Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Millie, where are you when I need you?

This morning, I feel like I'm back in Mary Parker's class. She's just issued an assignment to write a 300-word theme on a subject of our choice. Remember those days? It seems like everything we ever wrote in high school during the '60s had to be 300 words long. That's when I learned how to use lots of adjectives and adverbs. I probably spent more time counting words than I did thinking.

I do remember spending some time thinking. Back in those days when you sat in an uncomfortable classroom desk with your folders and books under your seat and a body scrunched up close to you on either side, the writing process was not very easy, especially when thought processes refused to kick into action.

Once the assignment was issued, 30 sets of hands would reach underneath those desks to pull out a couple of sheets of notebook paper and to pull out a No. 2 pencil or ballpoint pen. In many cases, the stacks of books and notebooks came sliding onto the floor, causing lots of noise and lots of students to spend half the hour picking up the mess before getting started on the theme.

The next few minutes were usually pretty quiet as we stared at the ceiling, out the window, or even at Mrs. Parker who was working at her desk, correcting papers. Those intense stares helped in the writing process as we tried desperately to conjure up something---anything---to write about.

Then, came a series of notable assaults on the silence. Rip, crumple, plop. Lots of those noise sequences ensued for the next several minutes as anyone who could get their brain doors open wrote a few words at the top of the notebook paper, only to hate what they saw. And, since most of us had graduated to writing with a Bic ballpoint pen by then, we couldn't erase what we hated.

So we just wildly and disgustedly ripped the ink-stained paper from the notebook, wadded it up and threw it on the floor. By the time we were saved by the bell, the room had turned into a virtual sea of paper wads to be picked up and thrust in the wastebasket as we walked from the room, wondering what the heck we'd write about for the assignment deadline the next day.

I eventually solved this problem of vacuum brain halfway through my senior year. I had a 1,500 pound cow named Millie. Millie had caused me enough frustration as my 4-H cow to fill a book. The first time I wrote a theme for Mary Parker about how to wash a cow, she seemed to really enjoy learning all about the process of Hereford cow beautification. She even shared segments from my theme with the class.

So, for the rest of the year, Mrs. Parker got to know all dimensions of Millie---the first time she dragged me around the old fairgrounds arena causing me to get a white ribbon in fitting and showing, the second time she dragged me around the fairgrounds arena causing me to get a white ribbon in fitting and showing, etc.

Yup, three years in a row Millie did that to me and the unkind results were often memorable and notable. I had plenty to write about, so I didn't leave too many paper wads at my seat in Mrs. Parker's class. This morning's upstairs vacancy has made me wish Millie was around so I could write something really astounding, refreshing and funny.

I've thought about the birds. Already wrote about them, even though I could announce that this morning I actually heard AND saw the cheeseburger bird singing its song. Whoever wrote a blog comment a couple of weeks ago suggesting that the cheeseburger bird is a chickadee which doesn't order hamburgers until spring was dead on. I still have a question on that subject: is there just one chickadee appointed to order up the burgers? I never hear more than one ordering at a time.

I also thought of writing some more about the Ides. So far, nothing exciting there, but I do have my duct tape.

I thought about revealing the latest news about the NURD (Northern Urban Development, which affects us out here on Great Northern Road). Apparently, the burden's all on Perry Palmer, who built a shop for his trucks and equipment last fall. That means he has to pay the bills cuz he's the only one who's improved any property out here, and that's where all the NURD money comes from. If I'm wrong on that one, someone can tell me. Looks like the Great Northern Road pothole patrol has job security for a while.

I could talk about the weather, cuz it snowed some more this morning, but I'm sick to death of talking about snow and wet stuff. We've got so much wet stuff out here that our goose and duck population this spring has risen by about 500 percent. I've seen up to 30 ducks and geese and at least 100 blackbirds eating cracked corn in my yard several times this week.

Yeah, I wish it was senior year again and that my cow Millie was still around for a story starter. She would surely get my brain going this morning. Well, actually, she has. I've smiled a couple of times just thinking about her. In fact, I remember how exciting it was back in 1965 when the Monticola yearbook featured a full-page photo of Leland Rosenboom and Cynthia Welch (Farmer and Farmerette at Sandpoint High School) sitting on one of our fences with beautiful Millie in the foreground.

Who says there's nothing to write about today? I guess I've done my assignment, and thanks to my computer, Mrs. Parker and Millie, I haven't had to throw one paper wad to the floor. The only question I have right now: do I have the required 300 words?

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