The Wedding

I can honestly say that it was the most fun wedding I have ever attended.  And it was beautiful, outdoors, on the doorsteps of the Rocky Mountains.  Two of my favorite people were officially wed, a continuation of a committed relationship spanning seven years: my daughter, Debbie, and my new son-in-law, Jeff.  More of my favorite people were there, joining in the celebration.

Mike Morran, the Unitarian Universalist minister, encouraged Debbie and Jeff to write their own vows, which they did.  Morran added his own touch, with words that were downright poetic.  I wish I could remember it all, but something he said sticks in my memory:  Look at the beauty around you and think about whatever made it.

The wedding all came together, despite some tense moments beforehand.  The day before, some of the gerbera daisies had frozen in a friend's refrigerator.  The realization came that yet more granola needed to be prepared to fill the little bags for the guests.  The bride and groom got busy and made some more.  Amanda, the bridesmaid, was making decorations, and made countless trips to the arts and crafts store.  The mother of the bride was trying to create "something blue" by stringing tiny beads together, and they all came off the string and she had to begin again.

Then, miraculously, everything fell into place.  There was music, wine, food...  There were even a few bats flying around outside the barn where the reception was held, but they added an element of interest and didn't bother anyone.  There were toasts made by Jeff's brother, Andy; by Debbie's sister, Cindy; and a great slide show put together by Amanda.  No favoritism here, but I must say that Cindy did a great job with her speech.  I distinctly heard her remark, Debbie is the kindest person I know.  I remember the old days of sibling rivalry and I think, wow.

As I write this, it has been about a month since the wedding.  Today I was listening to a discussion from an online radio station.  A minister and teacher remarked about weddings, saying something to this effect:  I am asked to officiate at weddings, but I can't "marry" anyone.  They do this themselves.  It's a commitment, an inner thing, and most of the time it has been made well before the ceremony takes place.

I like that.

Best wishes to Debbie and Jeff. 

   

The Geographical Center of the Forty-Eight States

Marker made of native Kansas stone

The view east from the geographical center

The chapel and a pleasant place to picnic or sit for a while.

This was my second visit to the Geographical Center of the Forty-eight states.  Some would say there is not much there:  There is a small chapel dedicated to the memory of Elmer and Zeta Stump.  There are picnic tables, a shelter, benches and a small outdoor grill.  There are a couple of markers, most notably one made of native Kansas stone.  There is a small motel that appears to be unoccupied, but kept up.  The place is so nice, atop a prairie hill.


What I like most is looking down the road leading east, a two-lane asphalt road that follows the contour of the land, up and over undulating hills across the prairie.


I stand at the little park that seems mowed and tended and cared for, and know that at every distant direction there are traffic jams on the freeway, crowds shouting at the ball game, jet engines roaring, loud music, mud-slinging politicians, commercials trying to seduce us with triple cheeseburgers and worse, frantic buying and selling of securities, worries about deadlines, all that stuff.


Here at the center there is quiet, except for the song of birds and the prairie wind.


It is good to know that at the middle of this country there is a quiet center.

Solution: Fishy Basement Odor

For quite a while I have noticed an unpleasant odor in our basement.  The strange thing about it was that (a) it was never there when I would first go down to the basement, and (b) it began after I had been in the basement for, oh maybe five minutes or so, and (c) it was confined to one section of the basement.

I have even asked people about it, people who might know, like hardware store employees, and a handyman.  They looked at me like I was losing my mind.  I feared that the basement needed some drastic cleaning, like bleach on all the walls and floors.  I dreaded doing a job like that.

A few days ago I was down in the basement, and made the determination that the odor was like fish that had passed its prime.  Then I went to the computer and Googled "Fishy basement odor."  

What do you know!  Someone else had the same problem and had figured it out.  When plastic light fixtures like the one in the picture below get old and begin to deteriorate, they emit a fishy odor.  It happens after the light has been on long enough for the fixture to heat up.  I unscrewed our fixture and smelled it.  Sure enough, it smelled really fishy, and not in a good way.

It is such a joy to solve a problem like this!  I haven't been this happy since we had the dead raccoon removed from the window well.