Wannaskan Almanac

First published April 29, 2019... Today’s post brings us to the one-third point in this fourth Song. This portion brings us to an up-close and personal teacher-students “moment.” Something powerful begins. A great seed is planted. Hopefully, the quickening pace will please and delight readers. This teacher is not cut from ordinary cloth, and one wonders how many teachers would take the time to meet students on this psychological level. No matter. The game’s afoot! My teacher drops to the floor, sits cross-legged                and suddenly, towering over him this                feels all wrong – not my place but my head hums                in my ears, so he has to be the one This keeps me from startling like a scared dog                I slowly sink down silent facing him I hear chirping rustling birds in green vines                outside open windows there is no time The teacher cocks his head inquiringly                as if to ask the time or direction I see he will wait to dust fo

  We need to learn to live with AI; it’s just us in code, good, bad, and mostly indifferent.  The preacher inept  Though his pearls are most fine Casts in a way That turns hearers to swine I can eat off my floors.  Off the kitchen floor I could even assemble a small snack.  Shall I dash headlong  Paying no heed  Or sit frozen    in place Praying my creed Burned at the stake was a fearsome way to go. You hoped some kind soul would toss a bucket of wet leaves on the flames so the smoke would knock you out before the pain began. Our civilization doesn't burn people at the stake, but the threat of hellfire is still there for those who need it. The nations we dislike or look down on: the Mexicans, the Chinese, even the French...we adopt their cuisines, while the people we admire...well, when was the last time you ate at a Canadian or Norwegian restaurant outside of Canada or Norway. Love conquers all, but fear gives it a good run for its money.  I have talents that lay unused like tools

Hello and welcome to a post-Friday-the-13th Saturday here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is September 14th. Yesterday my husband set off, the early morning sunshine glinting off our white, rusty Subaru Legacy, to take College Kid 3.0 to school. It's official. It happened. The 7th Grader has been asking all summer if she can have her brother's room when he leaves. The answer has been a consistent staccato of no. Not even five minutes after he left, she asked, "Can I have his bedroom?" No. And a half hour later, "Can I have his bedroom?" Moments after the car pulled away, the 4th Grader started to choke up and then the tears came. "Who's going to play Borderlands with me?" he asked. He shouldn't be playing Borderlands at all, I thought, but that wasn't the point. The point was he felt the sharpness of being left behind. "Someday I'm going to be an only child," he said. He's not wrong, I thought. I had my cry Thursday m

     Last week Teresa suggested we help band ducks at the Agassiz Wildlife Refuge. This duck banding was scheduled for Thursday evening at 5:30. At 5:30 I'm usually looking for my supper and envisioning my bed not long after that. Besides, we had an errand to run out of town and would not make it back for this duck banding thing.   But the errand fell through and Teresa said, "Now we can band ducks." I said nothing. I was trapped. So late Thursday afternoon we drove 37 miles south and west to Refuge Headquarters. Soon other cars joined us. There were lots of kids. The little museum got packed so we didn't go in but studied the banding instruction posters outside.    Before putting a band on a duck you must determine if the duck is a juvenile, born this year, or an adult. And you must also determine the sex. There were intimate photos of male duck genitalia. This could prove embarrassing. Fortunately I hadn't signed any paperwork agreeing to be a duck bander.   At

  An Excerpt from THE RAVEN Sept 11th Issue 2001.  by Steven Reynolds

And here is the Wannaskan Almanac with Word-Wednesday for September 11, 2024, the thirty-seventh Wednesday of the year, the twelfth Wednesday of summer, the second Wednesday of September, and the two-hundred-fifty-fifth day of the year, with one-hundred eleven days remaining.   Wannaska Phenology Update for September 11, 2024 Spotted Touch-Me-Not Impatiens capensis is one of Wannaska's September bloomers. Growing from two to six feet tall, this erect, hairless forb [/fôrb/ n., a herbaceous flowering plant other than a grass] often grow in colonies. The flowers are ¾″ to 1⅛″ long, with three petal-like sepals and five petals. The petals are orange with reddish-brown spots. One petal forms the upper lip -- short, wide, and curving upward. The four remaining petals are fused in pairs to form two lobed, lateral petals, which spread outwards forming a pair of landing pads for pollinating insects. Don't bother sniffing the Spotted Touch-Me-Nots, because they have no floral scent. Se

And now...more joys of aging with Mr. Hot Coco! 1.  I might not have back muscles, but I have back fat! 2.  I might not have biceps, but I have bifocals! Those little lines can help you read 3.  I might not have energy, but I an enervated!  (Yay, I learned a new word!) 4.  I might not be able to nab fly balls, but I can nap easily in my chair! 5.  I might not be able to run a mile, but I can tell run on stories for hours! Get to the point! 6.  I might not be with it, but I am probably scared of it! 7.  I might not be cool, but I do love a warm blanket! 8.  I might not follow social media, but I do get social security! 9.  I might not like spicy food, but I do like spacious pill boxes! 10.  I might not like numbered lists...but I did make you read one!   Respect your elders...like Steve and Joe!

Little did I know, back in 1954, as I sat, pencil poised, in Sister Michael Marie's first-grade class, that practicing my name, Virginia Mary Langton, over and over in the Palmer Method would become a gateway for my life's calling.  No, I am not a calligrapher. I have no fine motor skills, and my handwriting is terrible. It's just that everyone called me Ginny before I started school. The second of four at the time (eventually, we would be six), I was the wiggle alongside my older sister's steady gait. Beth would relegate me to the wall side of the beds we made together, point menacingly at my bony wisp of a body, and sing-song taunt me with the refrain, "Skinny Ginny! Skinny Ginny!" Activating my easy penchant for joy was a sure way to get through chores. I wonder if the beds ever got made well, but we had a good time. Indoors or out, fun was my middle name and top priority. I was the first to jump onto our backyard swing and touch my foot on the bottom of a

  Scale is everything. As I ride the earth spinning at 1,000 mph, I don’t feel a thing, unless a hurricane sets carousels rolling into my house.  I’m really Mr Wonderful My ego's the SOB I think I’ll ghost my ego Shhhh…please don’t follow ME A cornucopia is a good thing except when you’re trying to find that last breakfast muffin that’s migrated to the far end.  We appreciate that scientists need to push an idea till it goes bad but do they also need to foist it on an unsuspecting public: Hiroshima, forever chemicals, etc.  So when someone starts a sentence with the word “so” you can expect to hear a simplified version of a complex situation.  A walking stick is not just for support but also to let the brain know where the floor is so it can avoid going there.  Grandparents are notorious for bragging about their grandkids and their meds list.  When I debate my friend, he asks for my sources. That’s my cue to say, I don’t need no stinkin’ sources.  Driving on freeways is like travel