A sunroof makes it easy to fit a car into tight parking spots. The driver could always crawl out through it. Car dealers like balloons. Is the sight of balloons supposed to create a desire to buy a new car?
The cafe chronicles
The man parked his car outside the eatery’s front door. His vehicle was ancient, but honorable.
The waitress poured him a cup of coffee before he sat down without a word passing between them.
"Be strong," he said.
"Who are you talking to?" I asked.
"My coffee. I’ll need it to wash down a hamburger. The hamburgers here are always out of focus. I’ll order a lettuce salad with French dressing on 1/3 of the salad, olives on 1/8, sunflower seeds on 3/16, Italian dressing on 1/4, shredded cheese on 12 percent and ranch dressing on 44 percent. They will bring me a hamburger instead. Order a hamburger. It'll be the best hamburger you've ever endured."
Another loafer ordered three meatballs, as he wanted to learn how to juggle. The waitress told him that it was good to see him and when he left, it doubled her pleasure.
The waitress, the mother of six small children, cut up my meat for me.
Pickles and parades
I watched a feline walk down the railroad tracks. It was a cat on a hot train route.
I'd been listening to music from Iron Butterfly to Madame Butterfly on the car radio while on my way to a local celebration, when an Arlo Guthrie song came on.
With apologies to Arlo, I sang, "I don’t want to ride my motorcycle. I just want a deep-fried pickle."
I’d never eaten a deep-fried pickle before that day. It was good, but not quite as good as a dill pickle that isn’t fried.
The parade was well run. Tootsie Rolls were tossed from floats, but the secret to a good parade is to make sure the horses are at the end.
Jim Finseth of Albert Lea asked why us local yokels have hunched shoulders and sloping foreheads. He said it’s because when asked a question in school, we shrugged our shoulders. When we learned the answer, we smacked ourselves in the forehead.
Those thrilling days of yesteryear
I made rope from baling twine by using an ancient hand-operated, rope-making machine. I used the twine transformed into a rope to tie an old tire to a tree branch. I didn’t do that to keep the tire from rolling away. I did it to make a tire swing. I’d no time to admire my handiwork. I’d sit on that tire, swaying back and forth, before turning the tire and the attached rope until it could be twisted no more. Then I’d let go and see how long I could spin before feeling uncomfortable. A sit and spin in the shade. Cool and cooling.
Starbuck’s Fast Food
I found myself in Nevada, Iowa. That had never happened to me before. I was hungry. That happens to me regularly. I craved a loose-meat sandwich, a sloppy joe without the sloppy (sauce). We all like different things. I like loose-meat sandwiches. So I went to Starbuck’s Fast Food along the Lincoln Highway. It’s not the ubiquitous Starbucks famed for coffee drinks with many adjectives. A yellow sign directed me to the door. I had a blueberry malt and a loose-meat sandwich. I couldn’t put it down until I’d downed it.
Fortunately, I don’t live that far from the Tendermaid in Austin, another fine establishment offering this tasty sandwich.
Nature notes
Pigeons and doves produce pigeon milk. They regurgitate a milky substance, heavy in protein and fat, to feed nestlings.
Meeting adjourned
"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year." — Ralph Waldo Emerson
Echoes from the Loafers' Club Meeting
I have good news and I have bad news.
Give me the good news first.
OK, I can't remember the bad news.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: When a man hears, "Bring a dish to pass," he thinks, "Potato chips." I know when I need to get new eyeglasses. If I can't read the baseball box scores in the newspapers, it's time. Bike shorts scare more kids than horror movies do.
Aiming for Ames
I saw a car in Ames, Iowa, that was nearly covered with bumper stickers. That's why I don't have a bumper sticker on my car. Apparently, once you start putting on bumper stickers, you don't know where or when to stop. I saw a minivan in Ames that had stick figure decals of a family unit on its back window. There was a decal of the mother, two kids, a dog and a cat. It was evident that the representation of the father had been scraped off, leaving a ghostly image.
There was a story there.
As I drove on a busy highway where the goal of each car was to pass the car ahead of it, it seemed as if fast-moving drivers were anxious to be on the bleeding edge of travel. It’s difficult not to succumb to peer pressure and be pulled into that silly and speedy competition. I was about to join that ridiculous race when I saw a hearse. It was driving the minimum speed. There was no need to hurry. There was literally no time to lose. The sprint of life was over for someone. I think most drivers slowed their pace. I know I did.
Those thrilling days of yesteryear
I helped a neighbor bale hay. The pay wasn't much and he didn't offer any health insurance benefits, but there were no walls and the ceiling was magnificent. The lack of monetary rewards was of little concern. I didn’t need much. I spent more time on a hayrack than in a store. I wasn’t much of a shopper then and I'm not much of a shopper now. I know why I’m that way. I was frightened by a back-to-school sale when I was a youngster.
POW Camp Museum in Algona, Iowa
As World War II wore on, labor shortages became common. German prisoners of war offered a solution. Camp Algona was responsible for 34 branch camps in Iowa, Minnesota, North Dakota and South Dakota. More than 10,000 prisoners spent some time there from April 1944 to February 1946. The 287-acre camp included a 150-bed hospital and dispensary staffed by American and German medical personnel. It had 178 wood-frame buildings and a 65-acre garden. The prisoners were paid a wage of 10 cents per hour while working at farms and factories, not to exceed 80 cents per day. Prisoners spent their free time engaging in athletics, the arts and scholarly endeavors. Today, it’s the location of a National Guard armory and the Algona airport. The museum honors 2600 Kossuth County veterans of World War II. A photo of a family member who died in that war has found a home there.
I learned on my visit to this fine museum that the German prisoners were treated well. That was good to know and it was what I’d expected. If only WWII had been the war to end all wars.
Nature notes
Nuthatches cache food to consume later. There aren’t many safe places to store food out there, as other creatures are watching and searching constantly. A nuthatch practices scatter hoarding, hiding food in many locations, in the hopes that some would remain hidden. Other animals do the same thing. Squirrels come quickly to mind. I’ve watched crows and jays pilfering acorns hidden by squirrels. I’ve noted that nuthatches like to cache hulled sunflower seeds. I reckon the seeds make for fast and easy storing in the crevices of tree bark. A study found that the most active time for caching is early in the day with most food being cached within 45 feet of the feeder.
Meeting adjourned
"Do all the good you can. By all the means you can. In all the ways you can. In all the places you can. At all the times you can. To all the people you can. As long as ever you can." — John Wesley