tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74166176182995204792024-02-21T03:55:04.578-06:00STOREHOUSES OF SNOWA spiritual journey of life in South Dakota.Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.comBlogger63125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-39846879818924467962011-02-03T08:53:00.000-06:002011-02-03T08:53:06.501-06:00Turning the key in the lock for the last time<div class="MsoNormal">It’s that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s that day I never thought would come and now is here too soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life is so strange that way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have despaired this day would ever come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have prayed for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have cried for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have packed my things a million times in my head and imagined how it would be when I turn the key in the apartment door for the last time.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJUcYbd0SEITsAEPRfJzRpc-2zxTSccg17GVwrY7V4yWSBQQm-rLT5jx4PTIUi-_cDPH1GrnwR5RqQClCLBqtgjVe4Jut5xBOrr7kNlq2asb5gcbqOOsUDrwpmikocMDNO1mEpoRyS4A/s1600/closing_door_and_locking_it.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJUcYbd0SEITsAEPRfJzRpc-2zxTSccg17GVwrY7V4yWSBQQm-rLT5jx4PTIUi-_cDPH1GrnwR5RqQClCLBqtgjVe4Jut5xBOrr7kNlq2asb5gcbqOOsUDrwpmikocMDNO1mEpoRyS4A/s320/closing_door_and_locking_it.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In a couple hours, when I turn the key, it really won’t be the last time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There will be one more trip with family crew in tow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will empty the apartment to the walls and carpet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our South Dakota acquired furniture will jostle in the back of a U-Haul to its new home in Kingston Springs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will be such a stressful trip that the emotions of leaving will be hidden under the rapid movements of people hurrying perhaps to beat a storm, get back to work, and life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maria, my youngest grandchild will keep us distracted as she chatters and seeks attention.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve thought of this day so many times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have written so many wonderful blogs as I’ve laid in bed in the early morning or tossed and turned avoiding sleep at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The inspiration will come again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will put those thoughts on paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still have things to say about the Storehouse of Snow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I think I’ve been silent on this blog for the last few days because I’m in pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not the same pain that I struggled with for months and years during this sojourn to the crucible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This pain is a good pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the pain of evaluation and reflection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the pain of parting with friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the pain of realizing that when you face the truth, the truth is never what it seems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve said before, it never really was about South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Yesterday we had lunch with some of the people who work with my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His support staff and a new hire that is a friend of mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We chatted over food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He mostly with his support staff, me with my friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an odd but pleasant lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When time came to say good-bye, there were a few hugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His main support person cried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband patted her on the shoulder as they disengaged from a farewell hug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said what I’ve heard many times when I’ve cried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be strong, be strong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those words never seemed comforting to me, but I wondered they brought her any comfort for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">My next stop was Wal-Mart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, Brookings Wal-Mart, home of much of angst and ire over rudeness and unfriendliness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remembered not to smile and say excuse me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will have to work on my manners when I get home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my perspective is different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t get angry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there I went to McDonald’s for a last un-coffee with a friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither of us drank coffee and I had nothing.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I walked in the door, a woman, also named Joyce who cleared tables and used to give us free cookies was waiting for a ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She greeted me and said: “Are you the one who is leaving?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you leaving Brookings?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why are you leaving? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t you like us?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was stunned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess my friend had told her while she was waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe Joyce asked about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hadn’t been to McDonalds for a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps she missed us.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I composed myself to answer her, I thought there was a time if I had been truthful I would have said “NO, I hate this place and can’t wait to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leaving couldn’t come soon enough.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’ve changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something has changed inside of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what crucibles do, they mark you, the cause you deep despair, and then they change you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To Joyce, I replied, we have family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have kids and family in Tennessee, we are just going home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiled and said “we’ll miss you.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I never thought I’d feel this way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I certainly never thought I’d admit it, but I will miss South Dakota.<o:p></o:p></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-53583284166824851102011-01-27T10:33:00.000-06:002011-01-27T10:33:58.440-06:00Offended?<div class="MsoNormal">I wrote on my other blog, Sounds of Hope about <a href="http://ageofhopeministries.blogspot.com/2010/04/googly-eyes.html">googly </a>eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through google and other means, I have a pretty good idea of where people come from who read my blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m always curious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lately, <a href="http://ageofhopeministries.blogspot.com/">Sounds of Hope</a> seems to have a global interest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Google analytics tells me that every day, at least a few people put my name in a search engine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think that scares me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes me wonder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I have put myself out here in the cyber world to tell my stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">This particular blog has been about my journey to the crucible of South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday, from what I can piece together from comments, google analytics and other tracking, someone from Madison SD found this blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The comment they left indicated that they didn’t understand why I wrote the blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I evidently hit a nerve.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-UiWHb5pyZdIL6JhQ7mxz-U_zsORS63iNjbsw28VaY0RX1w2ZUCZcd7cJIAdgrxvJrpjPHQ8jpwQRXYyRvL6khVgInCubMT26LO5R8fvDdHs-hrulEkf2awtwI-cw4ctCT9-fYwHyQo4/s1600/clinton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-UiWHb5pyZdIL6JhQ7mxz-U_zsORS63iNjbsw28VaY0RX1w2ZUCZcd7cJIAdgrxvJrpjPHQ8jpwQRXYyRvL6khVgInCubMT26LO5R8fvDdHs-hrulEkf2awtwI-cw4ctCT9-fYwHyQo4/s320/clinton.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Madison SD is a rather pleasant college town about 50 miles from here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first summer we were here we spent a few hours there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the year of the presidential primaries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ran into Bill Clinton who was campaigning on a misty rainy day in that fair city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped at the local McDonald’s and saw that people use it as a place to play cards as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As far as SD towns are concerned, Madison seems nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYT4DI3KqgWSWsU5uduzgOpbzo4ipmGhWT4LmzkhKdQNYG26wVLWIl_HkDQUiqMtbsxhkTrn7Yw4E9Gk8Wbq09qdOd9H6Rpnb9i3RAAV-npS_qd9zL663DTCnVo_on6Q8EEhuoVlUXQdY/s1600/cards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYT4DI3KqgWSWsU5uduzgOpbzo4ipmGhWT4LmzkhKdQNYG26wVLWIl_HkDQUiqMtbsxhkTrn7Yw4E9Gk8Wbq09qdOd9H6Rpnb9i3RAAV-npS_qd9zL663DTCnVo_on6Q8EEhuoVlUXQdY/s320/cards.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">It was interesting that someone from Madison would just happen to stumble on my blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If people from India, China, Russia, the Philippines and even some places I’ve never heard of happen to stumble on Sounds of Hope, I guess it’s not unusual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt bad that they were offended by my <a href="http://viewsdakota.blogspot.com/2010/05/ramblings.html">ramblings</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found it interesting in a blog where I was coming to terms with South Dakota in what I thought was a more positive frame of mind would be offensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, I know that my blogs have caused some rankle and rage by some of the good folk of South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But with perhaps the exception of my ranting about <a href="http://viewsdakota.blogspot.com/2011/01/core-values.html">Governor Daugaard</a>, I attempted to let readers know that this was about me – not the state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the <a href="http://viewsdakota.blogspot.com/2010/02/beginning.html">first blog</a> I wrote on Storehouses seemed to make that pretty clear – at least I thought so. It was a person from Madison who first asked me what God had for me in the Storehouses of Snow. How ironic?!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I responded to this fine person from Madison that I wished I had met them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They said they smiled and said “God Bless You.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For those of you who know I have a penchant for sarcasm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not sarcasm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I appreciate so much the “<a href="http://viewsdakota.blogspot.com/2011/01/sunbeams.html">Sunbeams</a>” I’ve met here in South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sunbeams who didn’t like what I said sometimes but looked beyond that and understood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And those precious but wonderful few who held my hand, assuring me it would be okay, and helped lead me out of my own misery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe this person from Madison could have been a friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder how many other good people I missed meeting while I was here. I could have used more friends but God gave me enough. The ones He gave me will forever be in my heart. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s almost over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This sojourn to what for me has been a crucible is over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mentioned Kathleen Norris when I started this blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s not popular with a lot of South Dakotans either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think she probably is just as misunderstood as I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that’s okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m in good company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">To the fine folk of South Dakota, especially my new accidental reader(s) in Madison, I wish you well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This blog will continue until the last piece of furniture is out of the state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until then, keep reading as I process these last few days in the Storehouse of Snow.<o:p></o:p></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-18626586571030730552011-01-25T10:21:00.000-06:002011-01-25T10:21:09.448-06:00Thank You South Dakota<div class="MsoNormal">Someone asked me why I thought God had brought us to South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a very good question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One I’ve been struggling with for three years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did have an answer for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was to get to know my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, I know we’ve been married for 33 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’d think I’d know him pretty well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell him that I have a PhD in him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I study him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know his habits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he’s in the bathroom in the morning if I listen for ten seconds, I know exactly how much longer it will be before he’s done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know his favorite foods. I know how he likes his eggs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know his likes and dislikes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know his sizes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There isn’t much I didn’t know about my husband, even before we came to the land of snow and ice.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So why did I have to come here to know my husband that I didn’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the call came for us to come to South Dakota we were celebrating our anniversary at a beach in Florida.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d been married for 30 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t often get my husband to go to Florida nor does he love the beach as I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had the potential to be such a perfect day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were there for five days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usually our anniversary trips are overnight, if that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2MNV9oB4X5qV4Pp0h22tS8Utc-VAO9niFuq-sSLe391dghv4gH2wq5gPStpJ5-tuIwEM5WaikYqpQFIgwEucQPxIT0Rnt_MfhyphenhyphenJd9cIdSVPftZtngwN0KvQYfiM_K5htOq9K00WLhjYQ/s1600/birds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2MNV9oB4X5qV4Pp0h22tS8Utc-VAO9niFuq-sSLe391dghv4gH2wq5gPStpJ5-tuIwEM5WaikYqpQFIgwEucQPxIT0Rnt_MfhyphenhyphenJd9cIdSVPftZtngwN0KvQYfiM_K5htOq9K00WLhjYQ/s400/birds.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birds at Coco Beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixbuc84oeC3xace-MLr73CNRDxe09BzEjdmto1_ao5AIxMXe-Y6Ut4SmRikZ2nJjV9s9bWF0tPGyrozF3le5UpMD4oH4QewaZJyTO14NDgCRPH2LdAjuIrueOWpR4HuUiJ3I4emHw-G9s/s1600/sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixbuc84oeC3xace-MLr73CNRDxe09BzEjdmto1_ao5AIxMXe-Y6Ut4SmRikZ2nJjV9s9bWF0tPGyrozF3le5UpMD4oH4QewaZJyTO14NDgCRPH2LdAjuIrueOWpR4HuUiJ3I4emHw-G9s/s400/sunset.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture I took as we left the beach that evening</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">It was an omen of things to come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said to him, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do you realize this is the longest we’ve ever been alone, just the two of us?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He married a ready-made family of 4, my three children and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a little over a year of the “I do” our first child came, then another, and another, and another and another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Organized and disorganized chaos was the manner of our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kids, careers, life – always busy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow we managed to stay together in spite of some very serious challenges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes our love continued through all manner of disappointments, discouragement, and despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We survived illness, death, and poverty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trust me, I’m not being dramatic either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went through hell and back quite a few times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">For the last three years, it’s been him and I, alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those five days that seems so unique are now our way of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At times, we came close to not making it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pressures of job and snow almost shattered our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sunk into a deep depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He fought battles at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We learned that without each other, we couldn’t stand the pressure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We learned how to hang on to each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the process, I fell more deeply in love with my husband than I ever dreamed possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I’ve seen his character.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve learned he is a man who can be faithful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve learned to put the issues of the past, in the past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve learned to forgive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve learned that he loves me.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m watching him sadly begin to disconnect from his dream job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m watching him bring home personal remnants from his office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see his sad face as people ignore him and marginalize him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see how hurt he is by the lack of appreciation from those he cared so deeply for and helped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve seen a man who truly cared for the people of South Dakota and Extension hang his head as in cannibalistic fashion, they jockey for position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hurt for him.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He’s strong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’ve seen his vulnerable side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve leaned on him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am going to be strong, so he can lean on me through this transition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the least I can do.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yes, ours is a great love story, and it's not over. We go back to Tennessee more in love with each other than when we came to South Dakota. For that, I suppose I will have to say Thank You to South Dakota and it's Storehouse of Snow.</div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-15311395016477215762011-01-23T12:17:00.001-06:002011-01-23T12:47:12.376-06:00In My Heart There Rings A Melody<div class="MsoNormal">If you have read much of my blogging, you know I have a memory and love for old hymns and gospel songs. Sometimes they just seem to pop into my head like a jukebox of the past. Some of the things that spin in my mind even Bill Gaither’s Homecoming haven’t done. Some of them I hear with a Norwegian accent, others I hear with the magnificent sounds of the Salem Gospel Tabernacle choir. Yet other times I think of Sister Crandall leading the Calvary Tabernacle choir or Sister Parker on the piano. The other day a song popped into my mind, I searched for it on <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oDiuUbal9f0">youtube</a> and found it played on the organ. That reminded me of a former Pastor, Lon Calloway who could make you love organ music. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The last two days, two golden oldies have been floating around in my head. Until I looked up the lyrics I had the two merged in my head. I hear these songs with a Norwegian accent and picture Doris on the piano, Fran on the organ, Elise on the vibraharp, Bob on the saw, Erik on the trumpet, Ruth on the trombone, and Oscar on the banjo. Later I would sit with these saints playing an odd little green instrument called a melodica. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTWxE_pvuAMxH0KyZSZ1jhid1byJMcwk2-LIRPtlIY8nqOpHYLSXoIhI_HeDMBTmSdC_Tlrdq1c7yPh7uKE00PDEjD8FiFfAHXPxRrbTITojvBd2pLk6asT-oK5WOKgEMYu7Vv6jD4c_g/s1600/salem.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTWxE_pvuAMxH0KyZSZ1jhid1byJMcwk2-LIRPtlIY8nqOpHYLSXoIhI_HeDMBTmSdC_Tlrdq1c7yPh7uKE00PDEjD8FiFfAHXPxRrbTITojvBd2pLk6asT-oK5WOKgEMYu7Vv6jD4c_g/s400/salem.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sounds of my childhood forever etched in my ears memory. With a thin red hymnal with three gold crosses in my hand, I would sing along. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">These songs floating in my head are happy songs. For so long, happy songs have been absent from my mental jukebox. As I have pondered the words of these songs, I realize they are my testimony. A testimony of how God has worked in my life in the Storehouse of Snow. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’d share a youtube video with you, but it seems they are lacking of these two precious old songs. The first one, “Whosoever Meaneth Me” was written in 1910:<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">I am happy today, and the sun shines bright,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">The clouds have been rolled away;<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">For the Savior said, whosoever will <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">May come with Him to stay<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">All my hopes have been raised, O His Name be praised<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">His glory has filled my soul;<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">I’ve been lifted up, and from sin set free,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 1.0in;">His blood has made me whole.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 1.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Simple words from another time still have meaning. I am happy today. I can see the sunshine. My hope has been raised. I’ve struggled with demons of depression, sadness, and fear for so long that I thought I’d never see the sunshine bright again. I thought the clouds would never disappear. Thank God, they have. Lest anyone think it is just because I am leaving South Dakota, it isn’t the leaving that has given me hope. It is the faithfulness of God to make me “whole” or ‘holy.’<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sin isn’t always about what you do. Sin is often the effects of others who have sinned against us. This time in the Storehouse has caused me to face and name the sins that have been done against me and experiencing the grace to make me holy and whole. This is where my hope comes from. And caused me to merge with those verses above, the chorus to It is Truly Wonderful What the Lord Has Done:<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">It is truly wonderful what the Lord has done<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">It is truly wonderful, it is truly wonderful<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">It is truly wonderful what the Lord has done<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 1.0in;">Glory to His name<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 1.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My mental jukebox is playing another song now as I reflect further on my sojourn in the Storehouse – it reminds me that in my heart there is a melody. It reminds me that Jesus still sweeps across the broken strings and stirs slumbering chords. Amen. <o:p></o:p></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-29667576366300493252011-01-19T10:50:00.000-06:002011-01-19T10:50:46.735-06:00Sunbeams<div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4JhOdvg9L4YpG4DQ6DeqAbwSJieFkuYUc98cdDWaLZxrUGcWkoKlAFs3d3mfRlqMM0zAeXRQIrE-n49VnOLi5zkPylOC4FHLL09wQ95bm_cLQXxpWg6TkE5L1aHClMlCrbl3eHurstro/s1600/sun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4JhOdvg9L4YpG4DQ6DeqAbwSJieFkuYUc98cdDWaLZxrUGcWkoKlAFs3d3mfRlqMM0zAeXRQIrE-n49VnOLi5zkPylOC4FHLL09wQ95bm_cLQXxpWg6TkE5L1aHClMlCrbl3eHurstro/s200/sun.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I’ve commented a lot about the people here in the Northern Plains. I so wish that my experience had been better here. I also wish occasionally I could have been quieter about my struggle, my observations, and my opinions. But I haven’t been. Truth is rarely pure. What is truth for me is based on my own experiences. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The first temperature I saw on my computer this morning was minus 13. It’s minus 13 here in Brookings. It has climbed to minus 11. The good news is there isn’t as much wind today. The better news is that the sun is out. Sunshine and light just make everything better. It’s so easy to let the negative overpower the positive. It is so easy to concentrate on these frigid temperatures, rather than the sun. I’ve been guilty of that with my assessments of the people of the Northern Plains. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Overall I’ve found the temperature of the people here pretty cold. There are times when to say they’re responses to me have left me as shivering as if I went outside today. I’ve always admitted I had a bad attitude when I first came here, but I did attempt to be friendly. My attitude was based on personal issues with the decision to come here, not the people. The attitudes about the people came from experience. Even my oft harangues about trips to the local Wal-Mart came after my excuse me and smiles were met with sour expressions and glares. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve neglected to focus on the sun. There are people I have met here who are some of the nicest I’ve met anywhere. There are friends here who have so warmed my heart that I will cry when the day comes for me to leave this frigid wilderness. Parting will be different and sadder when I leave here. Everywhere else I’ve left, I always knew I’d go back to visit, or live. Not so here. When I leave I probably will never return. Shockingly, that makes me incredibly sad. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The sunbeams in this wilderness experience are relatively few. But their warmth and love is exceedingly wonderful. Perhaps you need the frigid to enjoy the warm just as you need sorrow and pain to full experience joy. I would attempt to name you, my sunbeams of warmth, but you know who you are. I hope you know how much your warmth means to me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It sounds corny, but perhaps we should join in a chorus of:<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cornyness and over sentimentality aside, there are some of you who really have been sunshine for me. I may not hold you in my arms, but you will forever be in my heart.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-30018914412589565102011-01-10T09:41:00.004-06:002011-01-10T13:25:36.920-06:00Core Values<div class="MsoNormal">Just when I thought I was beginning to get South Dakota, just a little bit, I am reminded how much I don’t get it here. It’s been snowing for a couple for a couple of days. It’s also snowing in Nashville. Now to people up here, I realize it sounds ridiculous that with just the forecast of snow, they closed many of the schools last night. I understand that Atlanta is under a state of emergency this morning because they had 6 inches of snow. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Its fine and dandy to say that the south has no plows and therefore needs more time to get the snow cleaned up. That’s true. They don’t have that many plows. However, at least in TN they were out with the brine on the road and had the salt trucks ready to go. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Remember that heavy dump of snow in the Northeast? They got more in the last few days in Connecticut. I used to love those major snows in Connecticut. I even had a job where I made decisions about closings when I lived there. Everything would stop for a few hours, maybe a day when the snow fell in Connecticut. The big difference there was they had enough plows and actually used them expeditiously. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1H25PJBUyOyBlKLZatump1PvDcJkhr4Qs83jsioY8l2j1PyvR3PGQgGztjlWSM3aLNA3gOT9ZcraKvQAHYW1rqTpdbmremAKWmuoUg2tGY1lPtyuSdScQQX7T6Jr58rBs82lOw4L_Fmw/s1600/i90.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1H25PJBUyOyBlKLZatump1PvDcJkhr4Qs83jsioY8l2j1PyvR3PGQgGztjlWSM3aLNA3gOT9ZcraKvQAHYW1rqTpdbmremAKWmuoUg2tGY1lPtyuSdScQQX7T6Jr58rBs82lOw4L_Fmw/s320/i90.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I-90 the major east - west interstate through South Dakota</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5v-eL0RRrMp_JeaMkU675vtIakuPHsERrYjXzZwWW9ElgbYzq-bhKJRk0CfO7XZPuTveMvYa2upjDsnugtmk9PM5vx7oAfwO4ARv16vNNdxmG4ep8AMrknOpRcUZPzwyMwlmVmvK-GI/s1600/I29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5v-eL0RRrMp_JeaMkU675vtIakuPHsERrYjXzZwWW9ElgbYzq-bhKJRk0CfO7XZPuTveMvYa2upjDsnugtmk9PM5vx7oAfwO4ARv16vNNdxmG4ep8AMrknOpRcUZPzwyMwlmVmvK-GI/s320/I29.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I-29 the major north-south interstate through South Dakota</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I’m no stranger to snow. Someone was shocked yesterday that I used pretty and snow in the same sentence. I’ve used that language before, they just never heard it. Why? Because I just don’t get it here. I don’t get why if they aren’t going to buy and use plows to actually clean the roads when it snows, why they don’t at least close things so people can stay safe. They do neither.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNl4EzV1TrSfEyYQvzuK0mlpOXDrUiGWWuNy61vmPc7gw9iaanLfgbCxh8kLsjjVEB0uWXMUK5XxRO0UnK4JOkuA_otOqoLdjhO5wuj2lsU78nuZtxAQNUBLbcJcepp_c0AZJbJDHOGM/s1600/duagaard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNl4EzV1TrSfEyYQvzuK0mlpOXDrUiGWWuNy61vmPc7gw9iaanLfgbCxh8kLsjjVEB0uWXMUK5XxRO0UnK4JOkuA_otOqoLdjhO5wuj2lsU78nuZtxAQNUBLbcJcepp_c0AZJbJDHOGM/s1600/duagaard.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In an attempt to understand South Dakota better I decided to listen to governor of South Dakota Dennis Duagaard’s inauguration speech. It wasn’t a bad speech. You can hear it <a href="http://www.capjournal.com/articles/2011/01/10/news/doc4d2a484a4f03f485110300.txt">here</a>. He kept it fairly short and to the point. He talked about South Dakotans core values. They were self-reliance, persistence, and frugality. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Governor Duagaard did help me understand. He talked about how the settlers who came to South Dakota were self-reliant. He also said the natives before them were also self-reliant. I think he was wrong. I’m not native nor do I think I know that much about native culture. However, I think community is important in native culture. He went on to talk about not being dependent. I guess that’s part of the reason why the state feels no responsibility to clear the roads in a timely fashion or close the schools. It is up to you to be safe. It is up to you to be able to afford a 4-wheel drive. If you can’t afford one, and you die on the road, that’s your problem-self-reliance. After all it was your fault if you do. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Duagaard talked about helping someone who has fallen but if they don’t get up right away and work themselves, you should leave they lie there. What about the old, what about children, what about people with emotional or physical disabilities? Using the word MUST he proclaimed that South Dakota must be self-reliant. Thank you very much Governor Duagaard, I prefer to rely on God. Relying on myself usually gets me in trouble. Quoting Calvin Coolidge he talked about persistence. Then he moved on to frugality. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Everyone chuckled as he told a story of someone who publically embarrassed some people from California saying welcome to South Dakota a state that pays its bills. I am sure they felt a warm friendly welcome here.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No I don’t get it. I guess I never will. The Bible talks about caring for one another without reservation. In all the encounters Jesus had with people in need, He never told one of them to work harder or get a job to solve their problems. He just gave them what they needed. Jesus fed hungry people without a means test. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We are called as the people of God to be in community, to be one body. We are called to sacrifice for each other just as Christ sacrificed for us. Scripture principles call for interconnectedness and mutual dependence. It calls for generosity, not frugality and withholding from those in need. <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+12&version=NIV">1 Corinthians 12</a> cautions us not to tell the weaker part of the body that we have no need for it. In fact, we give it special treatment.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is still snowing. People will end up in ditches, some will die, others will slip and fall on the ice breaking bones. I guess that they just weren't self-reliant enough. I guess it’s better to save a penny then save a life. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I know this blog will not endear me any further to some people. I am sorry about that. Really I am. I would prefer you liked me. But it’s just the way I see it. My core values and South Dakota’s core values as declared by the Governor just don’t match. My core values are caring about people without reservation and generosity. What about you? What are your core values? Snowy days are a good time to think about such things.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">DISCLAIMER: Before I get in too much trouble with my blog, these views are MY OWN and do not reflect that of any other member of my family.</span></b></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-91872094159453136132011-01-06T18:35:00.000-06:002011-01-06T18:35:50.750-06:00I'm Limping<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">South Dakota and I have been </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">wrestling as Jacob wrestled at Peniel. </span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCv8OkhyVPBUL1tla4PdTrrhHDU8E_RvXTD2Ek1Kfs9Upi62vTFRF79lBVsR216Jd2L95L77k-x3aq-WV52o_vNWJUclAFP2wJcjABQmvXNlrClm4ybmB2YRYS8aywW1QhVXhOiG39o9k/s1600/peniel_op_9_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCv8OkhyVPBUL1tla4PdTrrhHDU8E_RvXTD2Ek1Kfs9Upi62vTFRF79lBVsR216Jd2L95L77k-x3aq-WV52o_vNWJUclAFP2wJcjABQmvXNlrClm4ybmB2YRYS8aywW1QhVXhOiG39o9k/s320/peniel_op_9_400.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0MdysrXjjGTzQw6XUGUJyyjZPV8ic0X9wjmM8X9U4-XbPE3Nwztf3z3WdFPhQP6jotk5S6aj-ai64e-aC2hLDP4YvEHRcjv2Xdkoa_bo15h0Ya9fBL4Pl4yuxvE95YT_i-xyDzmWbjI/s1600/Goats+near+Penuel%252C+tb+n031701_t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0MdysrXjjGTzQw6XUGUJyyjZPV8ic0X9wjmM8X9U4-XbPE3Nwztf3z3WdFPhQP6jotk5S6aj-ai64e-aC2hLDP4YvEHRcjv2Xdkoa_bo15h0Ya9fBL4Pl4yuxvE95YT_i-xyDzmWbjI/s1600/Goats+near+Penuel%252C+tb+n031701_t.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">it does look a bit like parts of South Dakota, doesn't it?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Do you know the story? You probably have heard parts of it or think you know it. It is but a few verses in Genesis 32, it reads:<o:p></o:p></span></div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="versenum">24</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="versetext">Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span id="ge32-25"></span><span class="versenum">25</span><span class="versetext">When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span id="ge32-26"></span><span class="versenum">26</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="versetext">Then he said, "Let me go, for the day is breaking." But Jacob said, "I will not let you go, unless you bless me."</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span id="ge32-27"></span><span class="versenum">27</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="versetext">So he said to him, "What is your name?" And he said, "Jacob."</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span id="ge32-28"></span><span class="versenum">28</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="versetext">Then the man</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="" name="a"></a><span class="versetext">said, "You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="" name="b"></a><span class="versetext">for you have striven with God and with humans,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="" name="c"></a><span class="versetext">and have prevailed."</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span id="ge32-29"></span><span class="versenum">29</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="versetext">Then Jacob asked him, "Please tell me your name." But he said, "Why is it that you ask my name?" And there he blessed him.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span id="ge32-30"></span><span class="versenum">30</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="versetext">So Jacob called the place Peniel,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="" name="d"></a><span class="versetext">saying, "For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved."</span></span></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="versetext"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Maybe it sounds dramatic to you that I compare my time here in South Dakota to this story in Genesis. Without knowing the depths of despair I have felt, the aloneness, the fear – you would be right. Jacob was afraid of his brother. He was facing an uncertain future. He was removed (in his case by his own wishes) from his family and all things familiar.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="versetext"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="versetext"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I think Jacob faced himself that night. I think he dealt with all sorts of memories and life issues. Whatever or whoever it was that appeared to Jacob, this experience changed Jacob forever. Wrestling with self is wrestling with God. It’s asking those tough questions. It’s asking the why and facing painful truth that causes you to look at yourself in truth.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="versetext"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="versetext"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I think South Dakota has caused me to limp. I know South Dakota has blessed me. Yes, I really did say that. In the midst of all my complaining and whining that was really the expression of pain, I’ve been changed and therefore, I have been blessed. I’ve called South Dakota a crucible. It has been. Yet, it has changed me in ways I am sure I still don’t realize.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="versetext"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="versetext"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I tried so hard not to connect and yet I cried in desperation for connection. The harsh winds of disappointment seemed unrelenting over the last three years. The coldness of aloneness left me paralyzed. I’ve honestly thought I would die as the cold and winds continued. Springs were far too short. Summer brought confusion rather than relief. Fall came quickly and winter seemed never ending.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="versetext"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="versetext"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I’m better though. I’ve wrestled with South Dakota and we both won. South Dakota changed me. Changed me forever and for better. I’ve wrestled with myself. I’ve seen once again that God knows best, and will bring me through the harshness of life. My life has been preserved. I’m ready for the future in a way I haven’t been in a very, very long time. I’m actually thankful for this limp, for it means I’ve survived the crucible of encounter with the face of the Lord.</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-70049871081739326042010-12-29T11:39:00.000-06:002010-12-29T11:39:25.517-06:00I CAN CHOOSE<div class="MsoNormal">I’m in an odd mood today. I’m not sure it is a good mood or bad mood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is probably neither, it just is odd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had an odd dream about people I used to know in CT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a leader at the Senior and Disabled Center in Newington and she was British.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was the first one to suggest my youngest daughter’s name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew the name, but she was the one who suggested it for the child I was carrying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could recall her name but couldn’t his.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, it came.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, their last name still escapes me.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhim5b8hvUMijZ4pgLPB-8uA8R8j9YPuAHhOKyzknjAQYe4PMuMBVn6RgkNinuQ3asI4baWa5ZDKOmMzGe-ZGEa0JffbeBtFMJyq4-wxb1yz2vvTJx6ERsyefCAdKC1xRVqRb4Eu4U1K_A/s1600/sad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhim5b8hvUMijZ4pgLPB-8uA8R8j9YPuAHhOKyzknjAQYe4PMuMBVn6RgkNinuQ3asI4baWa5ZDKOmMzGe-ZGEa0JffbeBtFMJyq4-wxb1yz2vvTJx6ERsyefCAdKC1xRVqRb4Eu4U1K_A/s320/sad.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It started me thinking about the past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thinking about loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was thinking about people I’ve known who still matter to me but who have gotten so busy that they’ve forgotten me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> It seems that the human plight is to forget. We forget so quickly people who loved us, worked hard for us, cared for us and prayed for us. </span>People like a former pastor. Or friend who I gave my heart and soul to that never bother to answer an email or keep in touch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess that’s the way life is – people move on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told my grandson the other night that friends come and go and occasionally, if you are lucky, you’ll find a lifelong friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is family that usually will be there for you.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">However, that’s not completely true either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have two brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we had our last angry parting, one of the brothers said something like this: “I don’t think we want to be the type of people that down the road say I once had a sibling but I don’t know anything about them.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said I didn’t care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still don’t really care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just I am still hurt and angry about how they treated me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still want to scream at them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This Christmas as money was so tight with food and presents scant I thought how the chain goes back to their greediness for money that didn’t belong to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought of the terrible things they did to my mother and to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="http://ageofhopeministries.blogspot.com/2010/02/patchwork-intimacy.html"> I thought of lying to my mother that they cared and their presence was there.</a> </span>But there is nothing I can do about it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But we never were destined to be close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came when they were half grown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They moved on in their lives and never had time for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the same with some of my own children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The eldest ones hardly know the younger ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope and pray that they do always remember that they are their siblings and treat them right though.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I guess I’m feeling sad about losses today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been a lot of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My life has been turned upside down and rearranged so many times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been too many moves and no opportunity to have roots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been too many friends that I have loved that have forgotten me-too many family members who forget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A career that fell on the rocks because of evil vindictive people and so many missed opportunities – they do take their toll.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yet, I have hope for the future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve lost all hope at times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know the depths of despair and depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know how it feels to be cast-off and abandoned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’ve learned to stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To stop and reflect rather than react so you can choose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still need a lot of practice in stopping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my sadness today I am stopping and saying I can choose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not powerless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can choose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can choose to believe the truth. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can choose to have hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-31463502364269255322010-12-25T11:19:00.001-06:002010-12-25T21:53:53.558-06:00Tennessee Christmas<div class="MsoNormal">It’s Christmas morning. Overnight, God took his sifter and dusted the trees and ground with white snow. It’s pretty. Snow and Christmas just go together. Here are some of the views from my windows in Tennessee.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTYImzzdCH4Tttm_zLjOeDEKXiMK717Qo098qCpj_ZEMfjtseEBEbaE6tRyxkSO23GIpGscwGVAcyehrTs7TUJcOVxa9AzO9tjUIAAKKHwFBVfjhX1abqsgEnB5AK62X3g6d1wV3M50Wg/s1600/PICT0229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTYImzzdCH4Tttm_zLjOeDEKXiMK717Qo098qCpj_ZEMfjtseEBEbaE6tRyxkSO23GIpGscwGVAcyehrTs7TUJcOVxa9AzO9tjUIAAKKHwFBVfjhX1abqsgEnB5AK62X3g6d1wV3M50Wg/s320/PICT0229.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqpF7ywz5bcp_8NHI5xNO6qT6B_85qS1sMn87r8Z3dqSqSj8EqUccGZ6a1bJJtZm1DCfvToeTWlD2nRP4BgAqeyTjZRtORIM2-fkEn06u0KjPFgCCg25r6OGjbS3VzyFwmc-MbvT1f1U/s1600/PICT0230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqpF7ywz5bcp_8NHI5xNO6qT6B_85qS1sMn87r8Z3dqSqSj8EqUccGZ6a1bJJtZm1DCfvToeTWlD2nRP4BgAqeyTjZRtORIM2-fkEn06u0KjPFgCCg25r6OGjbS3VzyFwmc-MbvT1f1U/s320/PICT0230.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhjJ636jq3f5z5EOyX5ME6XEVWIqa7UUXDiDs34r3vGl1PhCBn7Uin1HrEGdXfgcgotKOCLWAFHn3MdnLazdCKHJPwIYfjJc8j-HaxWZOSb4r_gX7rngQKKChZRGfKISOOWQS0SjqvR0M/s1600/PICT0231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhjJ636jq3f5z5EOyX5ME6XEVWIqa7UUXDiDs34r3vGl1PhCBn7Uin1HrEGdXfgcgotKOCLWAFHn3MdnLazdCKHJPwIYfjJc8j-HaxWZOSb4r_gX7rngQKKChZRGfKISOOWQS0SjqvR0M/s320/PICT0231.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumHBbSj39TiMxJC2oLzDiNXUK_nc3we_3U8sZg_YXZxKGflLj1PpDhyphenhyphenMsa_eKoLnpMCHVMAxMUlaNmVzlYicXtOmy9wezgOt0asYZG2P8Rvanu1z6OmpVOJq69-9MT6kwTwYI2MhcMww/s1600/PICT0228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumHBbSj39TiMxJC2oLzDiNXUK_nc3we_3U8sZg_YXZxKGflLj1PpDhyphenhyphenMsa_eKoLnpMCHVMAxMUlaNmVzlYicXtOmy9wezgOt0asYZG2P8Rvanu1z6OmpVOJq69-9MT6kwTwYI2MhcMww/s320/PICT0228.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s nothing like the snow that falls in South Dakota. It isn’t like the snow that falls in Connecticut or the snow of my youth in New York City. Truly South Dakota is a storehouse of snow.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I will probably never know all the reasons God sent me to the storehouse of snow. I am sure that years from now, I’ll still be pondering this experience, trying to make sense of both its pain and occasional joys. As hard as I tried, when ultimately we leave and return south, I will miss some people very deeply.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We had a good Christmas. It could have been very slim. A “savior” stepped in and saved us. We were able to shop and have a meal. Last night it was ziti, sauce, and meatballs, simple food to get us to the main event of reading the Christmas story and opening presents. Everyone had plenty to eat. A few cookies, a slice of julekake, a cup of coffee before the fun began.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUEnIrPaorTTXiGe6wi18aKPwmEiBskOjFX_FzvGtu055hfIOMrGptpyh70il3koPzOd6OAxRB1bPinp066LF26C69BKtyAV7mM2V95NGhxcFOGicL0KXDLAR6mYjnT7_4bAHWIKuUZNA/s1600/PICT0169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUEnIrPaorTTXiGe6wi18aKPwmEiBskOjFX_FzvGtu055hfIOMrGptpyh70il3koPzOd6OAxRB1bPinp066LF26C69BKtyAV7mM2V95NGhxcFOGicL0KXDLAR6mYjnT7_4bAHWIKuUZNA/s320/PICT0169.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I guess I like tradition. When I was a young mother with two small boys, I decided that we needed them. There was never any doubt that we’d open presents on Christmas Eve. I am Norwegian. That’s an absolute. I wanted my children to hear the Christmas story as part of their festivities. Every Christmas Eve the tradition is that the youngest child who can read, reads the story. My youngest daughter is so glad there are some grandchildren around; she had that honor for many years. This year we deviated, I had my 17 year old grandson read Luke 2:1-20. I video recorded it. It is such a testimony to God’s faithfulness. You can read more about this <a href="http://3forjc.blogspot.com/2010/12/boy-with-sad-eyes.html">here</a>.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sometimes I pray, sometimes I don’t. That part of the tradition never stuck. Then the youngest child opens a present. In turn, youngest to oldest each person gets a chance to open. Each one waits their turn. Some people may like mayhem but I always wanted to see the look on each child’s face as they opened their present. It was like savoring a fine meal. I can still see my children when they were young as their eyes burst open and the squeals came out. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Over the last few years, our Christmases have had a hollowness to them. Too many of the family is missing. I still have allusions of massive family Christmases. When the children were little I would imagine all 8 of them home for Christmas. We’ve swelled to a small tribe of over 20 but we only had eight last night. But there was joy. There was a joy in the family I haven’t experienced for a while. Maybe it’s me. Maybe the long days and nights in the storehouse of snow have changed me. I know they have and like Mary, I ponder them in my heart.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I miss my mother. I sat in the chair she normally sat in at Christmas. She’d say with each gift, “oh, I don’t deserve this.” After a box of tea, a new shirt, new pj’s, perhaps some jars of jelly, she’d go off to her room for the night with tears in her eyes. Yet, I know that she is in heaven with my dad, with her best friend Marguerite who joined her a few months after she got there. She’s there to hug the child I lost, the grandchild I lost and all the others who have gone. She’s happy. She’s very happy. She’s a peace. Most of all, she’s seen Jesus.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s another Christmas. In a few days we’ll head back to the storehouses of snow for more lessons. I’m a better student now. I’m ready for the snow. <o:p></o:p></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-1641248237243482042010-12-18T11:47:00.000-06:002010-12-18T11:47:51.511-06:00Holding Your Nose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgneI1_6N3gbG_jbc2gTD2IWVgHOwaIKghJwwkTVu6wF7RVA-Q01ZGQCqoDDday4rt9EjdORcOrUvZuidryd5r6zGjWr2-tSW06VVpKTlSP293g1Wi_aNQAnSUgUQpF3ci0-nP_BUSYJt0/s1600/alfalfa1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgneI1_6N3gbG_jbc2gTD2IWVgHOwaIKghJwwkTVu6wF7RVA-Q01ZGQCqoDDday4rt9EjdORcOrUvZuidryd5r6zGjWr2-tSW06VVpKTlSP293g1Wi_aNQAnSUgUQpF3ci0-nP_BUSYJt0/s1600/alfalfa1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">When I was a kid, most medicines were not flavored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the old Little Rascal’s series where Alfalfa has to take medicine and he puts a clothes pin on his nose, I wished for a clothes pin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would occasionally hold my nose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember taking aspirin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think you could buy children’s flavored aspirin, good ol’ St. Joseph’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know whether it was because it sounded Catholic and we avoided all things Catholic as a child or if it was that it just cost unnecessary money but we never had it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead my mother would take an aspirin, break it in two and then two again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ¼ aspirin would then be crushed between two spoons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few drops of water were added along with some sugar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother would come with the spoon saying I needed to drink some sugar water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It did mask the aspirin taste a little bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a good day when I finally learned to swallow a pill.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">My experience in South Dakota is a bit like taking medicine that tastes bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have always known deep in my soul that God was in control and He had a purpose in sending me to South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t much get into discussions of God’s perfect will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know if this was “His will.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do know that God is with us where ever we go and that He does work all things for our benefit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">While it is true that I came kicking and screaming up here, I’ve never doubted there was a reason, a purpose to it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve experienced a lot of pain in this South Dakota crucible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve read about it here on these pages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There will be more pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is always more pain in this life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone who tells you different is delusional or just not honest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not saying all pain is good either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But pain tells you something is wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pain demands you deal with it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve been dealing with pain I had neglected for the last few years here in this frozen desert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have feared for my sanity and my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have cried many tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have asked many questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have come to the brink of despair and even death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My emotions have been raw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I experienced another dark night of the soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found that in one’s life you can experience this more than once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I begged God for relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sought help and prayed even when I couldn’t pray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve survived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve not only survived but I’m better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not better in the sense that a flaw has been righted but in the sense that I am a better person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have chased demons that have haunted me all my life in this wilderness of snow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have slayed a few and learned how to fight the others that still occasionally show their heads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not been easy. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve learned so many things about myself, Joyce has been uncovered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joyce has been found once again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is ready to live the rest of her life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has hope once again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crucible always refines you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve held my nose and taken my medicine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no spoonful of sugar to help this medicine go down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’ve swallowed the medicine and it has made me whole. <o:p></o:p></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-69592282696191587492010-12-15T12:25:00.001-06:002010-12-18T17:56:39.704-06:00Norwegian Chapati's<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There is snow on the ground. More is expected today. A scant 2.4 inches is what the forecast says. Nothing to get excited about in the Storehouse of Snow here in South Dakota. I have Julekake proofing in the kitchen. Plan to make some stew tonight for supper. Just wish I had some good lamb to make lamb stew. That was my favorite as a child and seem fitting when I think of Julekake and all things Norwegian.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I just finished listening to Jeg er så glad hver julekveld. If you want to hear it, you can go <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bSosUVrgB3c&feature=related">here</a>. It has such a haunting melody. It reminds me of my childhood in Norwegian Brooklyn. When the Julekake goes in the oven and the fragrance of cardamom fills the air, the memory will blossom further. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYnFVDXuMF_P1dh2rvnY7BEqxJS8cG3NmdX7TTuE-EsbK6-_Ao_xON2bLN_lc13IkJeJ6YLh9ZBO6AKXrIuWYoiSYJIgpsUfLxA4PKTtYoUYGOfHV8OAGdtFm_5bU8gT9XJFzJttTGHqU/s1600/julebrod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYnFVDXuMF_P1dh2rvnY7BEqxJS8cG3NmdX7TTuE-EsbK6-_Ao_xON2bLN_lc13IkJeJ6YLh9ZBO6AKXrIuWYoiSYJIgpsUfLxA4PKTtYoUYGOfHV8OAGdtFm_5bU8gT9XJFzJttTGHqU/s320/julebrod.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
When I first came to South Dakota, other than seeing Mount Rushmore for the first time, the thing I was most excited about was reconnecting with Norwegians. I remember my father and how he would seek out other Norwegians. He loved connecting with his homeland and roots. One time he somehow or other found some girl who was from Sweden who was attending William Woods College in Fulton MO. I have no idea how he found her. I do remember having to meet this striking blonde beauty. She was a bit snobby. However, my father just wanted to welcome her and make her feel comfortable. His father was Swedish. Something we rarely talked about - but for my dad, Sweden was Norway's neighbor. Living in Missouri that was about as close as he could get.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
The first time we visited Brookings it was the weekend of the bi-annual Fjordland Sons of Norway Waffle Feed. I really didn't expect authentic Norwegian waffles at a waffle feed. Commercialized Belgium Waffles were the offered fare. Sadly, I don't think they've ever tasted a true Norwegian waffle with lingonberry jam. But I have. I make them too - they are awesome. I'll stack mine up against any Norwegian bakers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">My husband and I walked in to stares and glares. I realized it was a small town but still, if you want to make money, you could be more pleasant. Little did I know that this is just culture here. I realized that yesterday as I walked the aisles of HyVee trying to be pleasant. It's just how they are... <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><span style="color: black;">My husband feeling very </span><span style="color: black;">magnanimous and over paid them. He said this is a donation. He asked about membership. I'd love to know what was going through their heads as this Pakistan was asking to join Sons of Norway. We asked to see the president of the lodge. She was the only really pleasant person that day. This trend has continued unfortunately.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We joined Sons of Norway. I was rather excited. I had never been a member of SONS. I think when the eventual move back to Tennessee happens I'll try the Music City Vikings. They look like a fun bunch. My experience with Fjordland has been like everything else in South Dakota, very disappointing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
The first year I was here in SD I decided to bake. I made cookies and lefse. I have always tried to do a bit of Norwegian baking for the holidays. Nothing like my mom would do, but still an effort. Here is a picture of a platter from that first year:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGRmGWrPCPgePEeYVBO0ecfpTnjEkOAc1LnnmCRnHAvEBmEQ6A9qXHev8piU8ygu6MAHgTpHjt59axJeaYyyq57-urjJVvN9qMVf0cV-xtA-34CaGXPBE3lHiyXaSg3_sxg13s4yTjRwQ/s1600/delites.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGRmGWrPCPgePEeYVBO0ecfpTnjEkOAc1LnnmCRnHAvEBmEQ6A9qXHev8piU8ygu6MAHgTpHjt59axJeaYyyq57-urjJVvN9qMVf0cV-xtA-34CaGXPBE3lHiyXaSg3_sxg13s4yTjRwQ/s400/delites.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I was shocked to find out that here in SD they know nothing of Julekake or Fattigman. I don't think they've ever heard Jeg er så glad hver julekveld, they've probably never been to a Juletrefest - and yet, somehow, they've never believed I was truly Norwegian. How odd?!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFDV5fPzK53XIQSACGEma2DEKpwdGZEgnapKiLkG-1oiLK68589oNDQaaG-Z0Qdq6gwpkkSLEdoQyEVrqB5_NImz3vUEdPYx0AsdZ5F9Ph5KVAObIAsJDpW3wK2SHi8TAehL6xtBKhiQ/s1600/juletrefest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFDV5fPzK53XIQSACGEma2DEKpwdGZEgnapKiLkG-1oiLK68589oNDQaaG-Z0Qdq6gwpkkSLEdoQyEVrqB5_NImz3vUEdPYx0AsdZ5F9Ph5KVAObIAsJDpW3wK2SHi8TAehL6xtBKhiQ/s320/juletrefest.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Oh well, as they say, it's there loss. I may have had a bad attitude in moving here, but I did try with things like Sons of Norway. Really did want to connect with Norwegians here. But the upper Midwest plains I guess took it's toll on them as well. I'll enjoy my Julekake all by myself - oh and my Pakistani husband will be happy I made it too. He even knows what it is. And lefse? He refers to them as "Norwegian Chapati's." I'll take mine with butter and sugar, no curry, thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-83480057116287497992010-12-09T10:06:00.000-06:002010-12-09T10:06:54.866-06:00Are you a senior?I'm in TN. It's cold. Not as cold as the freezer I normally abide in, but nevertheless, it is cold. My daughter was shivering yesterday as she asked me if it was as cold in South Dakota as it was here. She of course knew the answer. She's been to South Dakota. She was there last January and told me that it was the coldest she had ever been. She hasn't been back since.<br />
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I am here because I have class on Saturday. My last class of the semester will include the first introduction to our Statistics teacher. I'm dreading that. I'm dreading that more than the snow that will fly while I am taking that class. I keep telling myself that I'm reasonably smart and that although math has always been my nemesis, I can do this. I have panic attacks at the sight of an equation that includes a square root symbol, an x or a y. I have glaze over every time we talk of research methods in class. I think it's going to be a long hard winter, in more ways than one.<br />
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Hopefully the winter in Tennessee will be mild and I will find a reprieve from the weather here often. I may have to be here for the month of February as I have two classes that month. And it's a short month! Maybe I'll have more experiences like the one I had last night.<br />
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Rather than tell you again about my experiences in the grocery store or at Wal-Mart in South Dakota, let me tell you about the experience at Publix last night. For those of you not familiar with southern grocery chains, here we have several. One is Publix which is probably my favorite although a bit more expensive. We also have Kroger and Harris Teeter. Nashville is fully blessed to have Trader Joe's and Whole Foods as well. I used to think shopping at Whole Foods was too expensive, that was until I went to Pomegranates in Sioux Falls the other day. YIKES!!!<br />
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I didn't want to go to the store. I was tired. I had things on my mind. But we needed a few things and needed to eat at home instead of out. I picked up eggs and veggies and bread. Standard fare. I was turning an aisle by the frozen food and it happened. While it wasn't a near collision, it was close. This very pleasant woman pushing her "buggy" (a southern term for a grocery cart - a term I refuse to make part of my vocabulary). She smiled! She smiled so nicely. I smiled back. We went on about our business. I called my husband at home and said you'll never guess what happened. This woman and I had a brief exchange of pleasantness in Publix. It was such a big deal to me that I had to share it. Just like I'm sharing it with you.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKvd-tPWrKgMft9bz5bEkVUZ4J3v16AD3qtCbufGHCe5GPoUlhRRUyZLoEv56ZLi5YGIKfIs48Dp2cT7s08KEB2baWmv-zIKnx6YmZrseK8qWP8F7sUm-t3bs6WeqocyXaa6ZPlQsuAM/s1600/publix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKvd-tPWrKgMft9bz5bEkVUZ4J3v16AD3qtCbufGHCe5GPoUlhRRUyZLoEv56ZLi5YGIKfIs48Dp2cT7s08KEB2baWmv-zIKnx6YmZrseK8qWP8F7sUm-t3bs6WeqocyXaa6ZPlQsuAM/s1600/publix.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I got to the check out. The young man, looked like he was still in High School had evidently been taught manners. He asked the standard, did you find everything you needed? I said yes, thank you. He said EXCELLENT! and smiled. He went on to ask me how my day had been. This was 9:30 p.m. He must have been up at 6 a.m. to get to school on time. He'd no doubt dealt with the hassles and stress of High School algebra - yes, I'm thinking about math again. Nothing could be more stressful than Algebra - you know I managed to even get out of taking College Algebra but there's no getting out of statistics.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VQDT9eS4iIkJSxU6SpjUFrzCRB-3NWGNtXyAbFqcw0RVOFWcZi4VA-Foq2PADwsiGq8fv6TAe_eXrFa-tYHx81nFjJH9ax1RtyKEoiuooWZLcO6oyQDEJWwAKomkOWXJrXr9dzCLS4w/s1600/publix2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VQDT9eS4iIkJSxU6SpjUFrzCRB-3NWGNtXyAbFqcw0RVOFWcZi4VA-Foq2PADwsiGq8fv6TAe_eXrFa-tYHx81nFjJH9ax1RtyKEoiuooWZLcO6oyQDEJWwAKomkOWXJrXr9dzCLS4w/s1600/publix2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Back to the grocery store --- as he made a little bit of small talk with me - not a lot, just enough to let me know that he saw me as a human being, I thought how different is this? Then he asked the question that no one wants to hear. He said, are you eligible for our senior discount? They give a senior discount on Wednesdays. I said how old do you have to be? He told me. I sighed a sigh of relieve and said, no I'm not,. He gave it to me anyway and I saved 5% on the order. Maybe it won't be so bad and I'll get used to just saying yes, I am eligible. I have put in the years after all.<br />
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What was strange about the whole thing was that I wasn't the least bit offended or upset at the question. The kid was so nice and polite. He was right, I am close to that age. <br />
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As I left the store, I clicked on the radio to listen to Dr. Asa On Call. There was this man calling about his wife. It was the sweetest thing I'd heard in a long time. A gruff but very southern sounding truck driver was calling about his 47 year old wife who was fainting. He said it scared the crap out of him. He said he was "fixin" to do something and she just falls over. He used every colloquial southern phrase and it was delightful. What was most delightful was his concern for his wife. In it's own way, it was another southern experience of care and concern. It warmed my heart to know that a Bubba can really show a soft side<br />
<br />
So is this just another rambling of Joyce about the wonders of Tennessee compared to my angst about living in South Dakota? No, I have a point here. It's Christmas time. It is a time where the difference between pleasantness and politeness verses rudeness and refinement can make all the difference in your day. I am going to remember MY manners even when people don't show any and make my own happiness and pleasantness the next time I meander the aisles of the Brookings HyVee or the Brookings Wal-Mart. Maybe you should do the same. We'd all be happier for it.Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-87094662785561110002010-12-03T11:01:00.000-06:002010-12-03T11:01:33.390-06:00Rambling<div class="MsoNormal">As the first real snow in Brookings SD is falling, I should be reading and annotating, working on my powerpoint, or my chapter two outline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am in pretty good shape but I still have a lot to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nevertheless, I have so many ideas floating around in this head of mine and the itch to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I don’t have the itch to write the boring dissertation stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could probably write ten blogs about different themes and still find something else that is on my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brain is like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems to never stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sometimes wonder if that is a diagnosable mental disorder… My brain is fertile, too fertile sometimes.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">South Dakota friends… and others, You will be happy to know that I get it… at least I think I do. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get a few things finally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was peddling away on my exercise bike listening to praise music, jammin’ with Jesus, sweatin’ and looking at the snow fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought Okay, I think I get it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I grew up here, not only would this be home to me, but I’d have lived my life with fairly harsh conditions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d be a product of my environment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now before you react and say “Oh there she goes again!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listen to what I’m trying to say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think about how this time in South Dakota has affected me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It hasn’t been pleasant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Largely it’s been a shock to everything about my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me the changes were rapid and harsh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But like the wind, rain and snow that slowly erodes and changes the land, so the weather erodes the spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was thinking this a.m. “How would I be if this was where I grew up?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d probably have never learned that it is polite to say excuse me when you run people over with your cart at Wal-Mart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d probably smile less.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d probably never say “God bless you” when someone sneezes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These things are important to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they aren’t to others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t really make them rude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just makes them different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other hand, I’d probably value hard work over sentimentality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d probably be less relational and more self-reliant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d probably enjoy the wide open spaces..<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You’ll be happy to know I finally have figured out why 4-H achievement days are important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have figured out why livestock takes priority over people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t like the fact that the roads won’t be cleaned in a timely manner, but I still get why it’s not a big deal here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday I was in Sioux Falls and shocked to see that the 1” of snow they had on Monday was still covering some side streets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought WHAT???? I shouldn’t be slipping on snow after 3 days… but I also get why it’s not important or a big deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just how people live here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve stopped fighting with South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a battle I could never win anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone asked me yesterday if when I leave here I’ll miss South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought for a moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The expected answer is Heck, NO!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sure that is the answer some of you expect too – you figure this woman is going to party and shout when she leaves here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’ll be screaming hallelujah as she crosses the border for the last time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And while I probably will be happy when I leave, I will miss South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh I won’t miss snow and rude people, but I will miss many things about South Dakota when the time comes to finally leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>South Dakota has changed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s harsh realities have actually made me a better person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For that I am thankful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Okay, time to work on the important stuff like school... </span><o:p></o:p></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-58608921614837413062010-11-28T09:36:00.000-06:002010-11-28T09:36:15.246-06:00Smile SweetieI live a lot of my life on Facebook. I suppose that sounds very sad. And it is. However, it is how I've kept connections and sanity during the long stint in South Dakota. People still don't understand how incredibly hard the adjustment (or in my case lack of adjustment) to SD has been. I've said repeatedly it's not just the weather. I understand that even some of the locals don't like bad weather.<br />
<br />
Last week a Facebook acquaintance from South Dakota made a comment about hating the winter weather. She's more a friend of a friend, but I've met her a few times. She's a very overly positive person. Those people are nice and it works for them. But sometimes the drippy everything is perfect, make lemonade out of lemons type of people get on my nerves. I had a friend in Connecticut who was like that too. We are no longer friends and it is largely because she found my realism too much for her Pollyannistic view of life. I do miss her though.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">After this acquaintance commented on the weather, I made this comment:</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>When I say that, people get mad at me.</b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">She replied:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>I'm only talking about the weather, not the location or the people</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Unable to leave it alone, I said:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>It doesn't matter what I say - I can just say it's cold or icy and</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b> people jump down my throat, but oh, I guess that's the people, my bad...</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Zing!!! Zingers.... It was obvious she didn't care for me. It was obvious that she, like a few others in South Dakota feel the need to defend their fair state and its people. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I wish they could have been with me this week in Tennessee. While I will confess that the rudeness of Wal-Mart employees can be universal. I ran into a few of them at Cheatham County's Wal-Mart. Overall, I was once again amazed at the difference in people. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Thanksgiving morning, unprepared for the feast, I went to Kroger to correct that situation. My cart (buggy in the South) was getting full. No one cut in front of me with their cart. Those occasional potential corner collisions were met with a smile and an Oh Excuse Me from both us. When I say oh, excuse me in Brookings, it is usually met with a glare rather than a smile. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">In the parking lot, a young man stood by my car waiting to take my cart, along with his, to it's waiting place in the parking lot. He didn't work there. He didn't have to do that. He said to me, "May I take that Ma'am?" I said, Oh Thank You - he said have a Happy Thanksgiving Ma'am. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DOGo6hT5-h4LDGt4ejWScn3RFvy3rKhJowXVx8KLSypQ-kC2BhM5t7HUo9u5a2UjJlM4slGivc1gScnZVwIkbIAXcJKAhXMtQ4-ls4tqydr59sCjfwH7DzX-1IXn_K0AWo1Th0uO6P0/s1600/smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DOGo6hT5-h4LDGt4ejWScn3RFvy3rKhJowXVx8KLSypQ-kC2BhM5t7HUo9u5a2UjJlM4slGivc1gScnZVwIkbIAXcJKAhXMtQ4-ls4tqydr59sCjfwH7DzX-1IXn_K0AWo1Th0uO6P0/s320/smile.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then yesterday we made our last ritual stop in Tennessee. We always stop at the Sudden Service gas station in Pleasant View, TN. They have a Wendy's, a convenience store and best of all a Dunkin Donuts. One last cup of coffee for the road, and donuts to munch on as we travel. Heavenly. My husband paid for our gas purchase. The young woman behind the counter called him "sweetie" - "Thanks Sweetie." He is old enough to be her father, and I know it is just habit with her, but it still sounded nice. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">We purchased a few things at Wendy's. There we heard,<i> have a good day Hun... </i>I guess there is something about cowboy boots and buckles that prevent that kind of endearments? As I ate my spicy chicken nuggets I heard another woman at the register say to her customer, <i>Ya'all have a blessed day</i>. You too replied the customer... Ahhh, I hated to leave the south.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Finally, we got our coffee to go. And of course the sour cream donuts I love so much. The young woman behind the counter was all smiles. Her register wasn't working. She had to go to the back for everything she did... She still smiled. She went out of her way to be pleasant. She greeted a regular by name but never missed a beat or a smile in her interactions with me. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">That was a nice way for Tennessee to say good bye to me yesterday. Soon it will welcome me back home again. Until then, I'll try to remember not to smile in Brookings and to forget my manners or say excuse me. I've adjusted. It is the people. They are different. I suppose they aren't bad. They like each other. Maybe they even remember to say please and thank you and excuse me among themselves... but they just don't smile. </div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-34363354736538892042010-11-27T11:06:00.000-06:002010-11-27T11:06:35.452-06:00Faithfulness is more important than happiness<div class="MsoNormal">I wonder how many times I have gone through this feeling of dread in the last two and half years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Has it only been that long?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two and a half years?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I count on my fingers, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November…. Yes, it’s actually been two years and eight months since I first saw Brookings SD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But who’s counting <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J </span></span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsmk5saomzgZR33sqxl9SC6j6JjwW4ZvvlH-2NkOYgfSw8DKDcxqrJqXTAFal7-5ZFfmjTjIgarbMcOGdGzmRlcBMSYo6OoTKsC8rXEcT2BSkpiNwTbVZ4YbJ4rJDgv_Xk3X9hPuZyvw/s1600/eight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsmk5saomzgZR33sqxl9SC6j6JjwW4ZvvlH-2NkOYgfSw8DKDcxqrJqXTAFal7-5ZFfmjTjIgarbMcOGdGzmRlcBMSYo6OoTKsC8rXEcT2BSkpiNwTbVZ4YbJ4rJDgv_Xk3X9hPuZyvw/s200/eight.jpg" width="127" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve written before of my husband’s elation and my sorrow when he first was summoned to work for the people of South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am often chastised because of my comments about the people of South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose I view them through my own lens and since I do, I see them differently than someone who finds the Dakotas home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some people feel the same way about my beloved Brooklyn.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today I am heading north again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish this were the last time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know when the last time will be, it is just a reality of life now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am reminded of the words of my professor, “It’s not for forever but it is for now.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is how my life is lived at this present moment in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I live like a yo-yo on a string being pulled here and there seemingly against my will.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yet, it is my choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could stay in Tennessee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve always had that choice to stay here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a home here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have children here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in retrospect, the correct decision would have been to stay here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is my husband who is bound to the people of South Dakota, not me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I am bound to him in this love relationship of 32 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over and over, every time I get in that car to head north I am saying “I do…for better or worse.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to stay here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t describe to you how I feel when I come home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sure you know the feeling of coming home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this is different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a lightness and a contentment that comes over me that is hard to describe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today I have the opposite of that feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today I feel the dread and angst of not just two days of being in a small car, but of returning to a place that is not home.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Like the marines, there are a few good people in South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve met some of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is the professor at the seminary who I’ve only met briefly in person who still cheers me on and encourages me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a gift!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are the beautiful friends I’ve made at Grandview Covenant Church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are true gems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been so blessed to know them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel the same sadness of leaving that I feel now when I think of the day I will not see them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there is my un-coffee buddy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s help me cope in ways she can’t imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my wise woman – the wise woman who has known my darkest secrets and my deepest pain and held my hand as I walked through a maze of despair.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqXHqwTcH-5e4gIe44cK30d6wNp08PqRt1E-jOYVoqfMp-5uIlCVwclaKBQZoQBaRYuXV5wsdeIuQ0iB0RrSrkPmu4lGy1bwEFrsVN2V6dI9bwiwcBlwhE7MF0jkhzWFUPkzjJjUfXbTM/s1600/03-05_Chevrolet_Cavalier_coupe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqXHqwTcH-5e4gIe44cK30d6wNp08PqRt1E-jOYVoqfMp-5uIlCVwclaKBQZoQBaRYuXV5wsdeIuQ0iB0RrSrkPmu4lGy1bwEFrsVN2V6dI9bwiwcBlwhE7MF0jkhzWFUPkzjJjUfXbTM/s400/03-05_Chevrolet_Cavalier_coupe.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In a couple of hours I’ll get in my tiny 2003 red Chevy Cavalier, what a story I could tell you about that car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like me, she’s old but she has been so faithful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m being faithful today too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am returning with my husband to South Dakota because it is the right thing to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I get tired of doing the right thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I wish I didn’t have this strong moral compass telling me to “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” or telling me to “love unconditionally.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I do have this compass, and ultimately I am thankful for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it is the compass that guided 32 years of marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Today I’ll renew my vows again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will forsake all others and keep myself to my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will say “I do” not with the giddy joy of a bride, but with the wisdom of an old woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A wisdom that tells me that faithfulness is more important than happiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Someday we will say good bye to South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someday I will have one place to live again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someday… but that day is not today.<o:p></o:p></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-78843561178312706432010-11-16T12:20:00.000-06:002010-11-16T12:20:18.707-06:00That Four Letter Word S--WI had a good day yesterday. That's odd for South Dakota. Although perhaps it's not as odd as I make it out to be on this blog. The problem never has been really South Dakota, the problem was always me. South Dakota does make me crazy. South Dakota does make me sad. South Dakota has drug me to the pits of depression. However, it's really not because South Dakota is some how inherently evil. It just is like oil and vinegar, or any other two elements that can never fully integrate, I am not a good in South Dakota.<br />
<br />
It's fine to say that South Dakota can't change for me, to say that it is me who has to change to accommodates it's ways, it's weather, it's idiosyncrasies, it's people. But I can't. I've tried. I can however, learn to navigate this hostile terrain safely.<br />
<br />
There was a bit of rain yesterday that was a harbinger of the snow to come. I've been checking weather.com, accuweather.com, weatherbug and the national weather service. All with the anticipation of the dreaded four letter word, snow.<br />
<br />
When I was a kid, I think I loved snow. I remember building snow forts. While I pine away with romanticized visions of life in Brooklyn, Brooklyn has changed perhaps even more than I have. There are but scan few Norwegians left in my old neighborhood. 8th Avenue is a China Town. The 17 of May parade, still held in Brooklyn, now marches in a different <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">direction </span>on a different Avenue. Salem Gospel Tabernacle is no longer Salem, it is Sunset Park Community church. There are no string bands or <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Smörgåsbord </span></span>or Juletree Fests. But it still snows in Brooklyn. Snow seems to be a constant in my life.<br />
<br />
I had a conversation about snow today with my husband. It really wasn't about snow. It was about me and snow. I've been doing all this weather checking because I have to head south again for class on Saturday. I was contemplating do I leave tomorrow or Thursday. Two days of driving in a little 2003 Chevy Cavalier that like me, is feeling her age. I've driven in extreme snow many times and survived. But I'd rather not do it again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DsswksSXDu3ikwkh6IC-U7_9ky13BgCq07IBwZVEQEHz5vumnKznsOPLvi79L2qmkmcouuk1w33jmpTfE0bo14WVBm6OzCuHTkYPDV9BJRMq5rzBvg7iCLTm6i1Obx-9RI8Vn4qJyv0/s1600/cows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DsswksSXDu3ikwkh6IC-U7_9ky13BgCq07IBwZVEQEHz5vumnKznsOPLvi79L2qmkmcouuk1w33jmpTfE0bo14WVBm6OzCuHTkYPDV9BJRMq5rzBvg7iCLTm6i1Obx-9RI8Vn4qJyv0/s320/cows.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cows, South Dakota and Snow - all synonymous</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Oh I signed on for this so I supposed I shouldn't complain. But here is where this all comes together. Snow can be predicted but is always unpredictable. A slight change can dump more snow or less snow. Today's snow will not be like tomorrow's snow. The snow in Brooklyn is a different experience than the snow in Missouri. The trace snow in Tennessee does not compare to the mountains of snow in Connecticut. And of course nothing is like the powdery whiteout blizzards of South Dakota. <br />
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I want predictable. Oh not that I'm not fun loving and like adventure and new experiences, I do... but when they are done, I want predictable. I want to know that if I plan to go to Tennessee on this day, that's the day I'll go. I want to know that if I plan to get up in the morning and do this or that, that by the time the day is over I've done this or that. I want only occasional changes in my life-not constant the every day something changes patterns of my life here.<br />
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Thats the problem here in South Dakota -- besides the cows and the rudeness and all the other things I complain about, the real problem is me. I want some stability. I want to know where home is. I want to not have my life reordered and changed. Like the rapid changing weather patterns here in this Storehouse of Snow, I find the changes paralyzing and depressing. If the weather has to change, can it not change so fast? Can I have a warning that it's changing?<br />
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My husband's job makes extreme demands on him. He's become a soldier - no I don't mean he's joined the military, I mean he is a soldier. He's always ready for the changes and demands. He sets aside his emotions and just does it. He never checks the weather reports. He never considers whether the weather might change. He just packs up and goes. I can't do that - that's why he's adjusted to South Dakota and all the places we've lived so much faster than I have.<br />
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Snow is coming - change is coming - and it keeps coming - the cold dark depression of winter is setting in to South Dakota. I'm not ready for it. I don't think I will ever be ready for it. But it will come nonetheless. I will drive tomorrow, or the next day and go south. I will have Thanksgiving at "home" - if it is home? in Tennessee. Then I'll return to the snow and leave again in a few days. Such is life right now -- constant change impinging on a life that wants stability.<br />
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Until then, I guess I need to lace up my boots, button my coat, tie my scarf and navigate through another South Dakota winter.Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-19371578605554590812010-09-25T17:54:00.000-05:002010-09-25T17:54:57.009-05:00A Day in the Life<div class="MsoNormal">It’s been a while since I’ve written on this blog or any blog. I’ve missed it. It’s an odd thing how I feel about writing and blogging. Last week I was in Missouri for a few days. An old friend introduced me to someone else as a writer. I’ve never had that happen before. I’d like to be considered a writer. Then another friend got in my face, in love, and exhorted me about writing a book. Someone else said, you should write a book. Yet, here I am, not even blogging of late.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I really wanted to blog last week about manners and how nice it was to be in Tennessee. I can’t tell you how many times I noticed the little courtesies that make life better. Doors opened. Smiles given. Being called ma’am. That used to bother me because I didn’t want to be old enough to be a ma’am. Now I’ve either accepted being old or just like the respect. Then there is the courtesy of being called Miss. I didn’t like that either when I first moved to the south. Now I rather like it. It means that someone has respect for me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I had a wonderful time in Tennessee. I didn’t want to come back. It was odd. When I left South Dakota for my week in Missouri and Tennessee I cried. Not that I love South Dakota now, but because of a whole host of reasons that don’t belong public. But also, I had found myself acclimating, just a bit, to South Dakota. I can’t say I like South Dakota. That would be going way too far. But I don’t hate it as much as I used to – I guess that’s progress.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But I didn’t want to come back here. I really had to force myself to get in that car and come back here. It was hard. I was alone. It’s one thing when my husband is with me and in a sense I feel I have no choice. This time I had a choice. Today I am even wondering if I made the wrong choice. Nevertheless, here I am in South Dakota on a really pleasant fall day.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRlTWn_dyjcBxQf4ZCyLe4WrD6ueghXurcZEQ1Z053prOKKlqZaxsJfI9_nn0uABqVTI-CWTS_bOPvft6vDgm38fl2Rr8Jo6U-cUcUPxL_yJWNcp-BK1Xk9bsbUYY7XhntW62Ysl96UpE/s1600/bored.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRlTWn_dyjcBxQf4ZCyLe4WrD6ueghXurcZEQ1Z053prOKKlqZaxsJfI9_nn0uABqVTI-CWTS_bOPvft6vDgm38fl2Rr8Jo6U-cUcUPxL_yJWNcp-BK1Xk9bsbUYY7XhntW62Ysl96UpE/s320/bored.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today I went with my husband to the Sheep Growers Annual meeting or whatever it was called. I just know for sure it was Sheep Growers. I am beginning to think that stay in the apartment than go to some of these things. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We had to hurry to get to lunch on time. My husband needs to be “seen” at these places. There is no useful purpose in his presence. He is not a sheep grower. He is not a sheep specialist. It’s all about being seen for reasons I will never understand. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We were served a basic cold cut lunch. No lamb. Conversation around the table was really sparse. I noticed that sheep growers also like to dress like cowboys. Do they call them <i>sheepboys</i>? Then the program started. It was a presentation about two “master” sheep producers. Now I like sheep. I like lamb. I am curious about a lot of things. I might have actually found it interesting to know more about sheep. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">However, the presenter was definitely speaking to the home crowd. That’s understandable. It was a sheep growers meeting. Did you know that they ultrasound pregnant ewes? I don’t know what a dry ewe is and I never could figure out why they send them to Western SD. I don’t know why or what a Peruvian herder is used for in this process. I finally figured out what AI was – artificial insemination. I couldn’t figure out what ET was – I found out it was embryo transplant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know the difference between a feeder or a club production or a seeder stock. I don’t even know if I got these terms correct. I was bored to tears.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvRyQp2Q9uGso1tDmyFP0jv2zlLA7Gue2x_gLtr-SlV-NMWF0_pecRa0H6w7jS8Dk1-BPQuIe26RyxCKVpTwzWO4f-atjmMIkJvN-0fzcG3j_y3NvDmEErJh3JFwgzKxdr3iO2wcEHOw/s1600/HuronAM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvRyQp2Q9uGso1tDmyFP0jv2zlLA7Gue2x_gLtr-SlV-NMWF0_pecRa0H6w7jS8Dk1-BPQuIe26RyxCKVpTwzWO4f-atjmMIkJvN-0fzcG3j_y3NvDmEErJh3JFwgzKxdr3iO2wcEHOw/s320/HuronAM.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">I was approached after lunch about taking a walk with some other women. Hmmm… more sheep talk which was like a foreign language or a walk with women I never met. I finally opted for the walk. I found out that the town of Huron (often pronounced urine) SD is a city of murals. We were walking to see the murals. Instead of walking in the direction where ¾ of the murals were, we walked away from them. We browsed a Salvation Army Thrift Store. Finally, we visited Potter’s Shoes. It seems that it is a very happening store. Selling Birkenstocks to sheep growers wives really sort of surprised me. But there we were, in a store with expensive Clarks and Birkenstocks in a deserted desolate downtown.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m back to the apartment. Husband is napping. I guess visiting with the sheep growers was too much for him too. I’m still bored. I am thinking I made a mistake to come back here. Just think of all the people who would be happy to see me and the things I could be doing if I were in Tennessee.<o:p></o:p></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-14097039264391392022010-09-02T17:16:00.000-05:002010-09-02T17:16:16.616-05:00Lighten Up<div class="MsoNormal">I don’t watch a lot of TV. I do sit in front of the computer screen a lot though. When I was in Rapid City earlier this week, I did watch a couple of old movies on TV. Sometimes mindless entertainment is good. This was particularly true when I watched the old Pauly Shore movie, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Son-in-Law</i>. It was on CMT.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here is a clip; this is about when I turned the movie on. I love the scene where he drives the big combine.<o:p></o:p><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3JfhKKTDrRw?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3JfhKKTDrRw?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Stories like this are classic and predictable. There all sorts of stories of city folk coming to rural areas.<br />
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Sometimes you’ll see the reverse. The classic TV show <i>The Beverly Hillbillies</i> or <i>Green Acres</i> are but two examples. We laugh. Who can forget Arnold the pig, or Mr. Haney or Granny Clampett.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJbg_btKWTd-UWYrsUezHMkyPNdljJoMzLTHx16foIg2Bu-aost-X8_CdILnZeMoYA7tO0T2szZvPknq8XMS2791Q4qvDmijT0276NmLjmggEqjz4fjNKx5iKYTsXxNGlJhyEFka7AmE/s1600/pig_arnold3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJbg_btKWTd-UWYrsUezHMkyPNdljJoMzLTHx16foIg2Bu-aost-X8_CdILnZeMoYA7tO0T2szZvPknq8XMS2791Q4qvDmijT0276NmLjmggEqjz4fjNKx5iKYTsXxNGlJhyEFka7AmE/s320/pig_arnold3.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWsSX1djA8JpvOMF-8lCtBnh2f3685vQrGkfn9Vh0aYCHiBIeGekx03ikzYIczAaqIJMwmO63NNi-eHblDQUnGNU-7U73etIH2bn0XZd8mpIeGzW8aLjavMC2CW4nhUBwj2lOWg0rq660/s1600/mrhaney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWsSX1djA8JpvOMF-8lCtBnh2f3685vQrGkfn9Vh0aYCHiBIeGekx03ikzYIczAaqIJMwmO63NNi-eHblDQUnGNU-7U73etIH2bn0XZd8mpIeGzW8aLjavMC2CW4nhUBwj2lOWg0rq660/s320/mrhaney.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiunpdOD6TXi0MWRRlJ8Jx_6qd104ywy2Uw61oJQF_mdVI6yNVylfdfo9cMffto5ck9t_OOLhgzzxOpWUAWh_mjKspmgV2fBVMQiSuUvckIzhksm5KuDmGl46klkTqRgyMNPLHhC1p7j9M/s1600/GrannyClampett-729655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiunpdOD6TXi0MWRRlJ8Jx_6qd104ywy2Uw61oJQF_mdVI6yNVylfdfo9cMffto5ck9t_OOLhgzzxOpWUAWh_mjKspmgV2fBVMQiSuUvckIzhksm5KuDmGl46klkTqRgyMNPLHhC1p7j9M/s320/GrannyClampett-729655.jpg" /></a></div><br />
We see the humor and irony. I was particularly surprised that CMT-TV was showing this particularly show. Seemed like in the end the country folk decided Pauly Shore was all right after all. And CMT, COUNTRY Music Television thought it was okay to laugh at that.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Sometimes these moves to places that are foreign to your experience and your taste, are not so funny though. Sometimes they are downright painful. Sometimes you put a fish in a different pond, one they don’t know, they aren’t acclimated to and they die. Other times, they learn to swim and adjust. Mostly they just never feel like they fit, but they keep swimming anyway.<o:p></o:p><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">What struck me as I watched this is that people sometimes don’t understand this blog. They don’t understand me. They don’t understand that this is just my attempt to swim in a new pond. It isn’t a pond of my choosing. I don’t fit here. Remember, someone told me that too – see this<a href="http://viewsdakota.blogspot.com/2010/02/fitting-in-is-optional-being-yourself.html"> blog</a>. <o:p></o:p><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">The other night I was sharing my Amanda blog with my husband. He didn’t like the first few paragraphs. He thought maybe someone would blame him for my comments. I guess I shouldn't have talked about the State Fair and cow poop. So, here is the disclaimer. These are MY THOUGHTS and MY FEELINGS. Not his. Poor guy, he thought his job might be in jeopardy for what I write. That would be pretty sad. <o:p></o:p><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">So my point – here is my point. If CMT can put on a movie about the ironies and ridiculousness of life – particularly life where different cultures intersect – if country folk can laugh at country folk and city folk at city folk, I think the people of South Dakota can understand me as well. If not, don’t read my blog. It’s that simple.<o:p></o:p></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-26870672311534356812010-09-01T12:30:00.000-05:002010-09-01T12:30:17.275-05:00You never know what you might see in Murdo, SD<div class="MsoNormal">Have you ever been to Murdo, South Dakota? I have. Several times we have gotten gas in the truck stop which rarely has more than two trucks on the dirt parking lot. When you go in the store to use the bathroom, you find discounted t-shirts for Sturgis, a few animal skins for sale and the general assortment of food, snacks, drinks and souvenirs. No surprises other than the animal skins.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve stayed at the Super 8 by the antique car museum before – clean, with no frills. But I’ve never been to the museum. Guess it’s just not our thing. Close by is the 1880 Prairie Town that boasts it’s connection to the Kevin Costner epic movie, Dances with Wolves. I’d like to go there sometime but I doubt we will. My husband isn’t much for spending money on tourist things. I’d like to eat in their box car diner. That sounds interesting. I like that kind of stuff.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This time I got to see more of the town of Murdo. Again, not really a whole lot to talk about. It’s just a typical South Dakota town of reasonable size. Now you have to understand that when you say reasonable size in South Dakota you are talking about a town of 500 people. Murdo also boasts that it is the hometown of Senator John Thune, Republican. That might be a really big deal someday. Thune’s name is mentioned as a Presidential contender. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl8hLm9zqbsZdLpNqBvlNB3Ir0tWnRK9PxHQcMI2R2NSu1AZqta2c4NskINofTt6uPBYBSByHghpe4kXvMyvxp7KQxR1JJQe-SfrjZnlJYlu_HImuifoRYVbRpcRjVSnzOwynARcj8x-Y/s1600/starrestmurdosd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl8hLm9zqbsZdLpNqBvlNB3Ir0tWnRK9PxHQcMI2R2NSu1AZqta2c4NskINofTt6uPBYBSByHghpe4kXvMyvxp7KQxR1JJQe-SfrjZnlJYlu_HImuifoRYVbRpcRjVSnzOwynARcj8x-Y/s400/starrestmurdosd.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We stayed at a small hotel, American Inn next to what some would call a honky-tonk. The music coming from it said, there is a good time to be had here. The clerk told us to leave our key in the bucket in the morning as no one would be there – she also said, they weren’t serving breakfast that Sunday. Maybe they were all at church? <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We decided on the Star Restaurant for breakfast. If you are heading through Murdo and need a meal, I recommend the place. As we enjoyed our blueberry pancakes, I heard that they were having a bus come in-probably tourists. I thought that was good for their business. A couple came in with a NY accent and the server called her sweetie and dear. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKfC76-IIjkirEjzY0ZEOulyd-ty02NlQ7X9QIJHmWrSOZ6Lr1AVt8rjR0Wemg3DRj8yrWXdAoUeHoLx9Gfna4cZWu7Gz1LPSe9ArTdLVkY0vt_ZcHy3spKqlA3yw9tu5H6QeqiheMJo/s1600/knee+socks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKfC76-IIjkirEjzY0ZEOulyd-ty02NlQ7X9QIJHmWrSOZ6Lr1AVt8rjR0Wemg3DRj8yrWXdAoUeHoLx9Gfna4cZWu7Gz1LPSe9ArTdLVkY0vt_ZcHy3spKqlA3yw9tu5H6QeqiheMJo/s200/knee+socks.jpg" width="164" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Then she came in. Since I am not sure what is politically correct nor do I care, since she attempted to look female, I’ll call her she. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cross dresser in person. I certainly didn’t expect one to come in to the Star Restaurant in Murdo. I wanted to take a picture, but I knew that would be rude. She was hard to miss. She had rosy cheeks, way too rosy. She had twinkling eyes enhanced by mascara and a little liner. She had an odd hat on with her dyed blonde hair sticking out, a t-shirt, plaid Bermuda’s and multi-culture striped knee socks covered with sandals. She was about 6 foot tall with very broad shoulders. She was an interesting site.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have to be honest. My first reaction was not very nice. Interesting how quick we are to judge. How quick our self-righteousness rises up and we judge, we assume we know something when in reality we know nothing. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am sure everyone noticed her – how could you not? She was a sight to behold. But no one stared. No one made comments that I heard. The server greeted her with a smile and welcome. She ordered pancakes too. I was impressed with the people in the café in Murdo. Even in a conservative Western town in South Dakota, the people were polite, as they should be. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJ4SDNt23ZHyML7H_LZzwgbF7B0VVku2NQhmHr1F8S1IrX1Q7Oz6oJtuEP1_YFEEXgpDxpdMc8QEYwhDG7UZnuIl25zKtxZECqakvxek_wexq7Vq_cgr8ZuYCnllYIam-b6CSvCoxTw4/s1600/little_boy-sullen.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJ4SDNt23ZHyML7H_LZzwgbF7B0VVku2NQhmHr1F8S1IrX1Q7Oz6oJtuEP1_YFEEXgpDxpdMc8QEYwhDG7UZnuIl25zKtxZECqakvxek_wexq7Vq_cgr8ZuYCnllYIam-b6CSvCoxTw4/s320/little_boy-sullen.gif" width="217" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But I had to think about my reaction. I didn’t like it. Even though I was polite, I had a reaction. I guess it would be easy to say it was human nature to have a reaction. But then I thought, maybe it was even God who reminded me, that she was a person, a fellow-human being, created in the image of God, she was someone’s little boy once upon a time, she had people who either do or have cared about her and loved her. That put it all in a different perspective. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was told that education would change me. I’ve also realized that next to my salvation, education has changed me the most. I realized in the Star Restaurant in Murdo, I was changed. I thought about all the lectures, exegetical work and research I’ve done on image of God. My Old Testament prof used to say if you don’t understand Genesis, you don’t understand God or the scriptures. He was right. I see things so differently now. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am not saying anything about the rightness or wrongness of this behavior. I am certainly not saying I support Gay Rights or anything like that… I don’t know how I feel about that issue. Like everything in this life, it’s not simple, it’s not black and white, and it’s complicated. What I am saying is when you see someone different, when you see someone who is “other,” they really aren’t that different. They are people, fellow humans, just like you with feelings, aspirations, and dreams. They are people with family and people who love someone and someone loves them. They are people with pain, or maybe joy. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe they are just hoping that someone will love them, just the way they are…the only one who can really do that is Jesus. But as His disciples, I think we are supposed to hold our judgment, hold our tongues and reach out in love. When you do that, you have the potential to earn the right to say something, to maybe tell them about Jesus – tell that that Jesus can give them hope, forgive their sins and give them a new life. That Jesus job, our job is to love.<o:p></o:p></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-35253666387370013822010-08-31T12:05:00.000-05:002010-08-31T12:05:02.442-05:00Seattle's Best - her name is Amanda<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As much as I go on and on about rudeness in South Dakota, in all fairness, I need to tell you about Amanda. I am in Rapid City for a few days. Once again, I am the tag along wife – but better than sitting in the apartment. Sometimes that apartment feels like a luxury cell, but a cell nonetheless. State Fair, more cows and cow poop, is just around the corner. I’ll be a Fair widow for over a week. I do get to preach at one of my very favorite places otherwise, I might have taken off and gone somewhere, anywhere for the Labor Day weekend. But preaching, especially at Grandview, always has top priority.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Friendliness has been lacking in my South Dakota experience. Maybe it is because in general we have noticed that Rapid City is friendlier. Maybe it is the Air Force base, maybe it is the tourists, I don’t know, but there is a better feel here. Plus I am downtown in an old classic hotel away from the cowboys and belt buckles, arrogance and big hats. So when I find friendliness, I pay attention to it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhaNWmKq1SIs_G-Ex6bIrw_MoOkQ49xwWVo5bKsWQGuTa8RjA5FQpFApOF1RtU60xG2uSjlbzAGMdMHgal-lLjCLryQeAFKm5xw01bwgU4_VxqgqCvoN9tLpYGWW75MuVBs5EfGbqdJo/s1600/clark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhaNWmKq1SIs_G-Ex6bIrw_MoOkQ49xwWVo5bKsWQGuTa8RjA5FQpFApOF1RtU60xG2uSjlbzAGMdMHgal-lLjCLryQeAFKm5xw01bwgU4_VxqgqCvoN9tLpYGWW75MuVBs5EfGbqdJo/s320/clark.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We had a good experience a few weeks ago that I should have written about. We were in the little town of Clark SD, which is in Clark County for a 4-H Achievement Day. Not only did they have awesome BBQ chicken, they had really friendly people. My husband and I both talked about it for days. Everyone, from the children, to the old people were friendly. We ran into some people from this county at other 4-H AC Days and lo, and behold, while the locals at those Fairs were typically non-friendly people, the ones from Clark came and said Hi and continued to show that they were friendly. I joked that maybe it was the water – if it was, I should bottle it and sell it all around South Dakota.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">So what about Amanda? You are probably thinking maybe I forgot about her. No, I didn’t. I am sitting in a Seattle’s Best Coffee Shop off the lobby of the Alex Johnson Hotel in downtown Rapid City and she is busy working behind the counter. I sat here yesterday for a few hours. The coffee was good, the internet was free and I had good company too.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Amanda is an employee at this coffee shop. I hope her boss knows how good she is – she should get a raise. I owned a coffee shop once upon a time. It was a great experience even if we lost money and worked way too hard. One thing I learned is that people come to a coffee shop not just for the coffee. Starbucks seems to know that, I learned about that in class this summer in leadership class - it is ALL ABOUT THE PEOPLE.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTysLP1wAcbPFPT0ezqTykeg8m4KR9aSHzRAz9F3pbr_PIhyphenhyphenhYnXc4tPpDG9fi2cFhhaFXomOA39WCExoYkDbmvcz9_wvEg7y7UjKW6YCjjjIpdZ-Snwywy-HPGaDjCoV5rev7AwMXUUo/s1600/sbrc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTysLP1wAcbPFPT0ezqTykeg8m4KR9aSHzRAz9F3pbr_PIhyphenhyphenhYnXc4tPpDG9fi2cFhhaFXomOA39WCExoYkDbmvcz9_wvEg7y7UjKW6YCjjjIpdZ-Snwywy-HPGaDjCoV5rev7AwMXUUo/s320/sbrc.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Amanda knows that. Yesterday when I ordered my scone from another worker, she quickly heated it for me. She heard me give the other worker my name and from then on, she called me Joyce. She heard it, she put it in her head and called me by name. I was here a long time yesterday. She’d come by and say Joyce, is everything okay? She knows that people like to be recognized by name.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I saw that they had their health inspection. I remembered those days. I saw her give a hi-five to the other worker after he left. I asked her about it. She happily told me that they got a 100! If there was an inspection for customer service and friendliness, she’d get a 100 for sure.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Today, I am here again. She greeted me as soon as I walked in the door. She said Hi Joyce, how are you this morning? I watched. She asked everyone their name and repeated it using their name in the order and when she gave it to them. Sometimes if she could catch someone on the way out, she’d say good bye and call them by name.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Oh2Aq-GftyA3tE1EXe-5SOblZts6XsHip1z2QQ0hDvzW7n_ncLU1ZN6L434bZgg5H78pLZrw7iv6YE6_bK2TWbtqMeo99F2Q0sqZysxl3mDTO_P4YEBU9_vMeTz4WXXij4tvMnYByxU/s1600/seattles-best-cafe-rapid-city.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Oh2Aq-GftyA3tE1EXe-5SOblZts6XsHip1z2QQ0hDvzW7n_ncLU1ZN6L434bZgg5H78pLZrw7iv6YE6_bK2TWbtqMeo99F2Q0sqZysxl3mDTO_P4YEBU9_vMeTz4WXXij4tvMnYByxU/s320/seattles-best-cafe-rapid-city.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Just now three women walked in with gift bags. They obviously hadn’t been in here before. She looked at them and said good-morning ladies. Then she noticed their gift bags and said, oh Ladies, are you having a party? She made them feel instantly welcome.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We can learn a lot from Amanda. She’s young, cute and hopefully won’t spend the rest of her life working in a coffee shop. But if she does, she’ll be the best barista. Not because she makes great coffee but because she makes you feel welcome.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">People ask me why I haven’t found a church in South Dakota. It’s been what, almost 3 years now? People ask me why I don’t feel at home here, and why I don’t like it. They think it is the weather. Or they think it is just me. It’s neither. It is because when I go to church there are no Amanda’s to make me feel welcome. There is no place I go where someone lights up my day with a big smile and a Hi Joyce, How are you today? It's the people, it really is all about the people. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">You know what they say when you start pointing a finger – there are four looking back at you. I guess I should try to smile more and light up someone’s day. How about you? </div></span>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-825405921444583672010-07-23T16:49:00.000-05:002010-07-23T16:49:06.204-05:00Rude People Annoy MeIt's been a while since I blogged anywhere. I haven't forgotten about blogging. I sort of miss it. However, my life has been consumed with a research project. I'm in the throws of a 100 entry annotated bibliography. I can tell you I am sleeping well at night after a day of boring reading. Oh, it's not that bad for a nerdy person like me but sometimes, I think, man, I'm too old for this.<br />
There are so many good things I could write about these days. Life is much less dull. I have been told recently that I seem so alive these days. Another friend told me I am like a little girl. Maybe starting another school adventure has made me into a school girl again. I don't know but life is good. I am sure some of you who have read through this blog in the past are saying, "I don't believe she said that."<br />
So it is with some reservation I have decided to write a blog of discontent again. I rather like the word, carping. I am going to carp about something. That something is, I miss manners.<br />
Remember the old book "Everything I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten?" I am sure there was something about excuse me, thank you, please, etc. I had a neighbor who was rather mean and stern when I was a child. Her name was Mrs. Ohman. There was none of the first name business in those days. And she wasn't one of the honorary "Aunts" or as in my neighborhood, "Tante" (Norwegian for Aunt). She was just MRS.<br />
I would stay at her house sometimes as a kid when my mother was in the hospital or went away for something. She had a daughter a little bit older than I was, her name was Nancy. I've <a href="http://ageofhopeministries.blogspot.com/2010/04/balance-to-cross.html">written </a>about Nancy before when I confessed to playing "devil cards" in her basement. Mrs. Ohman made me do dishes when I was staying there. She also would correct me about my manners. She would look at me with a stern face and say, "What's the magic word(s)"? That would mean I forgot to say please, thank you, pardon me, excuse me, etc. It actually was good training. I tried to teach my children about manners.<br />
A week or so ago a Facebook friend was lamenting in her status about manners too - she missed gentlemen. I replied and we exchanged comments. She seemed to want to blame women for not behaving like ladies thus causing men to behave badly. I thought that was a bit like saying that women behave badly and therefore it's okay for them to be abused. I know, that's a bit far. I am sure she didn't mean that.<br />
Then we got into a short snippet discussion about power. I said something about using my power. She didn't seem to agree. I guess I came across as a feminist. It's okay. We just stopped commenting. She's still my Facebook friend.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwssYo4ZwTzMxQ5YC0mZg3rrIcR9HJtxIBlFGwro0kLAfcnhooby9HGwVdxIMbZ6bq8C1EDhS-yXe8EdTdW2qQoJVCwWAv2TbUhcgilTVDrhJ0yT_1pPeAwdm1nMlIrQ65mWBQ0-brUc/s1600/pk_wal-mart_ap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwssYo4ZwTzMxQ5YC0mZg3rrIcR9HJtxIBlFGwro0kLAfcnhooby9HGwVdxIMbZ6bq8C1EDhS-yXe8EdTdW2qQoJVCwWAv2TbUhcgilTVDrhJ0yT_1pPeAwdm1nMlIrQ65mWBQ0-brUc/s320/pk_wal-mart_ap.jpg" /></a></div><br />
So what triggered me today? A trip to Wal-Mart - that bastion of American capitalism. I don't know, something about a trip to Wal-Mart in South Dakota will always bring out the worst in me. I get tired of people who can't say excuse me. I wonder what has made people here so unfriendly and rude most of the time. But honestly, I am rather used to navigating my cart through the store and just not noticing the rudeness any more.<br />
It was the clerk. It was the clerk and the woman in front of me that did it for me. The clerk's clumsiness knocked over one of my items and sent it to the floor. He was scanning the woman in front of me's artificial flowers. Between me and the item was my cart. The woman in front of me bent over and picked up the item throwing it on the belt. I said the magic words; I said "Thank you." That was greeted by that glare I've come so accustomed to here. Thank you? Is that a foreign word like excuse me? I looked at the clerk who was also look at me with a similar glare. I thought how rude! When he finally got to my items, he forgot the customary, how are you? Did you find everything today? etc. As he was scanning another friendly Wal-Mart associate walked by so they could exchange their scorning comments about working at Wal-Mart.<br />
The bright spot was the greeter. As I walked by, the white haired woman had a genuine smile. I thought wow, one person in South Dakota who remembers her manners.<br />
Okay, I know this isn't a big deal in the grand scheme of things. If you shop at Wal-Mart you know customer service sucks. I even decided to do the survey request for the $1000 on the receipt so I could complain. They gave me no chance to complain.<br />
It isn't just Wal-Mart though, my farmer's market experience the other day was equally bad.<br />
OHHHH I wish there were a Target here in Brookings. They train their employees on manners. I think it's needed. Oh well, back to research.Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-8582337355404954622010-06-29T23:42:00.001-05:002010-07-01T21:22:45.270-05:00Unique Things You Don't KnowI almost feel I need to start another blog. Yet, I don't want to abandon the ones I have... I am just not sure where this fits. It sort of fits on<a href="http://ageofhopeministries.blogspot.com/"> Sounds of Hope</a> but that has become my blog of personal history. It isn't about South Dakota, so maybe I shouldn't be writing this blog here.<br />
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Nevertheless, this blog has been so much about my struggle with life. Not just life in South Dakota but my life as it is now. I've written some pretty painful stuff since I've blogging. I've sarcastically written about South Dakota and some of its odd ways. I've really never meant any harm. If you had listened closely, very closely, you would have seen the struggle to find meaning and hope in what was a very hard situation for me.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXBS788HK8qKBb6RDe6I_s9W_hJ5urXJu5CPnsPlD0UtMM4gUjabz3piCqm41EcoAAIRwf2uX3AsXoOuraDAU7u7QtvmO1_t-jxZfW2p2XjV1NDs2yzjjneIZ15qpx3ew__LEnfsPYk9Q/s1600/LibraryLarge.jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXBS788HK8qKBb6RDe6I_s9W_hJ5urXJu5CPnsPlD0UtMM4gUjabz3piCqm41EcoAAIRwf2uX3AsXoOuraDAU7u7QtvmO1_t-jxZfW2p2XjV1NDs2yzjjneIZ15qpx3ew__LEnfsPYk9Q/s320/LibraryLarge.jpg.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I am just so anxious to put to paper how I feel. Something inside me has shifted. Something has changed. It is hard to put into words or fully describe. There is so much I could say and so few words with which to describe it.<br />
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Today I had technology classes with a former graduate of this program, an elementary school principal who has a vision of technology in the hands of hungry learners. He's personable. I've connected with him because I like technology. I've connected because he's easy to connect with.<br />
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As I was sharing my thoughts about my impending dissertation, the one whose topic I have now changed a half a dozen times, we chatted about my life. I feel this need to be self-effacing about my age. He told me I was inspirational. I've heard that before and wasn't quite sure about it. This time though, it sounded more sincere and believable.<br />
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Then I mentioned about the 8 kids - incredulously he asked if I had birthed them all. I said yes. Then in the flow of this odd short conversation I mentioned that once upon a time I was a single mother with three children who had been abandoned by her husband and had just gotten a GED diploma. He looked at me and said,<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b> "Joyce YOU can do anything you want!" </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">I knew what he meant. He meant that if I had accomplished those things, I COULD do anything I wanted. That is ringing in my ears tonight. I believe him. I can.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Tonight we had a very strange experience for a doctoral program. I knew this was a Christian campus. This is my second degree here. I'm home. I had no idea how spiritual this journey would be. I am finding it more profound, more life changing and faith building than the seminary, or the MA program on this same campus.<br />
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We built an altar - we raised our Ebenezer as a group led a group discussion on the meaning of life. It was like church, actually, it was better than most services I've attended. On Sunday, we were given a Bible from the founder of this program. We had communion together. Tonight we were led in worship by the group ahead of us. One of them shared he didn't know Jesus when he started the program. Both he and his wife are now baptized. Wow! Get your doctoral degree and find the Lord.<br />
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But something else happened tonight. Our professor asked us to share something about ourselves that was unique. One of the young men has made a movie - a real movie, not just some youtube video. Another young man runs marathons. A woman was in the Navy and was an iron woman. Wow! What a group! Another man shared a tender story about never finding his voice until he was in twelfth grade. I thought how many people never find their voice. He was blessed to have found it. He has a soft, gentle, southern sound that as you know is music to my ears.<br />
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Then this other man stood up and shared that he'd shook hands with a president. He said he's shook hands with Ronald Reagan. Everyone was really impressed. I should have been too. The professor mentioned seeing Roslyn Carter and Carol Channing. There was a short discussion about how our lives sometimes interface with the famous. I take nothing away from these experiences. Nor is my intention to brag. But what hit me was the enormity of the experiences I have had. I had never thought about it that way.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEjAAouqNZxoKaEcYmmRFFDoypg_ckDLI_fvleeBhIuJlt3z09GpbUZO5pm9N767Gh75CfSzSDpf2xvigAPFuAr7cEJnl_nER_yHXgRH08RKHWWBkex8OtJbJx_nPDWLmPFo2KaL1CUac/s1600/lyndon-johnson_115428t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEjAAouqNZxoKaEcYmmRFFDoypg_ckDLI_fvleeBhIuJlt3z09GpbUZO5pm9N767Gh75CfSzSDpf2xvigAPFuAr7cEJnl_nER_yHXgRH08RKHWWBkex8OtJbJx_nPDWLmPFo2KaL1CUac/s200/lyndon-johnson_115428t.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
When I was a child, twice I saw Lyndon Johnson in person. I shook his hand. He was right there in my neighborhood. Another time, at the same location in front of OLPH Catholic church I saw Bobby Kennedy. I saw Hubert Humphrey in person.<br />
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Later I would sit in the audience of the old Mike Douglas show. I remember Arthur Treacher - yes, there really is an Arthur Treacher. I was on Romper Room with Miss Jane when I was little as well as Bozo the Clown - no I'm not old enough for Howdy Dowdy though.<br />
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As a child I went to the New York World's Fair and the Montreal World's Fair. I saw great works of art at the museum's in NYC. I would literally play at the Metropolitan. I saw the Mona Lisa there when it came on tour.<br />
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LBJ wasn't the only president I've shaken hands with, I shook hands with Carter. Later, as a leader in the field of aging, I saw Clinton many times. Shook his hand. I was a delegate to the White House Conference on Aging and sat in the room with Hillary and the Cabinet. Hugh Downs was there, as was the feminist Bella Abzug. I had a personal conversation with Bella. I've been to a reception for the King and Queen of Norway. I've had a personal conversation with the now deceased Benazir Bhutto. I even saw Pat Boone in the airport at Sioux Falls. He had a nice chat with my husband as they went through security. Pat got pulled aside, he evidently has a plate or something in one of his legs. For one of my children's birthday's, she got tickets to Regis and Kelly - we went. Harrison Ford was his guest that day.<br />
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I've testified before the Connecticut legislature and been there for the bill signing chatting with the Governor. I had a personal conversation with Chris Dodd outside the building where I was director during the Tiananmen Square crisis. He was called out by his aides for updates, I had the key to let him back in the building. We chatted about the crisis.<br />
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I am sure I am forgetting something that might amaze you. I thought tonight - what a life I have had! What opportunities that I have had - had I told them all of this they would have thought I was a braggart or liar - but they are all true. And I'm not bragging. I am thanking God for all the amazing experiences I've had.<br />
I'm really looking forward to more. </div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-53724393358386465162010-06-16T17:04:00.000-05:002010-06-16T17:04:22.230-05:00We're BackI saw porta-pots. A friend reported that she saw them on a trip to Western South Dakota. Maybe someone read my blog!? I don't know why they have porta-pots now, but I am so glad.<br />
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However, the hospitality issue is still a problem. We had a wonderful amazing trip to Arizona this past weekend. The customer service and friendliness was noticeably wonderful. I already sent an email to the hotel where we stayed - it was a low-budget hotel too... so it wasn't that we paid big bucks for that hospitality.<br />
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We ate at Denny's twice. Both times the servers were polite, attentive, friendly - everything you want. I should send an email to Denny's about it too. I am like that. I may complain but I also try to compliment with the same zeal.<br />
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Arizona is not only a beautiful place but the people are great. We saw the Grand Canyon for the first time. It left me awestruck. I can't wait to go back and see it again. Check out our video <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgkSvbeZI7E">here</a>.<br />
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We visited the mission in Tucson again. There is something about that mission. It seems to replenish our souls. We prayed at the mission. We even lit a candle. It was a Maria Guadalupe one that we bought in honor of our granddaughter. We even paid our respects to St. Francis' image. Saw a beautiful little ceremony for a young girl. You can see a video of it <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ZHNIfEPKeY">here</a>. We came home different people in many ways. I know I am more hopeful about the future. <br />
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Sadly we left Arizona on Monday. Service on Southwest Airlines was good as usual. We arrive very late in Omaha and decided to spend the night. Mistakenly we thought we'd save a few dollars and stayed at Motel 6. NEVER again. I realized that the extra $20 I would have had to spend to stay at a LaQuinta or other low-budget hotel would have been more than worth it. A quick breakfast at McDonald's in Omaha and off we went to back to South Dakota.<br />
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As soon as we got into South Dakota I did notice a porta-pot at a construction site. I was happy. Then we stopped at another McDonald's. This one was in South Dakota. I ordered a coffee. This time there was no smile. There was no "can I help you?" It was just a glare and a "here you go" when we got the coffee.<br />
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My husband and I just looked at each other, shrugged and said, "guess we're back in South Dakota." Today I had a less than enjoyable experience at Wal-Mart. No customer service there either... At McDonald's this morning I discovered that nearly every place else in the country will give you a large drink for a dollar. Here you get a small cup for a dollar.<br />
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Oh well, it's home for now. The day is beautiful. Some of the people I've met here are truly very nice people. They redeem the place for me. Next week I'll leave again and won't return for weeks. I'll drink all the sweet tea I want that is made right and only costs $1.Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-44315826591444001672010-06-10T12:23:00.002-05:002010-06-10T21:10:48.993-05:00Where's the Hospitality?I can't resist. I love to spar. I love to debate. I don't mean anything by it necessarily, it is just what I like to do. I can be like the proverbial dog with a bone.<br />
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I am pondering the comment challenging by assertion that the state of South Dakota doesn't put porta-pots on the highway for its workers. If you haven't read it, you should. Read my response.<br />
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This blog is about my journey in South Dakota. If you read carefully you'll see I am really working hard at coming to terms with this new life. It is my way of processing how I feel. It's not intended to be personal.<br />
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I moved here from the south. The south, particularly Tennessee is associated with hillbillies and rednecks. Gretchen Wilson made Red-Neck Woman a hit a few years ago. I suppose that didn't help the image of the south. But one thing about southerners is they are pretty willing to laugh at themselves and expose the ironies of their view of life.<br />
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Before I lived in the south, I lived in staid New England. It was supposed to be a place that was cold and proper. It was supposed to be a place of indifference. That wasn't true either. It was a warm inviting place that values each individual and the community. I've never seen such pride in your hometown as I saw in New England.<br />
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But of course, they have their weird ways and they can laugh at it. Like the southerners they don't mind poking fun at themselves and they laugh at the ironies of their view of life. Every place has its beauty and strengths, including South Dakota. Likewise everywhere has its weirdness.<br />
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Okay, by now you see where I'm going. I came to South Dakota with a bad attitude. Not because of the state but because of other things going on in my life. So admittedly, I made it harder on myself to live here.<br />
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Nevertheless, I've tried. I've tried to adjust. I actually have adjusted some. I used to hate it here. Now I've moved up to I can tolerate it as long as I can go to Sioux Falls frequently. As long as I can have a lunch with someone at least once a week who is friendly it's not so bad. Summer weather will come for a week or two I suppose - if not, at least it's not minus 30 and snow. You have to be thankful for small blessings in your life.<br />
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One thing I don't want to lose here is my sense of humor. I like looking at the ironies of life. I am an observer. I notice things about my environment. I grew up in New York City. I had to learn to observe everything around me. I could easily get lost. I could get hurt. Observation is as natural to me as breathing. So I observe odd things like no porta-pots. And yes, I think its weird. I think it's terrible too. I think it's terrible that the needs of individuals are neglected in order to save a penny or two.<br />
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Garrison Keillor has made a fortune pointing out the humor and ironies of life in the upper mid-west. I like Keillor. He's right. People here have weird ways just like every other part of the country. There is humor in Lutefisk, being Lutheran and Lake Wobegon.<br />
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Recently someone made an observation to me that I had not noticed. Have you looked closely at the sign that greets you when you enter the state of South Dakota?<br />
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Look carefully. Do you see the word welcome in this sign? Now here is a trivia question for you. What is the name of the only other state that doesn't have welcome on its sign? <br />
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Adding WELCOME and an attitude of welcome to the State of South Dakota would be another plank in my campaign if I ran for office in South Dakota -- porta-pots and hospitality might not get me elected here though.Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7416617618299520479.post-48012328523528661832010-06-08T11:14:00.000-05:002010-06-08T11:14:38.522-05:00What No Porta-Pots?We just got back from the Hills. I love to go to Rapid City. I've said before that I could live in Sioux Falls. Well I could also live in Rapid. It's different. But it's alive. It has commerce. It has natural beauty. I'm a big fan of Rapid City and the Black Hills.<br />
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Someone used to tease me because of my dislike of South Dakota. She would say to me that I should get a job as a spokesperson for South Dakota tourism. Actually she's right. I should get a job for tourism. I think everyone should come to South Dakota at least once in their life.<br />
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<b>Come see the Badlands, the Black Hills, Mount Rushmore! </b><br />
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I remember the first time I saw Mount Rushmore. I was so excited. I had flashbacks to being in the 3rd grade looking at my social studies textbook picture of Mount Rushmore. It had a picture of an old station wagon in front of the carvings. I thought I want to see that. Then I'd think, I'll never see that because we don't have a car. We live in Brooklyn. I'll never see that in person.<br />
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Whenever we leave South Dakota, there will be a part of me that is very grateful that I had the opportunity to visit Mount Rushmore and Western South Dakota not once, but many times now.<br />
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Yesterday we ate once again at Wall Drug. It is getting to be part of our ritual from trips to Rapid. It's not that the food is spectacular. We just like it. I had a buffalo burger yesterday that was overpriced but so yummy. We've been to Wall Drug a lot to eat this past winter. In the winter the place is quiet. In summer it comes alive with tourists. There is so much energy in Wall.<br />
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We noticed the license plates of the cars we past and those parked in front of Wall Drug. There was a line of people for food yesterday. One man in front of us hesitantly asked to try one of their donuts. I abstained from their donuts yesterday. I am sure he wasn't disappointed. They are amazing!<br />
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There is a lot of construction on I-90. It seems this is the year for bridge repair. All of a sudden I noticed it. In Connecticut they always have a police officer or two for any construction work on the roads. The police love the overtime for these activities. Tennessee doesn't always station police but they work a lot at night to not inconvenience travelers and tourists. Connecticut has that same consideration. Iowa, which we frequently drive through, doesn't.<br />
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South Dakota, like so many other things they do here, is different. There were no police around. They were working in the day time. Traffic is usually minimal in South Dakota so construction on the interstate is not an issue. However, then I noticed it. I thought... what????<br />
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I looked and looked and realized there were no porta-pots on their construction site. I thought now that's just too much. Here are these workers, working all day, outside, and if nature calls, I guess they are just out of luck.<br />
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In Tennessee they use local and state prisoners to do trash pick-up on the highways. Guess what? They get a porta-pot. Yep, on the back of the pick-up or on a trailer following the van that transports the prisoners to do this community service, there is a porta-pot. South Dakota doesn't even give it's workers the same luxury.<br />
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After my realization my husband and I had a lengthy discussion about penny pinching and toileting. I said, what do they do walk a half a mile to find a bush or tree - trees are sparse here. That takes more of the tax-payers time than putting a porta-pot for them to use. Then with my usual sarcasm, I said, what? do they have to wear a diaper? We laughed. Then we got serious. My husband brought up women working on construction sites. Women don't do as well behind a tree.<br />
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South Dakota is a great place to visit. They have plenty of rest areas for you on I-90. Clean ones too! They'll rent you a CD to listen to in the car for $20 with $15 refunded when you return it. You'll learn all about the state. You should come here.<br />
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But if you live and work here, forget about services and bring your own toilet paper.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>People are voting in South Dakota today in the primary. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>If I were running for office I'd make sure that the construction workers got Porta-Pots.</b></div>Joyce Ligharihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13853208533065317514noreply@blogger.com2