Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The “truth” about the color of that pink Argentine palace June 26, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:15 AM
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IF YOU SEE A PINK building, you might think, “Oh, how beautiful” or “Oh, how ugly.” You also probably will wonder “why pink,” somewhat of an odd color choice (especially in Minnesota).

Argentina's presidential palace, La Casa Rosada, is painted pink. This is the back of the palace.

In Argentina, though, the presidential palace is pink. And there is, according to my daughter Miranda who is currently interning with a company that gives walking tours of Buenos Aires, a very good reason.

“La Casa Rosada is pink because they used to mix cows’ blood with the clay/rock to preserve the building against humidity,” she tells me after learning this trivia during her first day on the job.

“Yuck, gross, disgusting,” I inwardly react and then wonder whether this is fact or urban legend.

But brief online research confirms the cows’ blood angle. (Just a note here: The palace has been repainted, so when you view it today, this is not the original cows’ blood tint you see.)

Additionally, I learn that the pink symbolizes unity between the two main political parties—distinguished by red and white—at the time of palace construction in 1873.

Whatever the total truth, the cows’ blood angle has forever changed my perspective on pretty pink palaces.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Photo courtesy of Miranda Helbling

 

My not-so-royal shopping experience June 25, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:11 AM
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DID YOU REALIZE that Walmart has a wedding department? I didn’t…until last night.

While my husband shops for weed killer, I am several aisles away browsing the mish mash of merchandise in the bargain aisle. I am prowling for items that will make suitable game prizes for a family reunion. (Bear with me here; I’m getting to that matrimonial merchandise.) Think humorous here, not necessarily wonderful, prizes.

I finger placemats, examine drinking glasses, grab a small bag of plastic compasses. “Do you think these really work?” I ask my husband, who by this time has found the weed killer, walked half way across the store for an ink cartridge and returned to the discount section.

“Well, if there weren’t so many, I could probably tell,” he says, flipping the compass package in his palm. He tosses the bag back onto the shelf.

I can see he’s getting a bit impatient with me, although I explain that my shopping was stalled by my visit with friends Michelle and Eric, who are also scanning this section.

Half-way down the aisle, I spot a jeweled tiara. I pick up the crown which, except for a tiny, missing center “diamond,” will make the perfect pretty prize for the woman who brings the most beautiful bridesmaid’s dress to the reunion.

We’re going with a wedding theme at the family gathering. Long story on that, but suffice to say that we are celebrating the 20th wedding anniversary of my cousin Jeff and his fictional northwoods bride, Janet. Jeff’s “marriage,” primarily the announcement of said event on April Fool’s Day 1990, is the stuff of family legends. But I digress.

This hefty tiara, which is no cheaply-made, plastic version for some princess’ birthday party, seems quite appropriate for the planned theme. But, as delighted as I am with this find, I encounter one problem. The tiara is unmarked—no bar code, no discount price sticker, no nothing—and there are no other crowns on the shelves.

This spells Cinderella-type trouble. I know that upon reaching the cash register, I will have to wait and wait and wait until someone does a price check. If I’m lucky, that someone will not possess the personality of a wicked step sister.

I am not lucky.

“Did you get this in the wedding department?” asks the clipboard-carrying supervisor who has taken her sweet old time responding to the cashier’s call for assistance.

“Uh, no, I got it in the bargain aisle. I didn’t know you have a wedding section,” I reply.

“Did you know it’s missing a jewel?” she asks, seeming hopeful that I will vanish.

“Yeah, but I don’t care,” I say. “I want it.”

“Were there any others back there like this?” she questions.

I want to say, but don’t, “How stupid do you think I am?” Rather I simply reply, “No.”

Behind me, the line of customers grows. “You might want to go to another check-out lane,” I tell the woman behind me. “This could take awhile.”

“That’s OK. I’m waiting for my husband,” she smiles.

Beside me, my husband fidgets. “Let’s just go,” he states, his voice edged with impatience. He’s not smiling.

“No, I really want this. Don’t be so crabby,” I say, foregoing an explanation of why I need this tiara. He’s tired and not in the mood for an explanation.

My fear now is that the treasured crown, since it originated in the wedding department, will cost more than I am willing to pay.

“Can’t I just have it for a dollar?” I ask the clipboard-carrying supervisor.

“I can’t do that,” she glares.

OK then, sorry I asked, I think to myself.

Eventually, she gives me a price of $3.50. It’s more than I want to pay. But since I’ve made my husband and all those Walmart customers wait, I buy the tiara.

Just for good measure, when we arrive home, I place the crown upon my head and wave a slow, lazy princess wave, first with my right arm and then with my left, turning from side to side as if greeting my subjects.

“I’m Miss Vesta,” I say, referring to my hometown, site of the upcoming family reunion.

“You don’t live in Vesta any more,” my husband notes.

He’s right. But for one night, this night, I deserve this moment. I have, after all, overcome so many obstacles to acquire this crown.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Terrifying tornado tales from Minnesota June 24, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:22 AM
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ONE WEEK AGO TODAY, numerous tornadoes ravaged Minnesota, killing three, destroying hundreds of homes and injuring many.

This morning, thankfully, weather conditions are calm with low humidity and no indications that more storms could develop.

Even so, we Minnesotans remain unsettled, still reeling from the destruction wreaked upon this land, and upon our psyches, only seven days ago.

Memories of such devastation linger for years, if not decades. Just last night, while working on a trivia contest for an upcoming reunion, I am paging through a family history book when I come upon a story written by my Uncle Merlin, the family historian.

He writes of an F5 tornado (the most powerful) which decimated the small southwestern Minnesota farming community of Tracy on June 13, 1968, killing nine. At the time, Merlin, his wife and their two young children lived about 20 miles away just outside of Lamberton three towns directly east of Tracy along U.S. Highway 14.

My uncle had just returned home from work when the weather turned ominous. “We were watching for tornadoes as the conditions were right,” he writes. “Then to the southwest we saw it—a huge tornado. As we watched, we saw large amounts of debris lifted into the sky—we thought it hit Revere and about that time Iylene (his wife) took one-year-old Janelle and I took Ronda down into the basement. About an hour later we found out that this tornado hit Tracy causing a large amount of destruction and costing several lives.”

Reading my uncle’s story, I feel his anxiety as he rushes his young family to safety, fearing the twister is within miles of his home.

Then I flip the page of the history booklet and read of Merlin’s first tornado encounter, on today’s date—June 24—in1953 or 1954. Although only about 10 years old when a twister struck his childhood farm south of Vesta, he clearly remembers the details and that day, his sister Elvira’s wedding anniversary.

“The sky turned all kinds of colors and we kids were really scared,” my uncle remembers. “My dad and brothers were out doing the chores and milking the cows. Harold (his brother) got caught in the hog barn as it hit and my dad and one of my brothers had to hold the double doors of the barn closed on one end and two of my other brothers did the same on the other end.”

His words draw me in, placing me there in the barn with my grandfather and uncles as they hunker down, struggling against the fierce winds to hold the barn doors in place.

“There was one loud crash and then stillness,” Merlin continues. “My sister Jeanette looked out the north window of the house and shouted, ‘Mom, the whole grove is gone.’ That was really close.”

The tornado spared the house and farm buildings, but destroyed the stand of trees sheltering the farm site on the flat, open prairie of southwestern Minnesota.

Almost three decades later a twister struck nearby, on the farm where I grew up, taking down a silo, tossing wagons about in the field, ripping a railing from the house… Even though I was grown then and no longer living at home, the psychological impact of that storm still remains.

I fear tornadoes, a fear imprinted upon me after viewing the devastation wreaked upon Tracy in 1968 and then reinforced all those years later on my home farm. I sometimes dream about tornadoes.

Yet, I know my dreams, my feelings, are nothing compared to those Minnesotans who experienced the destructive tornadoes of a week ago. For them, nightmares are reality.

#

IF YOU HAVE A TORNADO story you would like to share, please submit a comment to this post.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The sweet taste of summer in Minnesota June 23, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:16 AM
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Black raspberries ripen on vines in my Faribault, Minnesota backyard.

ALREADY, SPLOTCHES OF PURPLE stain my fingertips. Thorns scratch across my forearms as I ferret for more fruit. My skin itches. Mosquitoes swarm. I pick a hair-thin, squiggling worm from a tiny berry.

Yet, I continue to reach and pluck, reach and pluck, occasionally popping a juicy black raspberry into my mouth. As the seeds crunch against my teeth, as the slightly-tart berries burst upon my tongue, I relish this first taste of summer.

After a long Minnesota winter, these berries tempt my senses. I admire their deep purple, near-black, color. I caress their daintiness, savor their sweetness.

Daily I pick enough berries to fill a small bowl.

Soon I’ve filled a small bowl with the wild morsels that grow on thorny vines tumbling out of the woods next to my backyard.

Later, I’ll toss handfuls onto romaine lettuce I’ve grown. More go into the blender, combined with ice cream and milk for a deep purple shake that bursts with flavor. I mix other berries with vanilla yogurt, bananas and milk to create a healthy smoothie.

But mostly, I grab berries now and then from the bowl that sits on the kitchen counter. Sometimes I wash the raspberries, most often not.

Tomorrow I’ll be back in the berry patch, braving the brambles as I gather this fruit of the earth, these wild black raspberries that taste of sweet summertime in Minnesota.

Wild black raspberries have overtaken a corner of my backyard and I'm just fine with that.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

48 hours of fretting about a fallen limb upon a power line June 22, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:24 AM
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An Xcel Energy-contracted tree removal service removes a limb from an electrical wire.

FOR TWO DAYS, I fret and wonder if the electrical wire stretching from the pole at the end of my driveway to a neighbors’ house across the street will fall.

A good-sized broken branch pushes upon the sagging wire. I worry. Will the wire anchor pull loose under the weight of limb and leaves, dropping the foliage upon an unsuspecting motorist, pedestrian or biker?

Will I be calling 911 instead of Xcel Energy? This tree limb, if freed, could seriously injure (or even kill) someone or damage a vehicle. I don’t even want to ponder the dangers of fallen electrical wire lying on the ground in a neighborhood teeming with children.

Already my husband has taken the proper action after we first notice the snapped limb and the sagging wire around 11 a.m. Saturday. He’s knocked on the neighbors’ door. They are gone, so I phone and leave a message.

Then he calls the power company and explains the situation, emphasizing that the tree-weighed wire looming over a city street poses a danger.

We expect concern. Instead, he is told that because the wire runs from pole to house, tree branch removal is the homeowner’s responsibility. But the company will send a supervisor to access the situation, he’s assured.

This casual reaction surprises us. My anxiety level rises. I could be wrong on this, but I doubt many tree companies will deal with a limb suspended upon an electrical wire. We’ve had tree companies refuse to remove a tree due to close power line proximity.

For now, we settle with informing another neighbor, who is holding a garage sale. My husband warns a garage sale customer to move her van after she’s parked directly under the balancing branch.

But we can’t sit here all day and night pointing out the danger to all who travel or walk along this busy side street. We’ve done our best to alert Xcel Energy, to enlighten the neighbors most affected.

We tell each other that the power company is likely busy with tornado-related electrical issues, placing our worrisome call low on the priority list.

Finally, around noon on Monday, an Xcel-contracted tree removal service arrives. As the branch falls to the ground, my worry falls too. Yet at the back of my mind nags the concern:  Why did it take 48 hours to remove this danger from my neighborhood?

A view from an upstairs bedroom in my home as a worker removes a tree limb from a power line.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A creative contest to celebrate a church anniversary June 21, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 10:10 AM
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EVERY YEAR FOR AS LONG as I can remember, the Faribault Daily News has sponsored a “Lord of the Things” contest during our community’s annual Heritage Days celebration. A photographer photographs snippets of items—maybe a sign, a decorative cornice on an old building—to be published in the newspaper. Entrants then identify the objects and their public locations.

Recently I adapted that idea for a 140th anniversary celebration at my church, Trinity Lutheran in Faribault. Wanting a scriptural theme, I pegged the contest “SEEK & FIND,” based on Matthew 7:7: “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”

I photographed half of Jesus' face in a stained glass window as a focal point for a posterboard displaying 4 x 6-inch contest photos.

I aimed to provide a fun family activity, to increase worshipers’ awareness of their church surroundings, to focus on church history and to get people to our 140th anniversary reception. All of those goals were achieved in a process that began months ago.

Back in April, before anyone knew I was planning this activity, I roamed the church campus photographing perhaps two dozen items, which I narrowed down to 14. I discovered, then, that I’ve not even noticed some of what surrounds me.

How long has that painting of Christ, gazing at a baby, hung above the drinking fountain?

How long has “Trinity Lutheran School” been chiseled in granite?

Why have I not seen that angel in the stained glass window until today?

This contest, I determined, could present a challenge to those who entered. I was right.

Dennis, one of the contest winners, shares with me on Sunday—the day SEEK & FIND winners’ names were posted at the anniversary reception—that he puzzled over a single photo. “I thought it was a window,” Dennis tells me, explaining how he searched for 45 minutes. But his story takes a humorous twist. After informing his wife, Pat, that he can’t identify the geometric pattern, she instructs him to look down. Dennis is standing on the elusive tile floor in the photograph.

That entertaining story makes all of the time and energy I invested in this contest worth the effort. But so does the story from Marilyn, who brought her three grandchildren to church—twice—to ferret out the photographed objects. The first time, a carpet cleaning crew kept the group from entering the sanctuary. The second time, they tread quietly within the church as a musician tuned a piano.

Then you have Lee and Laurel, who began hunting for the photographed items after the late church service one Sunday. With the clock ticking toward noon and morning worship volunteers wanting to go home, the couple finally had to give up and leave, or be locked inside the church.

Such stories amuse, and please, me.

I would have been even more pleased had more people entered the contest. Only 31 entries in the two divisions—adult and youth—were submitted. I expected three times that many, especially after publicizing the competition in church newsletters and bulletins, via word-of-mouth, by e-mail, via announcements and by handing entry sheets directly to church members.

But…, I tried. And I am confident that the 17 entrants who won are quite pleased with prizes that included homemade pies from the Trinity Pie-makers, gorgeous lily bouquets from Virgil and Jane’s garden, Ryan and Sara’s homemade maple syrup, Roy’s handcrafted fretwork cross, gift certificates to local businesses, and more.

I’m not discouraged by the lack of response, only disappointed.

But I’m also encouraged. Already, one contestant has asked: “Are you going to do this again next year?”

Uh, no, but maybe in 10 years, when Trinity celebrates its 150th anniversary.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

An asparagus bouquet June 19, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:40 AM
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Fresh asparagus from Twiehoff Gardens in Faribault.

LIKE MOST WOMEN, I love flowers. So I appreciate when my husband unexpectedly, for no reason other than “just because,” picks up a bouquet for me.

The same goes for asparagus.

Right about now you’re likely wondering how I can compare an asparagus spear to a flower.

One, you say, is romantic and a symbol of love.

The other, you argue, is a vegetable, nothing other than food to consume.

However, I don’t define the two quite so concisely. I contend that asparagus, like flowers, can, indeed, express love.

My husband recently proved that. “I have a surprise for you,” he says, handing me a small bundle packaged in a plastic shopping bag.

I peek inside. “Asparagus!” I exclaim before taking his face between my hands and planting a big kiss upon his lips.

I am a happy wife.

He knows how much I have desired garden-fresh asparagus. So he has stopped at Twiehoff Gardens on his way home from work for the vegetable that will satisfy my yearning.

Asparagus may not be roses. But you can bet when I wash, dice, cook and eat that tasty spring treat, I am thinking of my husband and how very happy he has made me with $1 worth of asparagus.

Twiehoff Gardens along St. Paul Road in Faribault offers an abundance of fresh produce.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Tornado terror in Minnesota on June 17, 2010 June 18, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:55 AM
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Ominous clouds roil above Faribault shortly after 9 p.m. Thursday. I shot this through my dining room window.

“WERE THOSE THE SIRENS?” I ask, inching down the car window, uncertain whether I’ve heard the sirens that warn of an approaching storm.

“I think it was a truck,” my husband says as he continues driving west along Minnesota Highway 60 in Faribault toward the Eagles Club.

Then I hear the sound again, and this time we recognize the shrill whistle warning us to take cover.

“I want to go home. Now,” I command.

I can tell simply by my husband’s lack of response that he thinks I’m crazy. The skies don’t appear all that threatening.

“They’re not going to take our blood anyway,” I state, arguing my case. “I’m sure they have protocol in situations like this.”

He won’t concur that I am right, seeming to hesitate at the intersection that will take us to the Eagles and the Red Cross Bloodmobile. But on this June evening, the Red Cross will get none of our blood. We are heading back home, across town, to safety.

My husband switches on the car radio. The announcer is advising people to take shelter as near as Waterville about 15 miles away. The area lies in the path of a tornado.

Back home I nearly leap from the car and rush inside the house where we left our 16-year-old son finishing his homework for a night-time astronomy class. Before leaving, I instructed him to seek shelter if he heard the sirens. Clearly, he has listened to me this time. The door to the basement is flung open, the lights blazing.

I yell for my boy, but get no response. Soon he pounds down the stairs from the second story. “I checked on the internet and it’s only a thunderstorm warning,” he says.

“Uh, no,” I say, explaining that we are under a tornado warning.

Given that, none of us are fleeing to the basement even though I fear tornadoes. Witnessing the destruction of the June 13, 1968, Tracy tornado (see my June 13 blog post) that claimed nine lives and, decades later, seeing the damage a twister caused to the southwestern Minnesota farm where I grew up instilled in me a life-long healthy respect for these powerful storms.

And yesterday, in Minnesota, that respect likely grew among residents. Two people in the Wadena area and one near Albert Lea were killed when tornadoes struck. The state may have broken its record for the biggest tornado outbreak in a single day. That record stood at 27 on June 16, 1992, when an F5 tornado devastated Chandler and killed one person.

On Thursday, multiple twisters ravage many regions of Minnesota. At one time, a weatherman reports that a tornado seems to be moving straight north along Interstate 35 toward Owatonna, just to the south of Faribault.

I worry about my sister and her husband who are traveling on I-35 to Des Moines sometime after she gets off work Thursday afternoon. That route would take them directly through the storm-struck area. The interstate has been closed due to the storm, one reporter says.

Here in Faribault, round 9 p.m. on Thursday, the skies turn an eerie green to the west. To the east, ominous steel-gray clouds weigh heavy upon the earth. My anxiety level rises as I recall something about green skies and tornadoes, true or not. But no new warning sirens blare.

When I climb into bed at 11:15 p.m., many Minnesota counties, including my home county of Rice, remain under a tornado watch until 1 a.m.

This morning I awake to cloudy skies, edged out now by bright sunshine. I expect for many in our state, daylight brings a new appreciation for the power of tornadoes and a profound thankfulness for surviving their rage.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

I may not be Joe Mauer’s mom, but I’ve “got it” June 17, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:45 AM
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Cookies 'N Cream (not Kemps) store brand ice cream

TERESA MAUER, move over. You’ve got competition on the playing field.

I, too, can hit a fly ball—uh, scoop of ice cream—across the ballpark—um, kitchen.

Here’s a replay of my shining moment:

“Do you want some ice cream?” I ask my guys. Silly question since I already know they’ll say “yes.” But I hope that, by inquiring, one of them will dish up the treat. Arm wrestling rock-hard ice cream really isn’t my favorite sport.

Clearly, the guys are not going to pinch hit for me. My teen is snuggled into a corner of the couch with his laptop. My husband has his feet up in the recliner watching America’s Got Talent.

So I head toward the kitchen, pull open the freezer door and consider the options. “Peanut Butter Brownie Sensation or Cookies ‘N Cream?” I shout.

Of course, they both want the Blue Bunny “peanut butter ice cream loaded with brownie chunks and a chocolate peanut butter swirl.”

“There’s not much left,” I share, thinking maybe they’ll settle for the store brand of Oreo-laced vanilla ice cream and I can have the remaining Brownie Sensation.

Nope, that game plan isn’t working, so I scrape the bottom and sides of the carton, evenly distributing the ice cream into three bowls. (Well, I do cheat some and give myself a little bit more. But who’s watching?)

Next, I lift the flaps on the Cookies ‘N Cream box, edging the tip of the ice cream scoop into the hard, hard ice cream.

Then, just as the ice cream molds into a ball, it releases. It’s a hit. The ice cream ball flies up, grazes the watch on my left wrist and lands at the edge of the kitchen sink, nearly rolling into clean silverware stashed in the dish drainer.

I’m stunned. But I react swiftly, grabbing and tossing the ball into a bowl.

I share none of this with the team…until later, when my husband and I are watching the 10 p.m. news. Our son is gone by then, star-gazing at his astronomy class.

During a commercial break, I watch as Teresa Mauer, mother of Minnesota Twins player Joe Mauer, scoops ice cream. Then, just like that, the ice cream releases from the scoop and flies across the room. Joe lunges and catches the ice cream ball in his bowl.

My jaw drops. I have never seen this Kemps’ “Got It” television spot. Yet…

“That just happened to me,” I say, detailing to my husband exactly what occurred in our kitchen 1 ½ hours earlier.

“Yeah, except you didn’t have Joe Mauer there to catch it,” he replies. “You just picked the dirty ice cream off the floor and put it in my bowl and figured I wouldn’t notice since it’s Cookies ‘N Cream.”

Uh, not quite.

Bottom line, I love this “Got It” ad. It’s short, sweet (catch that?), and absolutely believable.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A car vomits along the road June 16, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 10:10 AM
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WITH NEWSPAPER STORIES that tell of budget cuts and lay-offs, oil spills and natural disasters, crime and tragedies, items published in the “Cops & Courts” report can sometimes provide comic relief.

Let me clarify lest you misunderstand. I am not amused by motor vehicle accidents, by vandalism, by assaults or similar occurrences reported to law enforcement. Rather, I am amused by the occasional comic element or in the wording of information in published public records.

For example, a recent “Cops & Courts” item printed in the Faribault Daily News states: “3:28 p.m., caller wants to report a theft that occurred eight years ago by his step-daughter…” This isn’t exactly clear to me. Is the stepdaughter the victim or the accused? More importantly, why did this stepfather wait eight years to contact the sheriff’s department about this supposed crime?

Ditto for another report filed on the same day. A complainant alleges that “his neighbor has been coming to his location and stealing motorcycle parts and tools, has been happening a lot, first time reported…”  If my neighbor was stealing from me, I wouldn’t wait to call the cops.

Finally, this published report gives me pause to chuckle a bit and to formulate numerous questions: “11:41 p.m., someone glued doors shut in the 200 block of Third Street Northwest.”  Who would think of doing this? How do you commit this type of crime without anyone noticing? Which doors were glued shut? What type of glue was used and exactly how strong is that glue? How did the victim open the glued doors? Was the victim glued in or out of his/her house? Why would anyone do this?

Finally, the most amusing of recent reports: “2:06 a.m., vehicle with hazards on, vomiting on the side of the road, Warsaw Township 118 at Cannon Lake Trail and Echo Court.” When was the last time you saw a car vomiting on the side of the road?

Just for the record, I once owned a 1976 canary yellow Mercury Comet appropriately nicknamed “The Vomit.”

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling