The Last Hurrah!

I've always said I don't want to be 50 and say "Gosh, I wish I would have..."

 

They say "time flies when you're having fun".  It also flies when you're multi-tasking and multi-managing different paths in your life all at once.  One day you think 30 is old.  The next you're at 50 and you have to stop and think about what you've accomplished, and what you have yet to accomplish. 

 

Well, time does fly.  Period.  It was five years ago that the old Yokel Hardware & Appliance store became the Pour House. I remember shortly after opening, a construction worker stopped in and asked if I had any paint thinner.  I pointed him to a nasty bottle of wine and assured him that was as close as I could get!  I remember opening day like it was yesterday.  I was still in my boxer shorts, pony tail and t-shirt, working to spiff the place for the grand opening later that day.  My first two guests, the Zeleny's, strolled in.  They wanted to be the first to wine taste... and that they did/were.  I didn't even have cash for the register yet, but they didn't care.  They toasted.  They smiled. They kicked off a fantastic ride for me of meeting people, bringing international entertainment to town, hearing bad jokes (and good ones), getting kudos, and suffering hard knocks.  But most importantly, I have made more friends than I have lost.  Together, with their support, and the hard work and tolerance of Mike, Tina, Noelle, and later Dani & Kelly, it has been not just a ride... but a hell of a ride!  I have gained a family... a "hubby"... a group of friends that were not staff, but weekend family.

 

If ever red chairs could be infamous... our red chairs are!

 

Just as "time flies" is familiar, so is "parting is such sweet sorrow".  The decision to put the Pour House up for sale was not an easy one.  It was a year of tears, no sleep, "plan B" ideas and conversation with my closest friends and family. At first there were as many "Oh are you sure?" comments as there were "You can't do it all".  What I finally realized was that the time was never going to be "just right".  For every high, there was a low... or two...  For every new opportunity that came my way, there was a reason the PHouse wasn't ready to fly on it's own yet and I had to pass.  Taking my part-time consulting job with the psychiatric pharmacists was as much mental health for me as it is for their patients.  Politics.  Other people.  Other places.  Challenges. Strategy.  All of that, from the job, eased for me what I knew.  The time would never be JUST RIGHT. And, in September, when I knocked at the door of age 50, I realized that the time was as right as it's ever going to be.  Time for me to step away from my baby.  Time to offer her hand to someone else, or to put her to bed on the highest of highs.  My landlords were notified. The broker was phoned. My family was supportive and one or two were greatly relieved.  No.  I am not walking away with my head hung low, or my tail between my legs.  I am not broke.  I did not get rich.  This was a labor of love.  It brought people, revenue, ideas, interest in the opera house project... and culture to town. It was a success.  It is a success.  And it's very hard to know that there is a good chance that success will end in just a few weeks.  But, for me, the time is right.

 

So, on this cold, gloomy day, I happily trip down memory lane remembering all the great events, food, wine, music, poetry, people and conversation that has taken place in these very fast five years.  I sincerely believe, in the words of the Carpenter's... "we've only just begun".  I keep fingers and toes crossed that time will be close enough to just right for the next brave soul to carry the torch that is the Pour House. 

 

As for me, I have actually found a time that is JUST RIGHT.  It's just right to start over.  They say life begins at 50... 50 is the new 40... blah blah.  It is just a number, but it's a good reminder for me that I have a lot to accomplish yet.  And that is outside of the Pour House.  I get to be part of a national effort to reform not only Medicare, but the way healthcare is provided. I get to work with people and professionals from all over the country to make changes that matter.  And there are so many possibilities out there. That's really cool!  With the closing of my tenure, the doors are opening and my life will be changing.  I'm excited for the next phase of challenges, opportunities and goals.  But, you can bet your last dollar that if the Pour House remains open, I will be there, supporting it and the new owners.  I might even do a load of dishes if needed!  I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all these years of love and support for the PHouse. It has been a wild and crazy, but fantastic end to the first part of my life!

 

Merry Christmas.  Happy New Year. Thank you and Cheers!

 





Inspired By Strangers

My bike, Sweet Pea, some posies, an awesome antique typewriter perched on a vintage secretary desk... with a great bottle of red wine and a Riedel glass.  Welcome TypeRider II to Friend, Nebraska & the Pour House!

One of the easiest things to do in life is to "settle in"; to get comfortable with how things are. Becoming complacent is a scary thing. Losing interest in anything new or different is a scary thought.  "Just because that's the way it is" doesn't settle well with me.  Without a sense of adventure (and a sense of humor of course), I think we lose a dimension of the world.  And sometimes, in our own little bubble of the world, we get too comfortable to remember that there is a whole big world out there, with interesting things to do and unique people to meet.  We need to remember that we don't always need to leave the comforts of home to experience this.  We can invite the world to us.  We are, after all, in the middle of everywhere, here in Nebraska!

A few months ago, our City Hall forwarded me an email from a woman that nobody had ever heard of.  Debbie typed, "Not sure what to do with this... would you be interested?".  I read on.  Apparently Maya Rachel Stein and Amy Tingle were on an adventure.  They were planning a second TypeRider tandem poetry tour across the United States, and they were wondering if Friend, Nebraska might be interested in participting in their effort.  Along the 1400 mile journey, their goal is to find sponsors who will purchase, decorate and dedicate a Little Free Library.  If you're not familiar with this project, it is a literacy effort that is based on the idea of "take a book, return a book" www.littlefreelibrary.org  There is no cost. It's a very simple process that is catching on all over the country.  It's a kind of social book club/exchange.  To date, there are thousands of registered, original Little Free Libraries cropping up all over.  Nebraska has about 30.  Our area has zero.  I thought maybe we should change that.

Well, I proposed the idea of promoting literacy and creativity to my friends at the Hysterical Society, and... being wacky minds of social thought... they thought it was a dandy idea.  After some discussion about where to locate the new little library, it was decided that the Yokel Courtyard will be the new home for our community project.  Getting the area kids involved in the Historic Warren Building, and creating a sense of community and ownership in the restoration process is an ongoing goal of the Friend Historical Society.  The Little Free Library dedication, writing poetry with these two tandem bicyclists, creating a chalk sidewalk quilt of poems, listening to storytelling and having food and fun is now on the agenda for this Friday.  And, proudly, there are more than 13 volunteers and organizations that have signed on to be a part of this effort.  The young mothers of the Friend Area Fund (FAF) have rallied the troops and they will provide a bicycle escort for Maya & Amy.  Everyone will meet at the Daisy Queen and await the twosome's arrival to Friend.  Then we will escort them, and their vintage trailer Maude, to Second Street, in front of the San Carlo Room.

Maude- poetry headquarters!

 

Next, it is time to get creative.  Squares of the sidewalk will have themes for families to decorate, encouraging a poetry quilt out front of the Pour House/San Carlo Room.  Maya & Amy will type away as they work with each child, creating an individualized poem.  FAF will provide ice cream treats, the Hystericals & Citizens State Bank popcorn, 1st Bank of Friend is sharing soda and water, Stone's Thoreau & PHouse will do garlic sticks, grilled veggies, fresh pesto and heirloom marinara sauce.  There will be a mime on hand to interact with the kids, the service dog in town will be mingling too, and we'll welcome the clown from Wilber!  At 7PM, the Nebraska Humanities has provided a grant for storytelling and kids will settle in to the San Carlo for stories of Hans Christian Anderson.  While they're being mesmerized, parents will join the poets in the back of PHouse for a wine tasting meet and greet.  On Saturday, after our poetry ladies have ventured on to Lincoln, the Hystericals will prepare to welcome the music of Paul Ramp to San Carlo.  Food, music and wine is available beginning at 7PM.

 

And in this process of creating this event, a huge, loud shout of thanks and gratitude goes out to my dad, John Potter, and our kind and talented local artist Mr. Greg Holdren.  Dad assembled our Little Free Library and Greg painted the Grow Your Knowledge theme for us.  Complete with a vintage porch post, the little library is decked out with flowers and a painted shingled roof.  In honor of our state bird, a meadolark perches on one side, watching to see what yougster will come to take a book next, while our own opera house resident spirit Mr. Frog Winslow is honored with a merry frog, perched on his back, basking in the sun and glory of his very own book.  Our Little Free Library is REALLY SUPER COOL!  We could not bring this Feed Your Soul weekend of events together without the help of everyone involved who somehow supported it.  We thank Maya & Amy for their creativity and quest to add dimension to our world, here in Friend.  We look forward to meeting you both.  We truly have been inspired by strangers.

 

 

 For more info, visit www.visitthepourhouse.com  www.FriendOperaHouse.com or search TypeRiderII Tandem Poetry Tour on Facebook. 

 

A bit about the bonnet.

Today I'm feeling nostalgic.  Easter was always a special time for me and my mom.  I usually got a new dress, gloves, and shiny white shoes to wear for church services.  I'd proudly march up the front steps of the Dorchester Methodist Church and extend my white gloved hand to whomever happened to be the greeter on Easter Sunday.  Very special Easter Sunday's included going to the cemetary for the sunrise service. Those are memories I will always cherish.  Then we'd return to the farm and I'd strategically remove my Easter bonnet and put it on my dresser.  I really did think I was very fancy!

 

Do you know the history of the Easter bonnet?  The Easter bonnet is significant of the tail-end of a long standing tradition of wearing new clothes at Easter.  The tradition was begun in keeping harmony with the renewal of the year and the promise of spiritual renewal and redemption.  Yes, the wearing of an Easter bonnet is really significant of redemption of our sins and the rising of Christ. In the United States, the bonnet was fixed in pop culture by Irving Berlin, who wrote the music referencing the Easter parade in New York City.  In 1933, the song became popular in the Broadway production of "Thousands Cheer".  Berlin wrote about the festive walkabout in the city, when people paraded down Fifth Avenue from St. Patrick's Cathedral after Easter service.  "In your Easter bonnet with all the frills upon it, You'll be the grandest lady in the Easter parade!"

Miss Gabrielle Ray - a Rotary Photo

 

The tradition continued, even during the great depression.  Surely, a new hat was a luxury, but even a refurbished old bonnet remained special.  The idea of new clothes at Easter was even referenced in Romeo and Juliet, as far back as the late 16th century.  In the story, Mercutio teases Benvolio ""Did'st thou not fall out with a Tailor for wearing his new clothing (doublet) before Easter?"

Miss Mabel Love

 



Poor Robin's almanac, from the 18th-century, offered the advice, "At Easter let your clothes new Or else be sure you will it rue."  That notion that ill-luck would hound the one who didn't present him/herself in something new at Easter expanded in the 19th century.  Easter bonnets were worn by women and girls to Easter services, and in the parades that followed.  Particularly, in this Victorian time, ladies purchased elaborate designs for church service, recognizing the end of Lent and suffering, partaking in luxury. 



Early on, bonnets were hand made by the women who wore them.  In the late 18th century, the art was taken from the home and the millinery profession began.  Sadly, as manufacturing overtook the hand work of a seamstress and the design of the milliner, the novelty of the grand Easter bonnet began to fade.  Through the 1920-50's American women still wore hats, but the grand bonnet became a memory.  Today, in our casual society, Easter Bonnets are becoming harder to find, and fewer and fewer women bother with the tradition.  Today I saw several pretty little girls'  photos posted on Facebook, but none of them wore Easter bonnets.  That makes me a little bit sad.

So, on this Easter Sunday of 2014, I'm flipping through nostalgia, viewing beautiful photographs of a time when things were more difficult, and somehow much more beautiful.  I think we should have a bonnet evening at the Pour House, where the members of the Committee on Social Thought sit calmly, sipping and pontificating, reminiscing about memories of Easters past, and reflecting on the Word, giving thanks.  Enjoy the photos.  Happy Easter everyone.



 

 

Friends & Angels

     Yesterday was a bittersweet day.  Just like every February 7th is.  It was a hustle-bustle day of work, errands, photo shoot, and then a happy surprise when my old friend Chuck stopped past the PHouse to say hello.  I love that about the PHouse.  New friends come to huddle in our red leather chairs to get to know each other better.  Old friends come to share time together.  And my friends know that if they want to track me down they can do so either by facebooking me or strolling into the PHouse.  It's pretty much guaranteed.  It was fun catching up with Chuck.  We were legisaltive pages together in 85-86.  He and my many other Unicam friends have been on my mind because the legislature is back in full swing.
     Do you ever stop to think about your subconscious mind?  It's kind of the storeroom for your memories, experiences and beliefs.  It houses things that never leave you, but are not on your mind every moment.  Mine never ceases to amaze me.  Every February 7th that I wake up, I remember it's my high school boyfriend's birthday.  This year BL would have been 48.  We graduated the same year, but because I was all of five months older, he always joked about dating an "older woman".  He was my first love.  He was my sparring partner (we loved to argue for the sport of it) and he was my friend.  He was a jock.  Ruggedly handsome.  Tall, strong and pretty much invincible.  I still remember his phone number and that smirk he'd give me before he'd say something funny. I still have the 100 pennies he mailed to me after he lost a $1.00 bet.  Sadly, likewise I wake up on July 29th each year and remember that that is the day he died. He was 23.  He had had different girlfriends by then, but he'd still stay in touch.  We had plans to get together a week after that.  We joked that we should get back together.  This time as grown-ups.  He assured me I'd be his favorite ex-wife.  On the front shelf of my BL memories in my storeroom I remember those two phone calls.  The first from his cousin, telling me they were taking him to surgery.  We assured each other that if anyone could survive this, it was BL. The next call came.  I knew when the phone rang that he'd come up against something stronger than he was.  I didn't know that existed.  He was a big hearted softy, but he was a tough man.
     Do you  ever stop to think about coincidence?  You know, the chance happening of something in a suprising and remarkable way.  Well, BL has been on my mind because of the anniversary of his death.  And oddly enough, today I stumbled upon a blog written by the former wife of a friend of his.  It was written 3 years ago and is a tribute to BL's life.  He was her friend.  She did a beautiful job of remembering him, and through her words I could see and hear him, just as if I saw him yesterday.  She is a cousin of my sister in laws and we were just talking about her recent remarriage and her happiness.  That is coincidence.  I think finding the blog was something more than coincidence.  That was Bradley Layne.
     So today,  my BL storeroom in my subconscious mind is very much on my mind.  I am remembering the day I returned to Schuyler to say goodbye.  Gathering at Greg's house the night before to share stories and drink beer with all of our old friends.  Hearing his sister assure me that he was in a better place, where he wouldn't have to worry about paying bills and where he could eat all the ice cream he wanted.  Meeting Brenda in the parking lot of the Oak Ballroom the next day because she would not let me go to the funeral myself.  Going to the bar after we left the cemetary and sharing lots of hugs and tears with our friends.  And returning every now and then, always amazed that my subconscious GPS kicks in and I can walk staight to his grave.  Sometimes I take him a beer. I left flowers once, just because I know he would have thought that was a sissy thing to do.  I still carry his senior picture in my wallet, firmly believing that he has protected me all of these years that I traveled around the country working.  A few years ago when my purse was stolen, my biggest concern was that a note from him and his picture were gone forever.  I wrote to his mom and she happily sent me a replacement along with her thanks for remembering and loving him.  It's hard to believe that this year it will be 25 years since he left us.  I still talk to him.  I'm sure that he and my mom still sit around a table and beers.
     I am grateful for all of those happy and sad memories in my subconscious mind.  I'm grateful that I found Sandy's blog and mostly I am grateful for my angel.  BL is never going to bust through the PHouse door making funny comments about the place being too fussy or fancy and thanking me because at least I have a Budweiser for him.  So, I will toast him for his 48th birthday.  I will toast Chuck for making the time to stop by and catch up.  And I will toast all the other friends that have happened by or will do so soon.  Sharing this place with those here and not here is pretty cool.  Thanks for supporting us and letting me share a little bit.

The Wind and the Wee Wee Woman

     Windy weather has not been good to the Pour House.  When the wind blows people stay home.  Or they camp someplace.  They hunker down and wait for nicer weather.  I understand it's a bit trying, but it is Nebraska and it is usually windy.  I personally love the wind. 

     When I was a little girl, my brother and I stayed with my grandpa and grandma Potter quite often.  I loved (still do) the old farmhouse.  The only room in the house upstairs that was heated was the bathroom, so the rule was to keep the bathroom door closed to "save the heat" and keep all the other registers closed.  During winter months I would share my grandma's bed and Jack would sleep with grandpa.  Her room in the southwest corner of the house used to creak and moan with the sounds of the wind and snow.  We'd snuggle up under the cold sheets and wait to warm up. 

     Grandma used to read to me.  We had boxes of old school primers from when she and aunt Ardis used to teach elementary school.  I still have my favorite old primer on my shelf in my library and in it is my favorite story.  The Wee, Wee Woman is a short little tale about a frail little old maid who lives in a wee wee house, has a wee wee candle, wee wee table, wee wee bed... you get it.  As the wind would howl outside, I would listen to grandma read about how the wee wee woman heard a noise.  She got out of bed, lighted her candle, went downstairs, investigated and found nothing.  Oh, as the drama was building, and the wind was howling, I envisioned this little old lady in her tiny little house, afraid of what she could hear, but not find.  As you probably have figured out by now, she finally opens her wee wee cupboard and finds her nemesis.  OUT JUMPS BOO as portrayed by my grandma, who slept in a frilly nightgown and had toilet paper secured with pink tape and a hair cap to protect her hairdo, who also left her teeth in the cup downstairs in the laundry room, made quite a dramatic conslusion to this silly little story. 

     After BOO was discovered, I'd hop up on the bed, swing my arms until I caught the string that turned off the ceiling light and bedside lamp, and I'd snuggle back in to listen to the BOO outside.  I love stories and poems about the wind.  These past several days many have come to mind reminding me not only of the work but of my grandma, grandpa, aunt Ardis and my mom, who always had "a headache" when the wind blew.  The wind stirs memories.  Today, even though it is windy, it is a good day.  Have a nice evening.  Hang on to your hat and watch out for BOO!

 

THE WEE, WEE WOMAN

Once upon a time there was a wee, wee woman who lived all alone in a
wee, wee house.

One night this wee, wee woman lighted her wee, wee candle, crept softly
up her wee, wee stairs, got into her wee, wee bed, and fell fast
asleep. Soon this wee, wee woman was awakened by a noise. She jumped
out of her wee, wee bed, lighted her wee, wee candle and looked behind
her wee, wee door, but there was nothing there. Then she looked under
her wee, wee bed, but there was nothing there.

So this wee, wee woman took her wee, wee candle in her wee, wee hand,
crept softly down her wee, wee stairs and, when she reached the room
below, she looked under her wee, wee chair, but there was nothing
there. Then she looked into her wee, wee cupboard, but there was
nothing there. Then she looked behind her wee, wee stove, but there
was nothing there. Then she looked under her wee, wee table, but there
was nothing there.

So this wee, wee woman took her wee, wee candle in her wee, wee hand,
crept softly up her wee, wee stairs, got into her wee, wee bed and fell
fast asleep. Soon this wee, wee woman was awakened by a noise. She
jumped out of her wee, wee bed, lighted her wee, wee candle and looked
behind, her wee, wee door, but there was nothing there. Then she
looked under her wee, wee bed, but there was nothing there.

So this wee, wee woman took her wee, wee candle in her wee, wee hand,
crept softly down her wee, wee stairs, and, when she reached the room
below, she looked under her wee, wee chair, but there was nothing
there. Then she looked into her wee, wee cupboard, but there was
nothing there. Then she looked behind her wee, wee stove, but there
was nothing there. Then she looked under her wee, wee table, but there
was nothing there.

So this wee, wee woman took her wee, wee candle in her wee, wee hand,
crept softly up her wee, wee stairs, got into her wee, wee bed and fell
fast asleep. Soon this wee, wee woman was awakened by a noise. She
jumped out of her wee, wee bed, lighted her wee, wee candle and looked
behind her wee, wee door, but there was nothing there. Then she looked
under her wee, wee bed, but there was nothing there.

So this wee, wee woman took her wee, wee candle in her wee, wee hand,
crept softly down her wee, wee stairs, and, when she reached the room
below, she looked under her wee, wee chair, but there was nothing
there. Then she looked into her wee, wee cupboard, but there was
nothing there. Then she looked behind her wee, wee stove, but there
was nothing there. Then she looked under her wee, wee table and out
jumped–BOO!!!

In the Back of the Closet

Yesterday was a very good day.  I went to the Pour House to eagerly whip up 60 tea sandwiches for the afternoon event, happy to know that my crazy neighbor kids (nephew, niece, nephew) would be returning from their family vacation that evening.  Even though Sunday is the only day I can sleep in a little, I anticipated the likelihood that I'd be jostled from slumber by Jake's screaming and squealing from the front porch about something very exciting.  And, even though I don't see much of those kiddos, it's a comfort to know that they're growing up right next door.  I especially appreciate the fact that Joe, my almost-old-enough-to-drive-holy-shit-how-did-that-happen-better-stop-calling-him-PEANUT... well probably not, still stops in at my office to chat.  That's a cool thing for an auntie to enjoy.  It was also good because the ladies of the Hysterical Society (affectionately known) pulled off yet another spectacular afternoon tea event, complete with beautiful and delightfully good sandwiches, snacks and desserts, tea, a little wine, and a lot of laughter thanks to the humor of PruDENSE, singing life lesson songs to us, as she channeled the late Patsy Cline (and she did a heck of a job at it). The event helped us to raise funds as we continue efforts to restore the opera house. So, family was headed home, the weather was beautiful, the event was a success, I enjoyed some wine with friends and the PHouse was bustling with strangers from all over the state.  But, what made my day especially good was the gift that a kind young lady named Jennie delivered.

One of the saddest days I can remember was the day that my mom and uncle started dismantling my Grandma's home.  They'd decided it was time for Grams to go to an assisted living.  They packed her up, settled her in and then tore into the house like mad men.  They wanted it done.  Over.  Sort, pick, decide, argue... just get it cleaned out, cleaned up and on the market.  Boom.  Done.  And there it sat.  Gramps and Gram's house.  The place where we used to watch from the front door for hobos to hop off of the train.  The driveway where we used to wear the plastic wheels off of the scooter.  The house where "As the World Turns" provided the most drama during the weekdays, and the "Big Joe Polka Show" oompa'd away on the weekends when Gram would do laundry and iron every piece of it, organizing things on the massive kitchen table that Gramps built.  He'd gotten the round top from some bar somewhere and build a massive pedestal for it.  You could easily sit 10 people around it.  And when it was time for everything else from the house to go, ironically, it was so big that it stayed.  The family table got left behind. 

Gram's house soon sold to a young man who was getting married.  Gram was excited that his future young step-daughter was going to be living there.  "Good house for a young family" she'd say.  She'd always ask how her house was.  "Are they keeping it up?"  "How does the yard look?" I'd reassure her it still looked just like her house.  We drove past the house when we'd take our rides around the countryside.  After these new owners put it on the market, we stopped to pick up the real estate flier.  Gram was failing and didn't even recognize the house.  She looked at the flier.  Laughed.  Said "That's a LOT of MONEY" for that place!  Then she looked at the picture of the kitchen and, yes, she recognized that huge round table. Not the house, but the table. 

My Gram passed away in May.  She was 95.  She had a lot of hard years of work, little money and life struggles, but she had many happy years in that house.  It has again sold, to another young couple, and Gram's house is making another transition.  Jennie had told me that they were buying Grandma's house.  I immediately asked her if I could take a tour.  Yeah, kinda rude, but I know her and didn't think she'd think I was being nosey... just being sentimental.  She agreed... after they got settled.  Deal.  Weeks later, she mentioned that they were finding "things" she thought were probably my Gram's.  I said "SAVE IT ALL".  She did. And yesterday she delivered Christmas presents in August.  As she reached into the trunk to show me the hand-embroidered "FRANK AND CLARA 50th ANNIVERSARY" golden pillow, my eye immediately was drawn to the white plastic bag.  There it was.  The deep red and blue swirly paisley print was peering at me... saying "do you remember me?"  Indeed I did.  That 20 lb tablecloth was my Gram's favorite.  It was the fancier of those that she had (there were 3 in the bag).  She had to make it because that damn table was soooo biggg!  It was salvage upholstery fabric, in deep dark colors on a creamy white background... topped off with rich gold tassel trim.  Gramps wasn't fond of it.  It was kinda splashy.  But she loved it... and so I did too.  And, yesterday, on the 3rd month anniversary of her burial, Jennie brought a little bit of my Gram back to me. 

So, you see, yesterday was a very...VERY good day. I thanked Jennie a few times.  She was pretty calm.  It was matter-of-fact to her that "you should have these things... they were your family's".  Most everyone else would have thrown it all in a rag-bag or the dumpster.  But happily, this young woman was kind enough the have the foresight to think that I just might want it. And I did...do...and will always be appreciative.  I slipped over to my neighbors last night and delivered a second yellow summer cloth to my brother's back gate.  I texted him..."left you a little surprise... see if you remember".  He did.  And if and when these new owners decide to sell that big old good for nothin' table... he has FIRST DIBS as the next owner.  And when that happens we have the appropriate tablecloths for it.  What was left in the back of the closet made me very happy.  Thank you Jennie.

  Gram Clara B. Best kolache' maker around!  Love & Miss you.  Especially on Sundays.

Have Cause. Will Travel.

In our ongoing pursuit of promotion for our renovation and restoration project, a couple of the Friend Historical Society ladies joined the PHouse staff and we took off to toot our horn on June 8.  Destination Fairbury.  "What?" You might ask?  Why was Fairbury a potential "big deal"?  It was, after all, a repeat performance for the Pour House to do a wine tasting at the Stagecoach Antique Store.  But, baby this time we pulled out all the stops.  We catered the event (no I will not do it again... really... I mean it) and paired a lovely smoked brisket and horseradish crostini with a fantastic Barista Pinotage, Boursin and Beef puff pastry with the Arenal Sauvignon Blanc, blanched asparagus wrapped in crispy prosciutto was lovely with our Betty White, and of course we had various fresh fruits, savory cheeses and charcuterie, olives and sweet raspberry bars that topped off our new Bramble Berry Bliss.  Boy, did we put on the Ritz!  What was generally unknown was that we were hot on the heels of the field editor for Nebraska Life Magazine.  I got a tip that he was going to be there covering the First Friday in Fairbury event.

I have been pursuing the magazine for several months now, trying to convince them that there is a fantastic story to be told.  The story, of course, is the success of our renovation efforts of the Warren Building; the increasing popularity of the Pour House, the never-ending room flipping process to accommodate the many reservations for the San Carlo Room, the inquiries about making donations of art and artifacts to be placed on display in the Welcome Center, and the lovely art that hangs in the Mary Mary Quite Contrary Gallery, welcoming people to private events hosted there.  And, of course, the next major phase of our efforts... our grand-daddy grandiose grand plan to restore the Historic Warren Opera House to be both a theater for performance and film.  Much to my chagrin, as the many munching and sipping guests magically separated and the room cleared, there he was.  My target.  Off I went, to sell, sell, sell.

We talked about why I decided to put a wine bar in the middle of Busch Light country.  Why a town of barely 1200 people would support such a major project, and how a tiny non-profit historical society group (average age 67) could make such an impact on a town called Friend.  Impact, I explained, that was more than improving half of a city block. This is all-around impact.  Economic benefits, tourism that never existed for this town, community promotion, support for the school arts programing and probably most important to us personally, building friendships.  Women of varied ages and life experience have found their way to Maintenance Monday (M&M day), even if it's on a Wednesday evening, or an early Saturday morning and  many who do not even clean their own homes are in the Warren Building scrubbing toilets and mopping floors, dragging fifty pound garbage cans that wreak of stale beer and ceremoniously bitching about it. We are all scraps of this odd, but lovely patchwork quilt that is the force behind the project.  "Yes!" I proclaimed... we're a little weird..  no... quirky, but we've all got our eye on the proverbial restoration ball, and we mean business.  We are self identified as "Women of High Caliber".  We're gun owning, toilet scrubbing, cuss-word tossing over-achievers.  "Down right inspirational," I told him.  He looked at me like I was a nut.  Yet, on Monday, Nebraska Life Magazine contacted me to ask for more details, in writing. I immediately obliged, probably overwhelming the poor editor, but we are now in the hunt and I am hopeful.

That evening, after a lot of hard work and hot air, I followed our caravan of support back to Friend... my foot on the dash, drumming to my favorite REO songs (I'm a rock star when I drive)... thinking about what an inspiration we are.  Inspiration to each other, to the community, and to others across the state who are literally "WOWED" by what we've accomplished thus far.  I'm proud to be a part of this M&M Day (although I could really do without scrubbing the men's room) group and I have great confidence, as I sit in my new antique "chair of inspiration" I traded the Stagecoach Mall in lieu of mileage, that we are on the verge of great things.  Naysayers and undoers be damned!  Get out of the way, because the Women of High Caliber are on a roll!