IT DOESN'T NEED TO BE LIKE THIS

                                   

I tried to think, last night, what it must have been like to get a call to go to the elementary school where your child was attending because there had been a shooting. I tried to comprehend what went through those parents’ minds when they arrived on the scene and saw all the police units; fire engines and ambulances. Then being directed to the fire station to frantically search for their child amongst the survivors. Lastly, I tried to somehow imagine what was going through those parents’ minds when their child wasn’t amongst the living; and they were directed to another room to receive the bad news that some homicidal manic had killed their child. Then, at some point, they had to gather themselves together and go home to the rest of their family and share the news. That night they sat in their child’s bedroom—broken-hearted and sobbing amongst their toys and possessions. Hugging their pillow, and perhaps a Tickle-Me-Elmo Doll to their chest, just to smell their child’s scent and to soak up their tears until they could cry no more. Gifts are under the Christmas tree that will never be opened.

I doubt the moviemakers could write a script like this. I don’t doubt that some day they will try. That day will come because what we witnessed yesterday is becoming commonplace in our society. As a Christian man, I live by two sets of laws. One of them, God’s laws, because I want to—and one of them, man’s laws because I have to. God’s laws aren’t open to change and misinterpretation. They are what they are. He is the judge and jury. His laws are final and concrete. Man’s laws once resembled God’s laws in this country when it was first formed. But it was a tough road for some people, and not much fun to live that way, so we changed them—now look what we have. Ah yes, we do have our freedoms but are our freedoms now our curse?

What kind of a creature can kill babies? Who can shoot an innocent child as he cowers in front of you screaming and crying because he just witnessed his teacher and his classmate being killed? Even animals will fight to the death to protect their young. We’re supposed to be ahead of animals on the food chain. I question that sometimes. Mental health experts have said we need to spend more money on mental health issues. How about we stop these people from becoming this way in the first place, by cleaning up the environment they are raised in? They weren’t born this way. Maybe we need to get back to God’s laws. That’s cheaper and easier than new hospitals and more prisons. I’m an old man now, but I do have one up on the younger generation. Every day, all of us make choices between good and evil in life—because we have seen good and evil—and the wisdom of age helps so much in those comparisons that are part of life’s bargaining process. Too many of the younger people today have no benchmark to go back to because all they have known is what we have today. That’s not their fault—that’s our fault. We’re the ones that let it slip away. So now we need them to try and change it before it’s too late.  Why? Because we have passed the torch and they are now in charge. When is it too late? I know twenty-seven families in Connecticut who it’s too late for. How many more times must we go through this before we change?

A NEW CHRISTMAS

                                              

Last year at Christmas I couldn’t comprehend how I was supposed to even begin to enjoy the holidays. For you see, the only thing I once swore I couldn’t live without, was gone. Grief has a way of darkening the sunshine, making the winter feel colder than it is and masking all of the things you used to enjoy. You don’t hear the birds sing or notice the flowers anymore. The Christmas music you loved so much falls on deaf ears, and those old familiar carols might as well be any old song. The very food you eat is flat and tasteless. You drink, hoping it will dull your mind and help you forget, but it only gives you a headache. You just want it all to be over. You feel as if you have been given a sentence to serve out, as your punishment for loving her.

Then something happened amongst all of those sad times. The days gradually grew longer, and all of that self-centered pity you yearned for didn’t seem that important any more. Slowly, the sun rose higher in the sky and its radiating warmth seemed to take your troubles and wash them away with the melting snow. For the first time, you sensed this was a process you needed to get through if you wanted to go forward again, and although there were no shortcuts, you could make it better if you just helped out a little. For the first time, you noticed others who had gone down this same lonely dark sacred trail, and they seemed to smile more often than they used to. You sensed the worst part of their journey, through this valley of grief, was coming to a close. By their example, they were urging you on and helping you get through it.

I went to the store the other day and bought a small Christmas tree. I needed to have a Christmas again, but it needed to be more subdued for now. So I purchased just a small tree with all of the lights already on it. In a closet, I found the box with all of the ornaments we had collected over the years. I picked out a few special ones—they all seem to have a story behind them. Then I found the nativity scene she loved so much. Each tiny figurine wrapped in little bubble wrap bags she had sewed to keep them safe. I set it up under the tree. Last year this would have brought a gusher of tears, but this year…well…it’s all right. I know she would have liked what I did and that’s important to me. I still need her approval-- even now.

I wrote a lot about her this last year—thanks for your patience with me. But this New Year is a kind of new beginning for me, so that part of my life is best left to fade a little. Not forgotten—just tucked away in my memory bank. A new day is dawning, and a new world is taking shape. What better time to launch it than at Christmas. One of the things that made her so happy was to make me happy, and now I need to take her example and make others happy. As old as I am, I’ve learned that you can’t run away from your grief. You just need to face it, use it all up and when it’s gone—in its place there will, once again, be new love and smiles. Yes, even a few giggles scattered there amongst all of the happy things that just can’t coexist in a sadly broken heart. So from my pup Molly and me, I wish you a Merry Christmas and may God bless all of you—and next year— well, let’s have lots of happy stories.                                                                                                                                          

IT WAS C-DAY AGAIN

                                                 

Well this year was the year, when it was time once more for the dreaded colonoscopy. As each day before my appointment ticked off the clock I felt more defeated and apprehensive beyond my wildest fears. I said to myself “You did it once you can do it again so suck it up big guy”-- but it didn’t help. It’s not the loss of dignity that bothers me. It’s not the fact people are going where no one has ever gone before, except my mother and with a camera. It was the dreaded prep I feared.

I admit I was better prepared this time. Fresh glade roll ups in the bathroom. Tape over the cracks in the linen closet doors. Twelve new rolls of the softest tushy paper money could buy. A new magazine by the commode and I took the brick out of the water tank. We need all the water we can get. I had the septic pumping truck on standby and because you can have only clear liquids, a bottle of tequila on ice in the shower. Just to be safe I re-torqued the bolts that hold that appliance I would be sitting on, down to the floor. Bring on the bowel prep.

I am not sure what constitutes a lethal dose of bowel prep but I think what they prescribed for me was pushing the threshold. In fact I wasn’t sure I could safely get it all in the top end-- let it pass through the system and then-- out the back door. There was only one answer. A beer bong and standing on my head and hopefully nothing would emerge before I consumed it all because now down was up and up was down and gravity would---Aw you get the picture. The last time I drank 64 ounces of anything at one setting was a night at the Tickle Toe Tavern outside of Staples some fifty some years ago. Fortunately I passed out and don’t remember what happened. That unconscious bliss was not going to happen to me this time drinking spiked Gator-aid. If the Army at Guantanamo had used this procedure instead of water boarding, we would probably know a lot more about terrorists organizations then we know today.

They have done wonders today making artificial flavors that can make almost anything taste good. I once ate a raspberry Popsicle that that was pure white in. color. With that in mind, and knowing you can only have clear liquids before this procedure, the next time around I am hoping that they will have a glass of colorless liquid that will taste like a bacon double cheeseburger. It’s over now and for the next five years, I’m a free man. Once again I can sneak one out without worrying about soiling my clothing. Once again I can hook up my trousers and have my dignity back.

But now in all seriousness, I encourage all people to have this simple test. Dying from colon cancer is a thousand times worse than this. Though I like to jest about things like this, I want you all to be healthy and safe.

SOMEONE TO LOVE

                                              

There comes a time, after you suffer the loss of your soul mate, where you start to temper a little. Now you see more clearly, the hurt that consumed your every thought, and you just couldn’t conceive of ever getting hurt like that again. So you went into this little shell where no one could get at you. You put blinders on, and just concentrated on getting through each and every day. Only your friends and family could break through this circle, and even with them, you were somewhat guarded—making statements like “Never again.” You didn’t say that because it wasn’t good, for it was—maybe too good, and you thought with a bar that high, would I ever be happy again with someone else.

If there is one thing that can leave a gaping hole in the human heart, it’s not having someone to love and care for. Nurturing seems to come secondhand to us. At nursing homes, I have seen the blank faces of those who are all alone in the world; faces that were long ago filled with smiles, now filled with hurt and loneliness.  Yes, we do have our families and friends to love, but they have families and friends of their own, too, and try as you may to love them and socialize with them, in the end, they always go home. The door closes once more, and then it’s just you and your thoughts, and no one to share them with.

Slowly, but surely, we poke our heads back out of our shells and look around. All at once, you start to realize that you’re not the only one in this state of mind. If you can find someone to make happy, then you just made two people happy. You’re still guarded though, because families are complicated and you’re not just one carefree person anymore like you were fifty years ago. Now you’re also a dad or a mom, or a grandpa or grandma, and part of a package deal—and so are they. Taking someone by the hand and gliding off to some Shangri-La to live in bliss for the rest of your lives sounds good, but not that feasible because that would be selfish love.

William Purkey wrote, “There comes a time in your life when you have to dance like there is no one watching, love like you’ll never be hurt, sing like there’s nobody listening, and live like its heaven on earth.” Yes, there comes a time when you have to let your guard down, and take those blinders off and be vulnerable once more. You open your heart, knowing there is a chance it might get broken again; and although you vowed it would never happen again, suddenly you’re willing to take that chance. For in your heart of hearts, you know that true love is usually scripted only in the films and when and if it happens to you again, it will be unexpected, and you have to be ready for it or it will pass you by. I think the great waking moment in two people’s lives is when there is no longer an “I” or a “you,” but just an “us.” In his book, “A Walk to Remember” Nicholas Sparks says, “Love is like the wind. You can’t see it, but you can feel it.”

MY LAST BLACK FRIDAY

                                               

Well, Thanksgiving is over, and although I enjoyed it with friends and family, and had the usual amenities, this year there was an empty spot in my memory bank. For the first time in years, there were no Black Friday activities. My daughter and her family moved to Mesa—and with no players—no team. We had been, for years, a well-oiled team and veterans of many Black Friday battles. Our playbook was well put together, and through years of skirmishes, victories and defeats, we were almost unstoppable. After the usual dinner and football games, we would gather at the dining room table. We split into four teams—Alpha 1, Alpha 6, Sky Hawk 3, and my team, Delta 1. The whole mission was called “operation-enduring shoppers.” Missions were chosen carefully. Coupons were passed out along with money and credit cards. Watches were synchronized, cell phones were preprogrammed. We would stat at 0-400 and return to base at 0-600. The younger members of the team were sent where speed and agility were a must. The older members were sent where stealth and craftiness were essential.

 In 2010, my son-in-law Rick, and I, drew the short straw and were sent to a big box store—that will remain unnamed. This is to protect the innocent. We would arrive at 0-200 with the doors to open at 0-400. Our goal was a 32-inch television, with only fifty per store. When we arrived at the scene, there were about 75 people already in line but our sources said, “Not all of them were after televisions.” We had a good shot at success. Our preplanning showed us the TV’s were in the center aisle, just south of the bras and panties, and were on a pallet. I would lead the charge, and Rick would create a diversion, by heading for another aisle screaming, “Give me that big screen television.” At 0-400, the doors clicked open and the rush was on. I survived a hip check from a large lady that would have flattened Adrian Peterson. Rick went down in the doorway screaming, “Save yourself, Chief!” I vaulted over a chain and sprinted for the center aisle. My hamstrings were tightening up but I saw the target ahead. Now I don’t know if you readers knew this, but I was an old baseball player, so I slid into the pallet with a headfirst hook slide, and got the last one. With the box in my arms, I dove under a display of thongs, saying a silent prayer. Mission accomplished

I suffered a hernia, and chipped a tooth, but emerged with my television. Later, Rick would be diagnosed with a torn hibiscus. Hey! Look it up—that’s not just a flower, my friends. At 0-600, we returned to home base victorious. One thirteen year old member of team Alpha 1 broke her retainer, and the sixteen year old from Sky hawk 3 lost a shoe and tore her designer jeans, but otherwise, we were left unscathed.

It’s been two long years since that memorable night in Burnsville. I had my tooth capped, and I wear that hernia like a red badge of courage. Rick says his hibiscus feels better in the warm desert air, but he does mist up talking about it. There is talk of Alpha 6 being reactivated next year, but nothing for certain. I have no idea where that television is. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go adjust my truss.

CHANGING THE WORLD

                                               

I have on my desk a small picture of my parents taken about fifty years ago. I can’t help but think how much I loved them, even though they had nothing to offer me but their love and support. Maybe there was an advantage to being poor because you knew up front they had nothing to give you but love, so from the moment you first went out into the world, you knew its was up to you and you alone to make something out of yourself. Hopefully that would be something they would be proud of. They did give me one thing to take with me though and it was probably more important than anything else they could have given me and that was a good example of how to conduct my life.

The other day on my face book page there was a rant from some college student, that I don’t know, which said. “We just have to wait for these stubborn old baby boomers to die off so we can make things right.” Now to be fair, things the last fifty years have not gone well. Our countries financial condition and failed wars have left us in precarious shape. If that was what he was referring too I would have concurred. But to tell the rest of the story, his tirade was about us trying to impose our moral values on him. Our country is on a slippery slope when we talk about moral values. Somewhere, someplace, someone took the words freedom to mean, “Whatever pleases you” and that is why we are, where we are, today.

If there was a place left on this earth that was livable and as uninhabited as this country was the day the pilgrims came here, I am sure I could fill a boat up in a hurry with people who would want to go there and get back to the values this country was founded on. I think often of the word polluted. We think of it most often in the context of our water or the air or the oceans and land. Intentional or not we have succeeded in polluting our world and to some degree it may not have been avoidable. It’s hard to avoid waste. But when it comes to our values and our character it is avoidable and they too have been polluted.

The French have a saying “Laissez faire.” It means to allow to do so, without interference. There are some things where to much interference is not good and government interference comes to mind. But as highly evolved as we are, to allow everyone to just run amok, would be a disaster. Hence we have a constitution and a bill of rights. What has happened however is their original intent has been watered down and misinterpreted and litigated to pieces and they no longer even resemble what they were meant to be and we call that freedoms. Were they perfect to start with? No. But when freedom of the press is construed to mean immoral pictures and writings with no redeeming social value what so ever. When freedom to bear arms means everyone can have assault rifles. When freedom of speech means you can incense people around the world with your views. That’s not freedoms we should have. They only satisfy people who are out to make trouble for someone else. To that college student who wants us to die and get out of the way so he can change the world. Be careful what you wish for my friend. We weren’t and look what it got us.

HOME IS WHERE YOUR HEART IS.

We, as native Minnesotans, know just what to expect as we approach another Minnesota winter—that snow will fall and cold temperatures will come—that heating bills will rise and driving can get treacherous. But we also know that there will be days when the sun will shine, icicles will form, and those snow banks will be a place where children, with rosy red cheeks and snotty noses, will play. It will be a chance to dust off the snowmobiles, and ride through God’s country to places otherwise inaccessible to us; a chance to wax up the ski’s, or dust off the snowshoes and hike across this winter wonderland. The air can be cold and crisp—but it’s clean, pure and invigorating. Tiny villages of fish houses will dot the lakes, and to those who have tried it, we know the solitude that comes your way in those cozy shelters. It’s a chance to have the Christmas season the way it’s almost always pictured in our minds and hearts.

We have here in Minnesota, the optimum in the theater of seasons. We start with spring when the outside world renews itself with flowers and plants that have lain hidden for months, waiting for our stars warm rays to wake them up. Streams run cold and clear with the freshest abundant water on earth. Babies of every species are born, and the birds of the air return home to nest because they know this is the place they want to be and to raise their young.  Summer is the time when the whole world comes to visit us because, well, there is nothing like a Minnesota summer. It’s the world’s playground personified. Then, as the world tilts towards winter again, the trees give us a kaleidoscope of color and warm Indian summer days linger until, at last, the whole country goes to sleep and winter settles softly over us once more.

There is a reason people settled here, and it’s not just because it was where the wagon broke down. It was fertile ground for planting crops in, and an abundance of fresh water to nurture those crops. Timber that shades us, warms us when it’s burned, and shelters us with its lumber. The world outside is a virtual zoo of birds and animals, some of them providing us with food. Yes, a lot of them do rest or migrate in the winter, but you know what? They always come back. I have traveled from the desert southwest to the swamps of Florida and the warmth of the gulf.  I have gone from the Cascades of Washington to the seashores of Southern California. But always, the places that seemed to be closest to my heart, have been the places that most resembled home.

I fully realize that people all over this great country have places that they call home, and they have many reasons for putting down roots where they did. Many people from here have gone elsewhere, looking for something better—and that’s just human nature—but I have seen so many of them come right back here where they started. There is a saying, “Minnesota nice,” and I believe there is a lot of merit to that saying. I think our dispositions are shaped and influenced so much by the world around us; the people we associate with and slowly, but surely, we become a product of our environment. As I look out the window today, I see my world in this slow but sure transformation to winter, but I don’t dread it—I embrace it.

BIT'S AND PIECES

 Well, my columns have been all over the place the last few weeks, so I thought it was time to revisit some old subjects you might be wondering about. First, this update on my new Lab puppy who, by the way, now weighs sixty pounds. She hasn’t eaten any more shoes for some time now, but she is still hiding them. I am down to my sandals and my hunting boots for footwear right now. The sandals are comfortable, but a little breezy when doing yard work, and the cameo boots are too noisy in church, and don’t look good with my suit pants. She has eaten a pint of wood filler, which she did pass through her system. I burnt it in my fire pit and it burned for three days. I did, however, run it through the log splitter first. She also ate a family of mice she found in the garage—and regurgitated them on my feet at suppertime one night. One of them was still alive, so she isn’t chewing her food well enough. No wonder she got sick. She still likes to sit on my lap when the moment strikes her, but it is not a graceful mount. She launches herself from about ten feet away, usually when I am reading the paper, with a cup of coffee in my hand. This sends my recliner into a backward flip, and needless to say, it’s not good. She presents herself at the back door and whines when she wants to go outside, which is about thirty times a day and usually right after I sit down. Otherwise, things are pretty good.

With the elections close at hand, the Sunshine Boys—that intellectual group of old men who live in this town, and who meet each day for the good of all of us—had their annual meeting at an undisclosed location because one of our members may, or may not, be in the witness protection program. The members came up with some new suggestions for the next City Council. The following is from the official minutes of that meeting. First, they would like to see a drive-up window for building permits and ten-minute service at City Hall. In the winter, they want both of the streetlights in town to be on motion detectors to save energy; and they want the Crow Wing County Maintenance Department to drain Adney Lake so we can either prove, or dispel the claim, that Fergie caught a seven pound three ounce Crappie, and then put it back. We also want the city to apply for matching federal funds so we can buy a slightly used Saturn 7 Rocket for the Fourth of July fireworks this year. Think big is our motto. There was also a suggestion that came out of the St. Patrick Day’s parade traffic jam this year—that next year we all park in Emily and Pequot and take shuttle buses. One member wanted to know when we were going to get light rail. There was a motion to require all poachers to have silencers on their rifles in the city limits, because it wakes people up at night, but it died for lack of a second. We will not be able to conduct business this winter when the snowbirds leave, because we won’t have a quorum. There was some discussion about who started a rumor about one of our members. We were not able to resolve it, and now we have a new rumor going around about who started the rumor. By a vote of sixteen to twelve we wished Bob a happy birthday and adjourned. Respectfully submitted.

Mike Holst

DRINKING RESPONSIBLY

                                                

I use Facebook to socialize with my friends and family, and for the most part, it’s good. Oh, once in a while someone will get on a rant and say things they shouldn’t, and use bad language because that makes them appear tough to talk that way. But all the good things that get said seem to far outnumber the trash. Yesterday though, someone posted a YouTube video about crazy drunk moments. Now I’m not a prude, and I do drink socially, but I don’t get drunk because I’ve seen too many sad things that happen with the abuse of alcohol. Puking on your shoes wasn’t one of them. So, here are some of my not-so-funny drunk moments.

As firefighters, we were called to a personal injury accident one dark night. It seemed an intoxicated man, who was driving home from one of the local watering holes, had crossed the centerline at a high rate of speed, and hit a family of four, head on. All were wearing their seatbelts, but the force of the collision pushed the light truck’s engine into the passenger compartment, killing both parents. In the back seat in their car seats were two young children, now orphans, crying and asking for their now dead mother. That was just one of the numerous accidents that I went to where drinking was the cause. There were others just as sad, and some sadder, and the ironic thing was, even though you didn’t want anyone hurt or killed, the drunks usually weren’t the ones who got hurt or killed.

In my own family, out of seven siblings there are three I would classify as alcoholics. One of them drank himself almost to death. By the grace of God, he has quit and is recovering. Out of the grandkids, several of them have serious drinking problems. All of this from a set of founding parents who didn’t drink. What lies ahead for most of them? More not-so-funny drunken moments or personal tragedies. Times are tough right now, and if you talk to any of the drinkers, they will tell you that. But, somehow, there is always money for the booze or beer. My dad always said, “If you want to go in business, make sure it’s one people find essential,” and he said, “Liquor stores are right at the top of the list.” I see all of the trucks and cars parked outside of the local watering holes, and I know there are a lot of people in there being responsible, and having fun, and that’s not what this is about. But there are also some in there who send their wives to the food shelf, and then let them sit home on Friday night with the kids, while they drink. More not-so-funny drunk moments.

We have banned smoking everywhere but in your own biffy. We have a war on drugs. It hasn’t done any good—but we have one. But drinking seems to be something that’s here to stay. We tried prohibition once, and it didn’t work.

The movies and television glorify it; even the University of Minnesota if you can’t stand the team, lets you get pickled, at the football games. The town of Crosslake, where I live, has more liquor stores than any other kind of business, so there is no sense in getting on a soapbox about that. All I am asking is this—that we be responsible. By that I mean, don’t drink and drive. Don’t drink if you are having money problems. Don’t drink if you get mean or abuse your family. You can have fun without drinking. I do. There really are no funny drunk moments.

WHO'S LYING NOW?

                                              

I don’t like to write about politics but just this once I have to say my piece. So here is my problem. I have listened to both of the presidential candidates. They have both accused the other of not telling the truth. To put that in plain language they have both called each other liars, without saying the word liar. But if it quacks like a duck? You know what I mean; somebody’s pants are on fire.  So if they are both lying than am I forced to vote for a liar? Not a good choice.

Romney says Obama care will cost a trillion dollars. So Mr. president prove him wrong. Don’t just say that’s not true. Get a white board and show me the proof. The President says Romney’s tax cuts don’t add up. So Governor show us the proof. Don’t just say they do add up. Why don’t you just both say what you are going to do and let’s let a third unbiased party—if there is such a thing---prove you right or wrong. I need to clarify things here by saying, “if there is such a thing.” Yes that’s what it’s coming to; we don’t believe anybody anymore when it comes to politics. So sad. The president says its been hard to get anything done with a do nothing congress. If you get elected Governor and you get a do nothing congress-- and the odds are pretty good you will -- how would you handle that? I have never heard you say, I will do all of these things I am proposing, if congress lets me. How are you going to take down those legislative roadblocks and specifics please? This isn’t a dictatorship. Yet.

I am baffled that when the votes are counted in congress its always along party lines. Somehow, somewhere, there must have been a good idea somewhere across the aisle. Senators and Representatives, do your party ties preclude you from seeing anything good by the other party? Whom do you represent, the party or the voters? Do you think it would work better if no one had any party ties and we had to judge you on your record and not support you because of your party endorsements? Third parties have tried to be in the race but you’re both against third parties. Why is that? I would think it would help you immensely in congress to not have peer pressure from party affiliates.

This is a young country by world standards and it’s going to be a short-lived country if we don’t get back to some honesty and genuine concern about the good of the people and not the good of political parties. It’s hard I know, to be in a country this diverse and please everyone and maybe that’s where you’re confused. You’re not in congress to please everyone; you are there to please the majority. You are there to say NO once in a while. To leave this nation in better shape when you leave, then it was when you went in. You have by your own admission called yourselves a do nothing bunch of legislators. Erase those lines in the sand and maybe, just maybe, we will believe you again and give you back some credibility and you can quit calling each other liars every time there is a campaign. You all should be ashamed of yourselves.

THOSE FALLING LEAVES

                                               

Today as I write, it’s a beautiful Indian summer day and a few lonely oak leaves float lazily down from their lofty perches, and settle into the many puddles of leaves that are starting to dot my lawn. For me, they are reminiscent of many things in my own life, but none so strong as the fact that they are in their death spiral; their job is done, and now they rest. For the summer months they were vibrant, full of green color, and part of a vast family of leaves that formed the canopies of the trees that shaded my house and rustled quietly in the summer breezes. They had a  purpose—a place in nature, and a job to do—but now they are relegated to shriveling up and returning to the very earth they came from, their life cycle complete.

Our own lives are somewhat the same, but much more complex, because even when we are gone our accomplishments will live on, and hopefully, we won’t go to our end in someone’s mulch pile. We have this uncanny persona to influence other people who will, in turn, emulate our character, and hopefully, enrich this world and make it a better place. Each year the tree starts with new buds, void of any kind of personality, and they only do what their predecessors have done over and over again, until at last the tree dies and they with it. Each leaf is its own entity and has no dependence on the others. But in our lives, we build on the accomplishments of those who have gone before us, and those who surround us. We don’t have to start from square one, when we begin, because someone else has already done the work for us and left those indelible imprints in our minds and hearts.

All the leaves of the trees perform pretty much the same chore for their host, the tree. But our lives are so different , and a cornucopia of different talents, abilities and aspirations, and when we blend them together with others we have this homogenous result, forming a more perfect union for all of us. I often think, “what would my life have been like without my parents’ influence and their effect on my development…without my beloved wife, who steered me in the right direction and propped me up when I was falling, and then gave me wings to go places I never dreamed of going.” I didn’t want to be like a leaf; I wanted to have some sort of legacy when my life was done, and with her help and the help of others, it has come to fruition, but history will be my judge, not I.

Sometimes at night, when I miss her the most, I think of the words of Nat King Cole who sang so beautifully, “And now the purple dusk of twilight time, steals across the meadows of my heart. High up in the sky the little stars climb, always reminding me that we’re apart.” Music has always been my crutch. I have always felt that it’s such a shame that too many of us die with most of our music still inside of us. “Though I dream in vain. In my heart it will remain. My stardust melody of love’s refrain.”  When I think of her I don’t want to cry because it’s over; I want to smile because it happened.

Wow! To think. All of that came from a few leaves drifting by my window. Life is good in Mike’s meandering mind.

 

DOES "NO" Mean"NO" ANYMORE?

                                               

If there is one word in our vocabulary that we seem not to understand, it is the word “no.” This two letter, one syllable word, is the most abused word we use. It has been replaced all too often by “but” and “maybe” or “why not.” It’s lost most of its meaning and its authority. Why? Because, for many people, they refuse to have someone else tell them they cannot do something they want to do. I was once told that, “rules without consequences are just mere advice.” The word, “no,’ when used emphatically, should have consequences that uphold its meaning. In many cases it does, but in most cases, it’s ignored.

I do it myself. The speed limit on most highways is 55, but I set my cruise on 62. Why? Because in most cases, you will get away with it. I once drove 55 from Brainerd to Foley on Highway 25. Every car behind me passed me. I was more of a hazard on that curvy road than a law-abiding citizen. Maybe they should say the suggested speed limit is 55. Watch people at stop signs and right turns. “Stop” means to them, if the coast is clear, just slow down a little. Maybe the signs should say “stop if you have to.” Who’s got time to stop, anyway? To some people, “no littering” means “don’t thrown stuff out your window when the cops are around.”

I have a new dog, and the first word I taught her is “No.” I taught her this word because I knew she would be doing lots of things she shouldn’t be doing. I gave her consequences, and for the most part, she does stop what she is doing. Will she do it again? Yes, she’s a dog, not a Rhodes Scholar. But, eventually, she won’t if I stick to my guns. It works with kids, too. I know—I raised three of them. The word has to be used seriously—no mixed messages. When your girlfriend says “no,” and then giggles, what does that mean? It sure isn’t “no.” When I tell my dog “no” when she gets on the couch, and then smile when I find her sleeping there so cute a short time later and do nothing, I’ve lost the battle and my “no” means nothing.

When I grew up, my father was a disciplinarian. His “no” meant “no.” If you tested him, you would lose. As I became older there were fewer and fewer “no’s.” Had he changed? No, he was just letting me take the lead for a change. He had put out the lesson plan a long time ago. He was tired of being the judge and jury, and now it was time for me to either take his lead, or learn my own lessons, sometimes the hard way. When I was small, I didn’t always understand what he was talking about. I did it out of love and respect for the man. My life plan today seriously mimics what he taught me. The world is a fast changing world with some of the social beliefs we encounter. For many of us, it’s hard to change our views and beliefs. Our rules in life come from a time when they were deeply rooted in our faith and traditions. We had a set of “no’s” we grew up with, and they worked for us, and for us to change, seriously wears at our moral fabric. I have another saying I remember. “Lead, follow or get out of the way.” Sometimes, to lead is very unpopular, but still necessary. To follow can be a compromise on what we believe in, but to get out of the way is also a hard choice, because it’s not that far from following when you think about it.

WHAT'S GOING TO BE LEFT FOR MARY

                                    

 What’s going to be left for Mary? That’s a question that haunts me as I look at the world around me, and all of the problems we have. ‘”Who’s Mary,” you say? She’s my six-year-old granddaughter, and she starts first grade this year. “Significant” you ask? Well, it is for me and Mary, and all of the other Marys’ and Marks’ who start first grade this year. They’re not worried about the same things we are right now.  They, in their innocence, have placed their trust in us and in all of the leaders of this country. They trust that we will take care of our land, and leave them something useful to build on and live in.

As time goes on, they’ll realize how badly we have betrayed their trust and instead of building on what we have done, they will have to rebuild on what we abused and destroyed through greed and misuse. It’s not just material things I am talking about. It’s our way of life. It’s what we have done to honesty and decency, and all in the name of what we felt was our freedom to do so. But it was actually greed, and an effort to make us feel good, with little regard for the generations to come. It will have to be rebuilt, because what we have now isn’t sustainable, and we know it.

I used to watch the potato farmers, back in Brooklyn Park, where we lived. Each year, after they harvested their crop, they replanted the fields with rye grass. An added expense for sure, because they just plowed it under in the spring. But if the snows didn’t come to cover their fields, they knew that the good topsoil would blow away and before long, the crops would suffer in years to come. They were always looking to next year, and for them, their land was sacred. I walk my dog down our little country road most days, and each day I find the road and ditches littered with trash. I, and other concerned people, pick it up but it keeps right on coming back. Every gas station and grocery has a trash refuse can, but these people who litter are too lazy and self-centered to use that route. I doubt they even think it’s wrong.

When I was a kid, no parent had to worry about what his or her kids were watching on television.  At the uptown theater, movies were shown that were made for families to enjoy. You could go outside and play without being accosted by some pervert. Police officers and teachers were respected. You learned the ABC’s in school and not about social issues that seem to dominate the news and are best discussed at home. Now, we worry about chemicals in our water and our soil. Mercury and lead, herbicides and pesticides. Invasive species, brought here by man, are ruining our lakes and rivers. Drugs are everywhere and our prisons are full. Everyone knows someone who has died of an overdose or fried his or her brains. Nothing is safe, even in your own home. Stupid, senseless wars, which accomplish nothing but kill people. Did I mention 16 trillion dollars in debt? I could go on but won’t.

I am so sorry, Mary. We have failed you, and every one of your classmates and first graders all over this land. I only hope you can rise above the mess we have made and turn this world back to what God intended it to be. That’s right, I said, “God.” Remember him? I doubt you will hear it in school.

AUTUMN'S SAD STORY

                                               

It starts with just a few dead leaves, blowing lazily around in the middle of your otherwise green yard. The tree must be sick you reason, its still the middle of summer. You look up at the host tree and see the yellowing top and then you notice a few others and you know its not any disease but a summer that is fast running its course. The geese on the lake are all the same size now and that lovely auburn color the deer once had on, is fading into winters tan. That old buck that was in your yard last night eating acorns, now has shiny antlers and that ugly velvet moss that looked so crummy on his regal head has finally gone away.

Out in the countryside combines labor in the farm fields surrounded by clouds of dust and big round bales of hay lay scattered like tiny huts of grass on the Serengeti. It’s been three days now without a humming bird at your feeder and the apples on the trees by the garden are getting red. It seems like just yesterday they were blossoms, drooping like snowflakes in the soft spring breezes. You sit on the deck in that old porch swing and look out over the still lake in the autumn sun and you wish you could freeze this moment in time, before the last of your so-called innocence fades away. You remember the words of an old song that said, “Summers going fast, Nights getting colder. Children growing up and old friends growing older.”  But like sands through the hourglass the minutes tick softly away and there is little you can do to alter its course.

Soon the roads will once again be sprinkled with motor homes and trailers, captained by old white haired men with stern looking wives, both putting their faces towards the fading sun. Heading south like the birds of the air, to their winter grounds. Sadly like the birds of the air, not all will return. The lake grows quiet once more except for the sound of the guns during hunting season. The small town you live in goes into its survival mode and cafes that had full house’s and waiting lines in summer from tourists now have a few tired old men around three tables warming their hands around cups of coffee and trying to make the best of it.

 But for today, the old man sits quietly on the porch swing with his old sweat stained hat now off his head and in his lap, held tightly by his wrinkled sun burnt fingers and his thoughts turn to her who left him so suddenly. Two things have not changed, his love for her and his faith in his creator. Winters were more bearable then when they were together and even though most others went away for winter you always had each other. Then as if on cue another old song filters slowly through his mind.  “Since you went away the days grow long and soon I’ll hear old winters song. But I’ll miss you most of all my darling when autumn leaves began to fall.”

STATE FAIR

                                                          

I went to the State Fair last week, and I had a great day. The State Fair means many things to many people. It celebrates the end of another summer, and the opportunity to see the many fruits and vegetables, animals and poultry, which keep our larders full of food—something that gets lost in our world of fast food and supermarkets. I came from a rural community and the horses and cows, sheep and goats always bring me back to my roots. But more than that, it’s a time to just get together and socialize with other people, and to listen to their stories.  It’s a chance for those of us from “Up North” to see the other side of life.

I went to a stand to buy some popcorn and I was wearing a cap that says “Up North Minnesota. Crosslake.” The young man who waited on me, asked me, “Do you live up there?” and I said, “I do.” He said, “You must be very happy. I have visited there and I simply loved it.” On the bus, on the way home, I looked at the apartment buildings that line the freeways and the high rises where so many people live out their lives in front of television sets and computers. A place where most forms of entertainment cost money. Where you can hardly see the stars at night in the din of the city lights, and the songs of the birds and the chatter of the small animals are lost to the noise of cars and trucks. A place were the air is heavy with exhaust, and factory pollution, and summer’s sometimes-oppressive heat is absorbed by the asphalt jungle, and then fed back to you slowly, overnight. Yes—I do feel blessed to live up north.

I know if people from some of the urban areas read this, they would say, “it’s not that bad down here and we have amenities, too. One’s that you don’t have up north. We have the Twins and the Vikings and the Mall of America, and we don’t have to drive one hundred and fifty miles to see them.” My daughter and her family lived in Savage, and one day, her husband and I rode the light rail train to a Twins game. We got on at the second stop and the train was already full. At each stop after that, we grudgingly gave up what little space that was left as more people packed in until, if they opened the doors again, someone was going to pop out. My face was in the armpit of a tall man, with bad hygiene, hanging onto an overhead strap. All I could smell and hear was backs, boobs, sweat and crying kids. The trip took over an hour and the return trip home was the same song, second verse. I wouldn’t do that again, even if I were promised a seat in the Twins dugout next to Mauer. I could have come from Crosslake in almost the same amount of time. I have sat in traffic jams, down there, long enough to write this column. The faces of the people, in the cars around you, are expressionless. They can’t wait for Friday.

I lived down there for forty years because there was work for me there. I left a small town to seek my fortune and spent those forty years wishing I was back where I came from. As the naked man explained when caught by the husband, in his wife’s closet, and asked what he was doing there. “Everybody has to be somewhere.” I guess that is true of life itself. I no longer wonder why people live there because it’s for the same reasons I did. I know in their hearts they have the same dream I had. I know because I see them up here all summer long, and yes—they’re smiling.

IIT'S A WHOLE NEW BALL GAME IN THE KITCHEN

                        

The cuisine in our house has changed significantly since my wife passed away. I had done most of the cooking in our house for the last ten years but she had limits to what she would and would not eat. But now the gloves are off and my palate is being tickled once more. My stomach does revolt from time to time but there’s a pill for that and I bought three bottles full. I’m kind of like the drunk who knows tomorrow morning is not going to be good--- but just for tonight ----well who cares.

We used to have chili in our house, which I called bean soup and she called chili. There is no good way to spice up chili after the fact. It’s just not the same to put that old chili powder on it once its cooked. It must be cooked right to start with. If an apple a day keeps the doctor away just think what a couple of jalapeño peppers can do. Cut up and mixed in the chili, they are an almost magical ingredient. If your not sweating when you eat it--- its not done right. Davy Crockett owes them Mexicans an apology for chasing them away.

Corned beef sandwiches’ and pastrami sandwiches should be on any sub shops menu. I’ll share my recipe with you, just this once. Three slices of pastrami and three slices of corn beef on seven-grain bread. Yellow mustard and one spoonful of horseradish spread around on top of the meat. Three slices of Colby cheese and two slices of tomatoes and one thin slice of onion. Go easy on the onion because they can give you a bellyache. Bon appétit my friends.

I love hot-dishes and I think if some one opened an all you can eat hot dish, buffet café, they would have every silver head east of the Rockies eating there. I used to get a free lunch at work once in awhile at the community center when the Seniors had their monthly potluck dinner. A whole table full of hot-dishes. Like a kid in a candy store I was. Once you had your plate full you could throw that slice of hot apple pie on top of it and your saliva glands would be leaking like a tin roof on a shed, in the Bahamas, during hurricane season. Yum Yum.

My grandkids and even their parents to some extent have drifted far away from the world of real food. They subsist on artificial food wrapped in doughy bread or things that look like pizza crust and really would make better mud flaps than food wrap. Their kitchens at home are just used in emergencies, to like, cook a wiener, or warm up a pizza--- Jeez Louise, I’m even starting to talk like them. Their refrigerators have no food in them just bottles of water and the dog’s medicine and packets of left over condiments from places they frequent with drive through dining rooms. If you think driving and talking on a cell phone is risky, try eating a juicy whooper with your good clothes on, balancing a pack of fry’s on one knee, onion rings on the other knee, and a 32oz coke between your legs while trying to keep the dog in the back seat. I figure I’m at least three quarters home from beginning to the end, so I’m not going to get my underwear in a knot over this. But it’s food for thought. No pun intended.

GREAT EXSPECTATIONS

                                              

If there is one thing that is present in all of us it is the desire to have life as easy as we can and to enjoy life, and not have that many hardships or worries. Over the last fifty years we have made great strides in this country when it comes to employers giving their employees benefits beyond a paycheck. Paid health insurance, sick days, vacations, are a few that come to mind and they are needed. But people being what they are, the demand for more and better benefits keeps coming up. Paid leaves for childcare and extended sick leave are a couple up for discussion.  On- going benefits for retirees are another one. These are things that were not on the table years ago.

Each benefit your employer has to finance has to be paid for somewhere, somehow. Bottom line is they have to make a profit at the end of the year, or there is no sense being in business. At the same time they need to be competitive with others in the same business, or they will be simply priced out of business. Either way the employee will suffer along with them if they go down. It can become a parasitic action on the part of the employee to demand too much. Ask your employer sometime what it really costs to have you there. You might be surprised. There are a lot of things you may have never thought about. Think about big bonuses being paid in companies that don’t make a profit. It’s happening right now as we speak.

This recession has caused many employers to rethink their benefit packages. Look at the automakers. Things that were a long time coming, may shortly be going, or are already gone, and may be a long time coming back--if at all. So we are having a little reality check. Employees and their employers’ walk a two way street and they need to help each other stay financially viable. It’s not a contest. Are there greedy employers who take advantage of their people? I’m sure there are a few. But I bet it’s the exception, and not the norm, and I doubt if they are that way, they could find or keep good employees for long.

I worked for a government entity for most of my career. The benefits I had late in my career bordered on ridiculous. More vacation than I could use. Sick days you could take by just calling in and saying you were sick. No proof needed. No incentive not to use them, except the fact you already had more vacation then you could use. Paid health insurance for retires until sixty- five. Many people were able to retire at fifty-five so that was an expensive benefit. At one time we got Columbus Day off for one of our many holidays. No time clocks to punch and very lax accountability. I must tell you most of that has changed where I worked, and despite that existing back then most of the employees were good hard working people, but they didn’t have to be if they didn’t want to be. Lets just say they had a conscience. If—and maybe I should say when this country goes down someday, greed and corruption will be the two biggest contributing factors.