Yes, that’s exactly how I feel about the month of March. It’s almost like sitting on the edge of your seat waiting for the arrival of spring. Spring is like a shy bride on her wedding night — you never know when she will come out of the bathroom and get into bed. Spring teases us this year with a few warm days with a promise of things to come and then blasts our hopes with high winds.
People ask what I’ve been up to, and I honestly reply, “nothing.” Just biding my time in the basement waiting for the day of my move to Doc’s house. March has been uneventful, but I can relate that last Thursday I used a paper shredder for the first time in my life — still no ATM — and I live in dread of the day they take away checkbooks. Cole was so proud to hear of my latest advancement in technology.
I did manage to shake up the baby shower world when I gifted Karma (Swenson) Oelkers and baby Olivia with the funniest, but the most inappropriate card ever. I put on the outside envelope strict orders that the card was not to be passed around. She defied me and when it reached Margaret Cummins and her eyebrows lifted over her scalp, I skulked quickly out of the building.
I ran a column by Wanda Swenson to see if I could get by the censors, but I don’t think it’s gonna fly. As I informed everyone in a recent column, I had to search for a new doctor. Wouldn’t you know, by chance, that the name is Dr. Peters. Heeeee! After relating to Esther my latest round of indignity at a doctor’s visit, she came up with the perfect title for a column — “Dr. Peters and the Probe”. Wanda shot down that idea by giving me “the look.”
I might be bored, but I still can’t bring myself to watch the Republican or Democratic debates. Saturday Night Live gives a good enough parody of them for me. John F. Kennedy is no doubt tossing in his grave at the mockery of it all. The debates have turned into insult tests with no legitimate issues discussed. I would prefer to send them to Janelle Boschee’s day care so she could straighten them out.
Friday night, I hoped to fill my minivan and go to Nancy Sullivan’s grand opening in Mitchell of “Furnishings on First.” Due to the State B games, only Linda Kilcoin rode shotgun with me. The store is very unique. Nancy and her sister revive old pieces with chalk paint and she has a wide variety of other décor. I always love wine tasting and cheese too! The store is open Thursday through Saturday. Check it out. You won’t be disappointed. Nancy is the former Nancy Allen, Larson, Linke that lived in Woony and Letcher for years. Best of luck in your new venture!
I ended my doldrum week by folding laundry for Gay and was immersed in the tidy whities when I realized it made me kind of uncomfortable folding Kent’s underwear – almost guilty.
Time to move,
Dee Baby

It was during the last of my three years as principal in Forestburg that this particular blip on my screen occurred. I recall well the participants. A certain school rule was provocation sufficient to cause a rousing “tempest in a teapot”.
The particular issue was a school handbook section entitled “Dress Code”. In my years in Woonsocket, Mitchell and Seattle schools there was no such thing as a dress code. In Forestburg there was. In the two years prior to the kerfuffle under discussion, I don’t recall that anyone dusted off the rules about the dress code, nor did I as principal discuss the “thou shalt nots” in that document. I had looked at it at some point but everybody seemed law abiding, so I “let sleeping dogs lie” and went about teaching the three or four classes assigned to me. Occasionally, I did my principal thing, which usually included morning student assembly announcements before classes began.
I don’t recall how it came to my attention that a slender, dark-haired freshman was boldly, although quietly, thumbing her nose at a very clearly stated regulation in the dress code. But first, I should mention that dress codes in days of yore were almost without exception aimed at the fairer sex, those delightfully devious, those forever-provocative young ladies just discovering their awesome charms. Prohibitions against young men were usually non-existent. Simply put, if we keep the young ladies in line, the young men will behave as well. (I have no proof.)
In those days of the 1970s, Forestburg School District was content with its dress code (put in place before I arrived) aiming to keep minds, manners and morals properly focused. I didn’t necessarily agree or disagree with this particular regulation; it was part of the rules and it was my job to enforce the rules. And now “Ruby” was in no-no territory. How so? Well, believe it or not, Ruby had come to school several times wearing culottes, a singular garment with a plural name, and culottes were daringly against the rules. For those unacquainted with that ancient garment, it was simply a divided skirt consisting of a cloth panel down the middle, which in effect provided two leg openings. Older pictures of earlier girls’ basketball show culottes being worn for the freedom of movement and the modesty needed for the sport. In the ‘70s, those days of short, and sometimes short, short skirts, a girl wearing culottes was actually quite modest by standards of that day. No blowing up in the wind and no futile yanking down of those skimpy garments when sitting. Really, culottes were the epitome of modesty in those times of rising hemlines.
But for some forever-unknown reason, culottes had been put on the forbidden list. I could not imagine why. Dress codes universally were aimed at preserving modesty and eliminating distractions and in the 1970s, modesty had lessened and distractions had increased. To this day, I do not know why that girls’ garment was the subject of disdain and rejection. Except, of course, for Ruby.
So Ruby had the culottes and I had the rules. The two were bound to meet.
When it came to my attention that Ruby was continuing to wear the forbidden garment, I made an announcement to the student body without mentioning her name, thinking the contrary-minded young lady would get the hint without me embarrassing her. But, wouldn’t you know, that freshman girl wore culottes again in just a few days! What was going on? What impelled her to defy the clearly stated rule and the principal as well? The following day I called Ruby to the back of the science room where I had my “office”. I was now specific and pointed out that her culottes were unacceptable according to the dress code. She would need to change the next day to a dress or a skirt (Slacks and jeans were not in vogue as school garments). She was not defiant, just silent. Whatever was going on in her mind—or elsewhere—I could not determine, but in a very few days culottes adorned the slender, dark-haired freshman once again. Crunch time!
I had had sufficient experience to know the wisdom of not confronting Ruby alone in my office. This had become serious stuff. I wanted witnesses, one for Ruby and one for myself. I asked Ruby’s older sister in the senior class to be a witness on her behalf and Mr. Nelson from across the hallway on my behalf. Older sibling “Rachel” was quiet, dependable and one I was sure would take home an accurate account of our meeting. Mr. Donald Nelson, teacher of several ears, was nearby, also dependable and a supporter of school regulations. It did not occur to me at the time to wonder why Ruby had not asked her mother or father to visit with me about the offensive rule. Nor had I thought to call “Roseann”, Ruby’s mother. Most blips can be handled in-house with brief verbal exchanges.
After lunch the next day, I asked Mr. Nelson, Ruby and Rachel to meet me in the science room for a brief meeting. When they were assembled, I stated the reason for the meeting, saying that since Ruby continued to defy school policy, I proposed to her an announcement, which I would make before the student body the following morning about her defiance. I would say, “In light of the fact that Ruby continues to defy our long-standing prohibition against wearing culottes, I am granting special permission which will allow Ruby, and Ruby only, to wear culottes.” I knew that my threat carried the possible charge of favoritism if I had to make the announcement.
Mr. Nelson and Rachel, hearing my proposal, said nothing. Waiting for a response from the girl in front of me, tears began to run down her cheeks as she replied in a small, quavering voice, “That would make me look like a fool!” I responded that it probably would, but that her willful actions left me no other choice. I suggested that she go home, think about the situation and make her decision.
I could not have anticipated her response the next morning. Before classes began, she bounced into the science room, and with no formalities, Ruby exclaimed in an excited voice, “See, I have a skirt on!!” As comic strip Popeye, the sailor man used to say, “Well, blow me down!” The problem had suddenly disappeared! What, if anything, had gone on at home with mother, sister or dad, I could only guess. She was pleasant, entirely cooperative and, thanking her, I saw the blip on my screen vanish.
Or so I thought—until the upcoming school board meeting!
On near-by shores the storms may come
To batter, blow with fiercest blast.
What joy to see the sun again
When clouds roll on and disappear.

Encrypt – to alter information using a code or mathematical algorithm so as to be unintelligible to unauthorized readers. Dictionary.com
When I think of the word “encrypt,” which has been in the news because of the dispute between Apple and the FBI, I think of information buried in a tomb or crypt.
In fact, it’s a good way to understand the word. Cryptic is from the Greek word kryptikos, meaning hidden or mysterious.
When words are changed into code, they have been encrypted and their meaning is obscured.
When a politician avoids answering a question directly, he often is being “cryptic,” that is, his meaning is hidden from view. He is trying to conceal something.
However, this controversy isn’t about encryption, it’s about national security versus privacy. We’ve seen this coming, and for some time. Privacy is becoming more and more elusive. Cell phones with cameras were one of the first game changers, but electronic transactions using the Internet ushered in a whole new era of opportunity for prying eyes.
And that’s just for openers.
Let’s not forget the eyes in the sky. It used to be satellites hundreds of miles high, whose job primarily was to spy on our enemies. Now they are spying on us, and not just with satellites, but with drones.
Is it time to be concerned, or should we wait until packages arrive on our doorstep by drones sent by private companies?
We prize our privacy in this country, but little of it is left. Maybe that’s why Apple has thrown up so much resistance to the FBI request to break the code of the terrorist’s cell phone. On the other hand, any information should be available to prosecutors if they have probable cause, and if the killing at San Bernardino isn’t probable cause, what is?
Those siding with Apple argue that a dangerous “precedent” would be set if Apple is compelled to break the encryption. I’m not sure why. Slippery slopes occur only if the slope remains in place. If Apple scientists successfully mine the information, turn it over to the FBI, and then deep 6 the scientific procedure, is that different from turning over other records legally required by law enforcement?
Americans cherish privacy – unless you include many celebrities living in Hollywood. They love exposure. But most of the rest of us shun the probing eyes of government and seedy private business.
Privacy? Yes. But not for terrorists.