“Take it easy.” That phrase became common in the 1970s with the Eagles hit song of the same name. Jackson Browne co-wrote the lyrics in 1972 with Glenn Frey and put Winslow, Arizona, on the map. But what exactly does it mean to “take it easy”?

Lionel Ritchie told us he was “easy like Sunday morning” in the Commodores’ 1977 ballad. I don’t know about you, but Sunday mornings haven’t been easy for me. When we had three daughters at home, trying to get them out of bed and ready for church was a time challenge each week. And after the service — and during times when our business needed every dollar just to survive — the whole family pitched in to help clean our office. Our youngest daughter, Abby, was eager to help and would crawl underneath the work stations and move wires aside while I vacuumed. The system worked well — until I caught her hair in the vacuum rollers. That Sunday morning, particularly, was not easy. 

“Easy as pie.” This phrase is used to describe the simpleness of a task. Obviously, the person who came up with this never attempted to bake a pie. Pie is not easy. Ice cream is easy. Unfold the carton. Scoop. Eat. It doesn’t get much easier — unless the carton was edible, which isn’t a bad idea. 

“Easy on the eyes” is a phrase used to describe someone who is attractive. Now let’s be honest. If we saw someone strikingly beautiful, we would likely look twice or focus more, which certainly would not be easy on the eyes. Something bland or hardly noticeable would be easy on the eyes. 

“Easy come, easy go.” This one I agree with, as most things in life that come along easily are also lost easily. The most meaningful things usually take a great deal of ongoing work, and then we hold them dearly.

Meanwhile, Jackson Browne may have been onto something about taking advantage of every moment when he wrote, “We may lose or we may win, but we will never be here again.”

Have a fantastic Friday, and “take it easy.”

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

Jim Croce asked for help from a telephone operator to place a call in his 1972 hit song “Operator (That’s Not the Way It Feels).” And in 1972, using a telephone operator for assistance was common. But what about today? When was the last time you spoke with an operator? Even the term operator seems antiquated now. Sounds more like a surgeon. 

Do you remember when 1-800 numbers became mainstream? They apparently launched in 1967 with a goal to cut down on labor-intensive collect calls that often required live operators. By the 1980s, every company seemingly had a 1-800 number, and my childhood buddies and I enjoyed dialing as many of them as we could. We spent countless hours searching for and calling the 1-800 numbers on household products and telling the company representatives we were doing a science fair project and were wondering if they would send us free samples. We then provided our friend Dave’s name and address. His parents’ mailbox overflowed with samples and promotional materials every day, leaving his mother to wonder what in the world was going on. I can’t remember my own zip code today, but I can tell you Dave’s home mailing address. 

The practical jokes intensified. Most every TV infomercial back then had a heavily promoted 1-800 number to call and order products and have them shipped COD (cash on delivery). No pre-payment or credit cards were required, and there was no ability (that we knew of) to track where the orders came from. So, the orders to Dave’s home started. Ginsu knives. Armourcote pots and pans. The Pocket Fisherman. Chia Pet. Mr. Microphone. But wait, there’s more. The Egg Scrambler. Time Life books. The Abdominizer. The Thighmaster. And a wide assortment of feminine hygiene products, gold coin collections and K-tel Records. We thought it was funny. Dave’s mother didn’t. 

I now realize that ordering these types of products under another person’s name is illegal, immoral and some other things that start with an “i.” I am also not sure if a statute of limitations applies, so let me be clear: I was appalled that my friends Ian, Tommy and Mark would engage in such activity.

With that in mind, I close this column with the words of Jim Croce: “Oh, operator, let’s forget about this call. There’s no one there I really wanted to talk to. Thank you for your time. Oh, you’ve been so much more than kind. You can keep the dime.”

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

When Mrs. Marguerite Kalar would show up at school, we knew we were in for an entertaining and educational class period… if we listened carefully enough.

This wonderful woman was born in 1904 and spent many years teaching in the school system in my hometown of Algona. In her later years, she served as a substitute school teacher. Mrs. Kahler was long retired by the time my friends and I knew her, or at least it seemed that way. She was also understandably forgetful. My friend Dave wasn’t.

During one of our first classes with Mrs. Kalar as a sub, she mentioned how her favorite age is 16 because that’s when most kids are introduced to driving, and she went on for the remainder of the class talking about her experiences in great detail. So, to get her off track — and to avoid any prepared classroom instruction — my friend Dave would ask her, “Mrs. Kalar, what was your favorite age?” or “Mrs. Kalar, what kind of vehicle did you drive as a teenager?” or “Mrs. Kalar, at what age did you learn to drive?” The next 45 minutes were another rendition of the same history lesson about Mrs. Kalar’s youth driving experiences.

Our regular teachers caught on to this ploy, as only a few of the lesson plans were ever used. I remember this being frustrating for some of the teachers, and it probably also was for our principal, as finding last-minute substitute teachers was no easy task then, and it certainly isn’t today either.

Even so, an education isn’t all about what we read in books. If we miss a class or two about prepositional phrases, linear equations or photosynthesis, then so be it. Life experiences can be great lessons, too… if we listen carefully enough. This is a great reminder for teachers, principals, superintendents, school board members and legislators who continue to work toward solutions for the shortage of classroom instructors.

Mrs. Kalar died in 1992 and, like many other substitute teachers, impacted a tremendous number of youth in a positive way throughout her lifetime. Thank you, Mrs. Kalar, and that you to all the substitute teachers.

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

With the winter winds of late, any lingering leaves that were hanging on the trees are now gone. The remains are skeletons of what were plush, green examples of life just a few months ago. But those bare branches are not dead, at least not most of them. They are simply preparing for another emergence that will happen in just a few short months.

The growth of trees is truly amazing, and the comparison to the human body is an easy one to make, especially as we work through own forms of hibernation this winter.

Think about how a tree and a human body both have physical trunks (our cores) and branches (our arms and legs) that reach out from the center. You may even find a tree or two that look like humans. If you watched “H.R. Pufnstuf” on Saturday mornings in the 1970s or were amused by Groot in “Guardians of the Galaxy” in recent years, you know exactly what I am talking about.

Our reliance on water and the sun makes us similar to trees as well. Take away one or both, and we are in big trouble. Expose us to water and the sun, and we grow and thrive.

The bark on a tree is similar to our skin, a protective layer that holds us all together.  When the cuts are too deep, we can become infected with deadly diseases. Over time, we can also both become hollow and suffer slow deaths.

Although trees and humans can survive alone, we both do much better in groups or communities. But put too many in one location, and some of us will be weeded out naturally.

Maybe the most interesting comparison between humans and trees is how we need each other. As humans, we breathe in oxygen and breathe out carbon dioxide. Trees do the opposite by taking in carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen.

Country music artist Dolly Parton has been quoted saying, “Storms make trees take deeper roots” with an obvious nod to how life’s difficult challenges make us stronger human beings, too.

So, go ahead. Hug a tree. Or better yet, make a plan this spring to plant one… or 10.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

It’s cold again outside, and that means one thing — it’s time to break out the long johns. 

I recall being a child and staying with family friends on their farm for a few days. The woman of the household was a wonderful lady named Marge, and she told me we would be making long johns. The brain of this 5-year-old envisioned some sort of sweatshop with sewing machines humming away. I was pleasantly surprised to find out she and I would be in the kitchen making long donuts with a maple glaze of incredibly sugary frosting. Not too many years later, I learned to also appreciate thermal underwear and its waffle weave texture just as much. Long johns were — and continue to be — necessary clothing in the winter weather of Iowa.

Even in my suit-and-tie days out of college, I was known to wear long johns. While in a meeting at The Des Moines Register where we were all seated in chairs in a circle, I could see my coworker Shannon laughing at me from across the room. With my legs crossed at the knee, I leaned forward and tried mouthing, “What’s so funny?” She kept laughing. Shannon could see I was becoming irritated with her, and she finally blurted out, “Quit being such a jerk. I am just laughing at your long underwear that I can see from your suit pant leg.” Laugh all you want, Shannon. I was toasty warm. 

Maybe you wonder where the term “long johns” came from. Some say it began with soldiers in World War II who donned the thermal underwear, but the words appeared many years prior. According to a story in the Summit (Colorado) Daily, the invention of long johns is credited to John Smedley in the English town of Matlock in Derbyshire. Smedley manufactured the clothing on the premises of his Lea Mills in the late 18th century, the story says. The name “long johns” supposedly refers to American boxer John L. Sullivan, who reigned as the heavyweight champion from 1882-1892.

So now you know. The next time you slip into some long johns, you can think of John Smedley and John L. Sullivan. And the next time you eat a delicious maple-glazed long john donut, you can think of all the wonderful bakers like Marge. 

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

It’s pizza season. I know what you are thinking. What season is not pizza season? I tend to agree.

I like pizza. Thin. Thick. It doesn’t matter. I prefer it mostly with meat and cheese, but you can throw in some veggies if you really want to. I can’t eat pizza like I used to, but that goes for a lot of foods these days. Meanwhile, I find it quite challenging to resist a slice of hot, gooey pizza. 

My dad didn’t like pizza. Seriously. I mean, who doesn’t like pizza? I think this stems from those awful, cheap, cardboard-like frozen pizzas that Mom used to buy. Dad was more of a meat and potatoes guy, but he would take me out for pizza from time to time, as he knew it was this teenager’s meal of choice. 

I remember when the Personal Pan pizzas were introduced at Pizza Hut in 1986. We had about a half-mile walk from our high school to get there for lunch, and it was a frequent trip. Promised to be on the table in 5 minutes, we would scarf those mini-pizzas down and run back to class — after a quick game of Pac Man, of course.

It’s not that we didn’t have hot lunch pizza at school. We did. Kind of. It was wet and sloppy and on a barely cooked crust cut in rectangles, but it was still one of the most requested lunches. Why rectangles, you ask? Well, there weren’t triangles on the hot lunch trays. Duh.

College days brought about Domino’s pizza — and an incredible challenge. The trick was to see if you could eat an entire small pizza by yourself. I would look at that pizza and wonder how small I could make it if I mounded it into a ball. Then I envisioned that ball of pizza in my stomach. Regardless, challenge accepted… and achieved. 

While living in an apartment fresh out of college with a bunch of friends, we were mesmerized by the introduction of stuffed crust pizza. This was probably made for those who wouldn’t eat the crust, but the rest of us pizza gobblers enjoyed it, too, especially on Sundays watching football.

Much of my wife’s family is from Texas. On one of their visits here a few years back, we decided to go to the drive-in theater in Newton. Jolene thought we should pick up a pizza, so she pulled into a Casey’s convenience store along the way. The Texas crowd wanted to know why we stopped, jokingly asking if she was getting pizza at a gas station. Yes, actually, and they agreed it was quite good. 

Dessert pizza was ingenious. Why not? Sugar and dough are meant to go together. Even so, breakfast pizza was an even better invention. Meat, eggs and cheese on dough? Now you’re talking. 

My favorite pizza, though, has to be Hawaiian. Canadian bacon and pineapple make for a combination so good it will make your taste buds bugle reveille. No one else in my family likes Hawaiian pizza, which means more for me. 

How about you? What’s your most favorite and least favorite pizza? Shoot me a note and let me know. 

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707