This guy is the best sport. He has now put up with me for 12 years! He is still the best fishing buddy, makes me laugh everyday, is my best cheerleader, is a great dad, and still keeps his promise that he will make my life easier!
I chose well and am blessed with a great companion and a wonderful life that we have built together. Go Team Ficklin!
Here is a bonus pic of us at the same spot 12 years ago:
You may or may not ever use this product in your life. If you like old bikes, and ever get the great opportunity of restoring or just cleaning an old Schwinn this is the magic compound you will need.
It is simple to use: you just coat the chrome with the compound and then use a cloth to rub it. The more you rub the shinier it gets.
I have been working on my new-to-me-old Schwinn this week and here are the results:
Pretty obvious that the fender on the right has been polished. (Ignore the big dent in the one on the left too, I mostly fixed it.) There is nothing like the chrome of the old Schwinns. It makes me happy to see such quick results. I think my bike geek is showing just a bit.
This bike should be done in the next few days. I will keep you posted!
It was meant to be that I was at my Reunion Day for The Central Utah Writing Project(CUWP) and the presenter had us write a list. So, the list of things Thrusday is a list of events that stick out in my head that I could write a story about:
1. Holding five kittens with my eyes swollen shut at the family farm at age 5.
2. Asking Mom where she was going(shuffling feet) while standing and talking in the kitchen.
3. Birth of each of my kids.
4. Meeting Reuben.
5. Discussing marriage apprehensions with the Good Brother(Randy), the seminary teacher.
6. Technical Foul in high school basketball.
7. The track coach asking me about throwing the shot put while I walked to the field. "But I play softball..."
8. Driving mom's car in the ditch.
9. Freshman taking me to my Senior Prom.
10. Combat Boots to Prom while a best friend went with an ex-boyfriend.
11. Friend's retainer in the trash at Wendy's.
12. Rocking chair with E when going through a miscarriage.
We always write a "Scribble" to start the day off. Basically, one of the participants has a prompt for us, and then we write for ten minutes. I couldn't, for the life of me, remember much of the prompt except that I turned it into some mumbo jumbo about being true to your true yourself and the word "pigeonholed" came up and that is what I ran with:
I've never even seen a pigeonhole. I've been assuming all my life that pigeons nest like all normal birds, but who am I to pigeonhole a pigeon. If they would rather burrow into the cold abyss of the underground, fine by me.
The older I get the less I care about what other people think, say, or do. Live your life to your truth...and let me have a nap. I'm exhausted by the loud, annoying voices found on social media and in the news. I dream of acreage in the middle of nowhere but within driving distance from an airport. See...I want to bury my head in the sand like a flamingo...why do we always use birds for our analogies?! I could ignore the world but come out to go to a concert or a baseball game on occasion. I want what my dad and his siblings had growing up in rural Wisconsin. Ya know the quiet and produce-your-own food kind of place. The only going into town once a week for essentials kind of place.
The place that his sisters hated and desperately wanted out of...I want that. The 1950s of limited technology and less worry about the neighbor's politics or preferences...A. Simple. Life. Maybe retirement will bring this simplicity and a more solace-filled place.
But maybe I'd just be bored like my kids everyday when they don't have the structures of routine and the endless summer days are only endless and unbearable for their parents. (When will the fighting end?)
Maybe my pigeonhole is just my office when I run away to ignore the fighting and write about the back 40 and how the grass is always greener for the other pigeons.
I just wrote this poem after editing my last post. It is inspired by this picture:
Woman on the Moscow Metro by Alice Ficklin
Your small stoic face
Stares at me in the metro
Criss-cross of cultures.
Here is a classic poem also written by me, Alice Ficklin
Haiku Poet
Counting syllables
Real poems just less commitment
The haiku poet.
I love that I can sit down for five minutes and have one or more haikus written. Haiku is perfect for the very busy poet.
You should write one and share it in the comments, either here or on social media. I want to hear your voice. Remember a haiku is a short three-lined poem. Historically, it was a nature poem, but I take the liberty to write haiku about anything I wish. In haiku: The first line has five syllables, the second seven and then the final and third line again has five syllables. Happy writing.
Traveling is one of my favorite things. Before becoming a more responsible adult, I could do more of it, including leaving the country. My first passport stamp was from Russia. The thirteen-hour flight was a new experience. Jet lag was also a new experience. Of course, both of these new experiences were well worth it.
When we arrived, our hosts, my friend, Janette's parents, were working for the U.S. Government at the Embassy in Moscow, and there was a 4th of July party. Janette's parents thought the best thing for us to adjust to the time change would be to stay up and enjoy the party. We enjoyed the party from lawn chairs, laughing at each other as we alternately fell asleep.
Moscow is a beautiful city, filled with lots of history. The Russian state itself has been around since 862. Going to their history museum on Red Square was special because of that rich and long history.
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| State Historical Museum, Moscow |
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| Cathedral of St Basil the Blessed |
My favorite on the square was St. Basil's. Each dome is a separate chapel, and each is filled with ornate decor and art. The cathedral was built during the reign of Ivan the Terrible to celebrate his military conquests.
Lenin's tomb was also a fascinating stop on Red Square. Here you line up to see the deceased leader. We asked our tour guide if we needed to purchase tickets for the tomb to which she responded: "Who would anybody pay to see a dead communist?" It was obvious that she and many of the citizens of Moscow didn't really love their political famed past. The stop was even more memorable because while walking past the corpse of Lenin, the military police posted on each corner started coming toward me with their rifles drawn, and speaking loudly in Russian. I had my hands in the pockets of my sweater and promptly removed them, not knowing that this was the cause of their dismay and as soon as I raised my arms, they went back to post. Apparently, it is a signal of disrespect to have your hands in your pockets? Maybe they thought I was a threat with some hidden weapon? Seems silly seeing I couldn't make Lenin any more dead...truly a peculiar stop. A very well-preserved and plasticy Lenin lays beneath thick clear glass. Not really how I want to be memorialized and a smidge creepy.
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| Janette and I in front of Lenin's Tomb, it is the tiny building in front of the wall |
Rich art and architecture could be found everywhere in the city. One of the memorable buildings are the Wedding Cake buildings built during the Stalin era.
During the peak of the USSR, Stalin wanted to demonstrate Russia's power and felt that the lack of skyscrapers in Moscow diminished the appearance of that power. From 1947-1957, seven of these buildings were erected. Currently, the majority of them are upscale hotels, one is a government house and another is part of Moscow State University. These buildings are filled with marble, sculptures, and arches. Each structure is topped with a gold five-point star, directing attention to how tall these once-tallest structures in Europe truly are.
Russia was truly a rich experience. I am thankful that I went back then, seeing not too many people travel there today, with the whole war going on in Eastern Europe.
I remember the people of Moscow seeming very stoic and a little apprehensive about us Americans. They definitely noticed us. We were louder than them and we dressed differently. One of my favorite pictures is this one:
Here we are going down into the metro, which was strangely very deep underground. Notice the face of the young woman on the far right of the photo. To me, she symbolizes the people of Russia. I wondered what was going through her mind as she saw me taking pictures of her normal life metro escalator. She seems serious and hesitant.
Little side note, many of the metro stations are also constructed majestically in the style of the Stalin Era. I had never seen gold leaf and marble used for subway stops, and it seemed odd to me, but again Mother Russia is a bit different. And since the Cold War Era, Russians have always been weary of Americans and I could feel it while visiting.
Also, another side note, if you do ever get to Russia, be sure to take your own toilet paper. Most public restrooms either don't have any or it is made of the brown paper that is used for paper towels here in the States. Oh, and mentally prepare that you may encounter a squatty potty while out and about there. I survived though, even if I almost slipped in:
