MY FOUR NEW YEARS GOALS

                                               

 What do I want for my friends, family and myself for New Years? And is what I want even possible or am I somewhere in fantasyland just wishing things were different? To me there are so many good things I value in life but yet if I think about them and had to categorize them in some kind of order of importance, where would I draw the lines. First and foremost I need to go back to the prayer of serenity and realize that much that is wrong out there, or at least what I perceive as being wrong, is beyond my control but I need to pay attention to the things that I can change.

I think happiness would be the thing I would aspire to be the most. I guess when you think about it, it’s all-inclusive with things we value in life. Faith, health, wealth, companionship all become a part of it. But then as I dissect it farther I find that it’s not just my happiness that is so important to me, but also the happiness of a large group of people that I know and love. For their happiness is tied to mine. What makes them happy refines and completes my happiness and vice versa. It’s like sugar in a recipe. It’s good all by itself but put it into a desert full of fruits, nuts and delicate creams and it’s the best it can be. That’s what life really is and should be. A living recipe for happiness. Even though we don’t have all the ingredients ourselves, others will chip in if we let them, to make the finished product. My resolution #1 is to try and be happy.

I need to be more of a doer and less of an advisor. But wait, I’m a writer and my forte is to inspire people to bigger and better things with my writings. It’s one of my daily prayers. “Lord, help me find the words to help people be inspired, like I am.” But in his infinite wisdom he is saying to me “That’s all good and proper Mike but show them what you mean by your example.” Even St. Francis prayed “Lord make me an instrument of your peace.” He knew that to be a living example would be the way to go. Do as I do, is always so much better then do as I say. It’s like the directions to accomplish something great, all done up in a video orchestrated by you, instead of a pamphlet that tells you a step by step process. My resolution # 2. Try to change the things you can. Remember every trip starts with a single step.

 I need to see the world through the eyes of my friends and loved ones as well as through my own. We are all so different; we all bring to the table something special. Let’s go back to that happiness thing I talked about. Thing’s that make no sense to me, may make perfect sense to someone else. I’m old but if I lived to be a thousand I could never experience all the things that have make people happy or sad. I only know what I have come in contact with. I need to expand my horizons and be more understanding of those around me. My resolution #3. Be more understanding.

I looked up the meaning of the word resolution. It means to make a firm decision. Resolution #4. Be serious about what you have resolved to do.

                                                                                                                       

                                                                                    HAPPY NEW YEARS ---MIKE

MAGICAL CHRISTMAS

Each year at Christmas, I take this magical journey through time. It’s a trip I have made possible, by being old, blessed with the wisdom of life. A trip I take because I lived through so many Christmas’s, loving, touching and knowing so many people.

So today, I vision a tree decorated only with tinsel and clear class bulbs and from each of them, shines a face that I knew so well when they were here on earth. They all look so happy now, but then that was how they were when I knew them at a different moment and place in time. A time when they were here sharing life with me and it’s how I choose to remember them now. Our lives have always been a picture puzzle of sorts but these were the pieces that completed me and made my world what it was, now helping my picture come to fruition.

There is no special order to the bulbs on my sacred memory tree, they’re all significant to me or they wouldn’t be there. Softly and silently they glow in the somewhat celestial darkness, hiding in the boughs. Illuminated by some unseen mystery power source I believe in, but don’t fully understand. The faces in the bulbs are somewhat blurry when seen in mass but when I approach them and touch them individually with my fingertips, they light up brightly and magically come to life. Then as if I have opened a long forgotten file in my computer and created a path from the tree to my memory, our lives become real again and I remember so many things long since forgotten about them. It’s a quiet meeting of sorts, no talking, just happy thoughts and recollections of a place and a time we shared so many years ago. All of these thoughts seem to flow softly back and forth on some telepathic connection that seems to defy all earthly logic.

There are no tears to cry tonight in this magical moment, just happy peaceful thoughts that seem almost melodious in nature. No pain or worries or grudges and sadness to bring back. It’s as if those things never existed in my past. I find my way moving quietly around the tree, intrepid yes, but softly touching each and every bulb, as if opening and closing tiny doors, one at a time. Our lives’ stories that once existed in harmony together seem for the moment to be bursting at the seams of my memory. There are no hellos or good byes to be said in this moment in time. In fact time is not of any essence to me and doesn’t seem to exist at all. Something tells me that it’s not only my Christmas’s past in these fleeting sacred moments that I am experiencing but a prevue of Christmas’s future for me someday. God willing I will take my place on that tree of life when my turn comes and somebody else will take my place on the outside looking in.

As cliché, as it seems Christmas is a “ways to the means” for so many of us. The means I talk about are peace, love and good will. We weren’t born with it. It’s a learned behavior brought on through our circle of life with those we love. Since the day we learned it, it’s always been there in our lives but it gets buried in the hustle and bustle of everyday life but then along comes Christmas to bring it all back.

CHRISTMAS IN ALEPPO

                                                 

In a bombed out building, in Aleppo Syria, a family of five hunkers down for another day of not knowing if they will see the end of the day or not. They are a Christian family but only in the privacy of their home. They would be killed if the enemy knew their faith. Christmas may be coming soon but for them it’s just another day fighting for survival. There is a mom and three kids and a crippled father badly wounded in the fighting. He lies on a cold damp, cot, shivering and moaning. Infection has taken over his body from his undressed wounds. His wife tries to comfort him but it only adds to her despair for she has no medicine or bandages. The boy, about thirteen, goes out each day to see what he can beg, borrow or steal for food and water. One little girl about six sits in the corner wrapped in rags for warmth trying to keep her toddler brother happy. He cries incessantly because he is so cold, wet and hungry. There is no food, no water, no heat and seemingly no hope.

This Christmas in Minnesota I will gather with my family and loved ones once more. We’ve cut back on the gift giving but only because there is little anyone needs. Our warm homes are brightly decorated and on Christmas Eve we will go worship freely the birth of Christ. Then we will gather for a Christmas feast of roast beef, and all the trimmings. Crawl into our warm beds and sleep, seemingly without a care in the world. After Christmas we will go back to our routines, richer for having spent another Christmas in this great country and looking forward to even better things.

I think of Syria and I can’t fathom how the leader of that country can destroy his own country and its people to stay in power. What is it that he wants, to go to such extremes? What is wrong with the people who supply this mad man with bombs and missiles? What is wrong with the rest of the world that could stop all this suffering tomorrow, with one huge collective effort?

I mentioned that this family in Aleppo was Christian and Christmas is coming. Somewhere in the Bible between Genesis and Revelations there is story of the reason for Christmas and a code of ethics, Jesus brought for all of us to live by. It tells us to care for others and be tolerant of others and love our neighbors and if we do this, the world will be a far better place for all of us. But for that to happen someone has to care and the way things are now-- caring is being called into question.

Back in Aleppo it’s Christmas Eve and the man has died. His wife sits on the floor and sobs into his still warm body. She has no way to even give him a burial service. She gathers her family around her and they all take what they can carry. It’s time to flee their home now. There is no star to guide them like the Shepherd’s had that night so long ago, Just piles of rubble to crawl over and around. If they are lucky they will get to Turkey and maybe-- just maybe, they will get something to eat and drink.

My wish this Christmas is for a realization in this world and this country of what is important and what isn’t. An end to this kind of greed and power struggles that goes on at the expense of so many innocents. -----For peace on earth and good will to all.

FALL THOUGHTS

                                                            

A while back, as I drove home from a trip to Hackensack I saw more and more trees, now looking like skeletal remains of themselves, after shedding their summer foliage. Fall can be a nice time with its cooler temperatures, fewer bugs and all the colors. But its like going to a good movie you waited ages to see and knowing that with each frame the story is being revealed to the point where soon there is no more to tell. You leave the theater happy you were allowed to see and hear the film but sad it had to end. That’s what autumn is-- the ending to another summer-- and yes there will be more, but not for a while and sometimes it’s that “while,” we find so hard to take.

I received a phone call yesterday from a friend, who told me that a mutual friend and neighbor, was going into Hospice care. I know none of us can pick our time to leave and if that were true we simply won’t leave would we? But notice the similarity between leaves and leave and in a twisted sort of way I guess when my time comes, if it could be in the fall, I would think it a most appropriate time to leave. The end of summer and the end of life, at least for me, have something in common. I hear in the back of my mind right now, the lyrics of Nat King Cole when he sang so beautiful-- and just for today, so very fitting. “Those falling leaves drift by the window. Those autumn leaves of red and gold. I see your lips, the summer kisses. The sunburned hands I used to hold. Since you went away the days grow long and soon I’ll hear old winters song.”

Okay, lets lighten it up. There were days when I welcomed fall. The hunt was on for birds and deer. Fresh squash and kitchens sounding off with the pinging of can lids, as the garden went from fresh to canned. Football and kids back in school. You could see through the woods again at a whole new world that you had walked by so many times that summer. The smell of leaves burning in the driveway brought the neighbors out, as is if it was a miniature homecoming event. But then inevitably the days grew shorter and colder and the bird’s left and the animals hunkered down and it was strangely quiet in our little corner of the world. So quiet you could almost hear the snowflakes fall as they blanketed the earth in a covering cloak of white. All the color seemed to go out of the land and suddenly it was just black and white, dark cold. Even the lake was silenced under an icy canopy that enhanced the biting cold ebbing ashore and eeking through our clothing, when the winds blew across it.

I grew up in a house heated by wood. My father cut wood for several months, after work each day and us boys helped. He said it warmed you twice-- once when you cut and hauled it-- and once when you burned it. We had a gravity fed furnace and whatever you burned you smelled. The smell of red oak and birch still bring a sense of warming to me. There was much more family time to be had back then as we were clustered together to stay out of the weather. As siblings we played games and read books. Supper was much more leisurely then summer time because you weren’t all rushing off to go some place. And at night when you climbed those stairs, to that cold bedroom, to crawl under those thick blankets and cuddle with your brothers for warmth--- Well I guess what I’m trying to say is it gave you a whole new appreciation of family and togetherness.

LONELINESS

                                             

“This is for all the lonely people. Thinking that life has passed them by. Don’t give up until you drink from the silver cup and ride that highway in the sky.” Yes, not my words but the words of the songwriters Daniel and Catherine Peek. It says so well what I want to talk about. There is a segment of our population that has always touched my heart and that is the lonely people. Maybe it’s because for a short while, after my wife died, I seemed to be one of them but then in retrospect I’m not sure if I was lonely, as much as I was feeling sorry for myself because in reality my support group was active. The people I really feel sorry for are those who seem to have none.

My father-in-law, in his later years, lived in the Old Soldiers Home in South Minneapolis. At least once a week my wife, or I, would make the trip out there to see him or bring him to our place for a visit. I remember one such trip at Christmas time and as I went into get him I walked by an old man sitting in wheelchair by the entrance. He was crying and I stopped for a moment to ask him if I should go get someone to help him. He said, “There is no one to help me.” I said I was sure I could find someone, that this was a nice place with lots of attendants. He said what he meant was, “It was Christmas and all day families’ had come to take loved ones home for the Holidays,” but he had no one to do that. I was at a loss for words and to this day, I wished I had done, what I didn’t do, and that was not to walk away from him. To make matters worse I remember picking up my father-in-law and going out another door because I was ashamed to go by this man again. When I think about it today, I had options there but they all involved a little work-- I didn’t want to do. I could have talked about him with the staff. Maybe they knew of someone who would have helped him. To be sure I could have asked him to come to Christmas dinner at our house. I could have at the very least taken him to the commissary and bought him a cup of coffee and had a conversation with him. But I didn’t and I regret it. You see I had never really been lonely and didn’t know what he was going through but with his tears he had reached out to me and yet I never took the time to listen.

Last year my brother passed away. Ken was a hopeless alcoholic who lived alone. Hopeless in the fact that he rebuffed any and all attempts to help him. God knows we as his siblings and family tried. I would call him maybe once a week but there would be times when there would be no answer and I knew he was too drunk to talk. Then one day his daughter called from Mesa and said she couldn’t get a hold of him. I told her to call one of his neighbors, that I knew she talked with and have them check on him. She did and Ken was dead. Today the thing that bothers me the most was he died alone, in squalor. Helping Ken was not much of an option because he didn’t want help but no one should have to die alone and that is what bothers me the most.

I’m not a lonely man, even though I live alone. My kids call often and I have Pat and although we both keep our separate households we care a lot for each other. We talk every day and maybe sometimes it’s nothing more then, “what did you had for supper” but it’s a sense of sharing and caring that feels so darn good.

TO MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY

True happiness is a state of mind and must always be preceded by a commitment to good.  We have found out, in our lives, that achieving worldly goods accomplishes little in our efforts to attain true happiness. Some of the richest people I know are the most miserable. I say this because I have found happiness in many places in my life, and it didn’t cost me a penny. I am thankful for that.

I have found happiness in the world our creator gave us. I am amazed each time a flower blooms, or a hummingbird appears, or the sun sets once more over the hills, and across our placid lake. The stars on a cloudless night, a full moon on a forest path, a gentle rain that greens the earth and breathes life back into it. They all speak volumes to me and I am thankful for that.

I am overjoyed with the babies we brought into the world and the babies they have brought into the world. It fulfilled a great purpose in my life. From the time all of them were infants, to seeing them go out into the world on their own, my heart swelled with pride. It is an accomplishment fostered in love and not in money, and my hope, my prayer is that, as my body wanes and dies, a part of me will live on in them and I will be thankful for that.

It amazes me always, the love and commitment of my life bound partner, who spent her life making our lives inseparable. What we accomplished by trial and error, tears and sacrifices, and truly loving and trusting each other could not have been bought at any price. Even though I existed before she knew me, she truly completed me. I see that every day in my family, too, and I am thankful for that.

I think of the people that have come into my life as friends. I did not have, nor have I now, anything to offer them but my friendship and my love for them, but in the end, that was all they really wanted, as do I. Maybe it was their persona that first brought us down that path, but I have found so much good behind that admirable character, that first attracted me, that a lot of it has rubbed off on me and made me a better person. We tend to mold our lives from those around us and we thank God for making good choices. Yes, sometimes we don’t know what we are doing in life, but there are so many wonderful examples out there to emulate. It’s hard to go wrong if you truly care, and we should be thankful for that.

Lastly, I can’t forget my faith in God. All of the good things I’ve talked about are his example, and his way of life. None of it would have existed without him at the very core of my life. When others have failed me and when I have failed myself, as often happened, God was that rock and refuge that was always there for me. He never turned his back on me and all I had to do was ask. I am thankful for that.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.        Mike Holst

THANKSGIVING 20015

                                                

Today as I write this, there is a cold wind whipping up the lake waters. The waves have turned all dark and ugly green, topped with their foamy tentacles reaching out until they come crashing down relentlessly on shore. There’s an ominous feeling of winter in the air today. All of those chores, we lake people go through at the end of the season are done and suddenly were not sure anymore what were going to do to occupy our minds. There was a time this summer when there wasn’t enough minutes in a day to do everything we wanted to do and we had to pick and choose. But wait-- there are a couple of other events taking place this month and next and maybe its time to concentrate on that before the year ends.

Thanksgiving is fast becoming the forgotten holiday. For many of us, first and foremost it’s a four-day weekend, filled with eating, football and family get togethers. I say forgotten because the commercialization of Christmas’s is turning it that way. It seems a month is not enough time to get all of the Holiday shopping done. Anyone who works in the retail industry knows that Thanksgiving is becoming just anther workday for him or her. If they’re lucky they get a couple of hours to enjoy Thanksgiving. Black Friday is so appropriately named because of the shadow of Christmas shopping---not to be confused with the real meaning of Christmas. This looms over Thanksgiving like a dark cloud, striping the holiday weekend of so much of its meaning. Maybe if we weren’t so preoccupied with Christmas we would have time to reflect on what Thanksgiving is all about.

We all know why Thanksgiving was started but do we know why its just not the same as it used to be when it was a trip to grandmas house. I guess unless you’re a farmer the harvest doesn’t really mean as much as a trip to the grocery store to buy the food for Thanksgiving. I guess unless you’re poor or a lonely shut-in you don’t really miss a turkey dinner with all of the trimmings. You eat like that or better many times a year. I guess unless you’re a widower or a widow and remember when the chair next to you at that Thanksgiving table held someone you were so thankful for and her dressing was the best you ever tasted. It was the one-day she took the good china out and how much you miss him or her. I guess when all of the kids and grandkids have grown up and gone their ways and now have a family of their own that now is the time when you realize, what it’s like, to be on the outside looking in.

But if your old enough, you may have something a lot of people don’t have in your memory bank. You have an appreciation for what you have been blessed with over all of these years. You remember Thanksgiving when it was so much more meaningful. You remember people that aren’t here anymore. People who meant so much to you and today, you not only give thanks for what’s on the table and who’s around the table but you give thanks for those who went before you and shared so many Thanksgivings with you, in a kinder gentler time.

To all of you, I hope you have a meaningful Thanksgiving. I hope God blesses all of us with a day we won’t ever forget. But most of all, I hope we realize what it is that makes this country so great and vow to never let it be taken from us.---Mike Holst

LUTEFISK SUPPER

                                               

Every fall, some of my friends and I, travel to Staples to the annual lutefisk supper at Faith Lutheran church. This is an annual festival that has been going on for a long, long, time. How long? I remember it when I was kid and believe me that has been a long, long, time. I go for a couple of reasons, number one being my Brother Huck and his crew, consisting mostly of his sons, have long cooked the fish so its kind of a family affair for me. Number two is, I have a soft spot for that church and although I’m not a member or a Lutheran, I recognize the good they do for the people of that area. Maybe you have noticed, I didn’t say, “I go for the fish.”

Eating Lutefisk, for me reminds me of when I was ten and played house with the little neighbor girls. Those of you who have your mind in the gutter can stop right here, because I said playhouse, not doctor. In our role-playing, the girls would bring out their little tin dishes and make us boys mud pies. We would smack our lips and throw the mud over our shoulders as if it was the best mud pie we ever ate. Now to be sure Lutfisk-- unlike mud-- is edible but it has to be covered with melted butter and salt to bring out the taste.-- Of butter and salt. The fish has no taste. It is akin to a tofu turkey at Thanksgiving time. There is an odor however that you can smell as you approach the church and it does get into your clothing. My dog picked up on it when I came home from the meal and proceeded to rub her shoulder on my pants legs for some time.

To be sure it’s the trimmings that make the meal for me. Lefsa, to me, the Norwegian flat bread, was long a favorite in my parents family and it is for me today. I’m addicted to the stuff. I could eat it everyday. Couple this with sweet potatoes or rutabagas, homemade mashed potatoes and Swedish meatballs, cranberries and homemade pies-- well it don’t get much gooder then that-- ya sure yu betcha. I think the Swedish meatballs were a concession of sorts because I have long considered Lutefisk and Lefsa a Norwegian dish. A lot of jokes have been made about the differences between Swedes and Norwegians but this being a family paper; I will have to keep them to myself.

I want to congratulate the people of Faith Lutheran Church for the fine meal and carrying on the tradition. There were a lot of young people there that night but they were serving the Lutefisk, not eating it. I’m not sure where this tradition will be in twenty years but maybe we will be having Lutefisk Tacos or Norwegian burritos. Served with melted butter and salt of course. But in retrospect I didn’t eat it either when I was young, but here I am eating it now. My dad used to say,” The only thing different between Lutefisk and snot was kids will eat snot.” He always said that while you were dishing up your Lutefisk of course.

To the people of Faith Lutheran I say, “Ser deg nesta ar.” Or see you next year.

Mike Holst

A TRIP TO REMEMBER

A while back, over coffee, I told a story to a friend of mine and now I would like to share it with you. Years ago my wife and I had stopped for the night at a motel in Chamberlain, South Dakota. As I was getting our bags out of the car, there, right next to me in the parking lot, were two men wiping down their Harleys and covering them up for the night. I noticed they had Florida registrations so I remarked, “You’re a long way from home.” One of the men, who looked gaunt and exhausted, said with a tired smile, “We’re only half as far as we once were.”

He went on to tell me that they were on their way back to Florida after riding up to Fairbanks, Alaska. “Wow, what a trip,” I said. He looked at me quietly for a second—I sensed he wasn’t sure if he wanted to carry on the conversation or not—but he finally said, “I am fulfilling a dream.” There were tears in his companion’s eyes who, up to then, had said nothing, just standing there and buttoning up his bike cover. Not knowing where this was going, intrigued, I set my bags down.

“A few months ago,” the man continued, “I was told I had six months to live. One of my dreams had always been to take a trip like this. A week after my diagnoses, I knew it was now or never. I rented two motorcycles, and my friend took off six weeks from his job to go with me, ride shotgun, to make sure I was going to be safe.  I could not have done it without him, and now I’m going home to my family to die.”

I was at a loss for words, but I shook his hand and his friend’s hand, wishing them well. I went up to my room with tears in my eyes. My wife, worried about where I had been, asked what was I doing. “Just talking to some friends,” I said. She looked at me like she didn’t understand, but let it ride, and we went to bed. As I laid there in the dark that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about the man and his friend. As sad as the situation was, there was a victory here, and a profile in courage. He got to live his dream because of a lot of people. His friend, who put his life on hold to go with him, and his family, who unselfishly gave up a lot of the short time they had left together to let him accomplish what he had to do.

I have talked often about this trip throughout life, and the people who have made it so worthwhile by sharing their lives with me. Although I never knew the man’s name, my life was better off for having met him that night. He could have just said nothing when I addressed him, or told me to buzz off. Instead, he chose to share that story with me a complete stranger, and to this day I have wondered why. Was it pride in what he had accomplished, or was it because he just wanted to share the love? I guess I will never know, but if what he told me was true—and I have no reason to believe otherwise—he is long gone from this earth, but his story will live on for as long as I do, anyway. When we left the next morning, the Harleys were gone, but that night will always live on in my mind.

 There comes a time when you have to dare to live your dreams. Life is uncertain, even when you haven’t been given a deadline. Seize the moment.

TODAY

Back in the sixties there was an American folk music group, “The New Christy Minstrels.” One of the songs they sang was called, “Today.” I remember the lyrics to the first verse of that song, and even today they take me back to that time in Minneapolis—a time when I was just going out into the world full of hope—and anticipation for a better life for myself. The words that still resonate with me today are from verse one--“Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine; I’ll taste your strawberries, I’ll drink your sweet wine; a million tomorrows shall all pass away, ‘ere I forget all the joy that is mine today.” At the time, they were meaningless words to some extent, because I hadn’t lived any of those tomorrows. But just as they predicted, they did pass away and now, for the first time, I can feel the subliminal message that was in that verse, way back then, in a way I never felt it before.

There was so much joy in my world back then. I was newly married, and so in love with her and the world. Responsibilities were still few and far between. I had not yet let the world’s problems, or my own problems, press down on me like they do now. In fact, it was like I had stopped the world and gotten off for a while—content to take each day as it came and live the joy that was mine that day. But time marches on, and at some point I got back on the world, and reluctant or not, fell into step. Then with time came babies and homes, jobs and responsibilities, things no one can accurately describe for you. But for the most part life was good, and the happiness that was mine back then continued in a slightly different form, for now that happiness I craved was tinged with accomplishments and pride.

There comes a time in your life when it’s just not your life anymore, but a life you made with someone else, and the children you made. With that comes a new day of parenting and mentoring, and for the first time in your life you fall back to the generations before you to see how that was done because, after all, they raised you and did all right and those kids didn’t come with directions. You get in a never-ending rut of getting up and getting through each day; solving problems and trying to adjust to what’s in and out in life’s journey. Then slowly, the offspring fall out of the nest and test their wings. Whoever coined the phrase “mixed emotions” must have been in this part of life because you want so badly for them to succeed, but you’re still hanging on. You know that their tomorrows are now slip sliding away, too, and they are on a new course you don’t know, and you’re not driving anymore.

So now you enter into the golden years. It’s a new experience that comes without directions or mentors who have since passed on. You’re back to The New Christy Minstrels and “Today,” verse two. “I can’t be contented with yesterday’s glory, I can’t live on promises winter to spring. Today is my moment and now is my glory, I’ll laugh and I’ll cry and I’ll sleep.”

SHE WAS NOT AMUSED

                                             

So my oldest daughter flew up from Mesa with her husband and daughter for a week. Knowing she was coming, I spent two days cleaning my house before she got here because she is a clean freak and she has threatened to call the county and have me put in a foster home. You see once your wife passes away, your daughters feel that you have now reverted back to one step above an infant. I asked Pat, who comes to my house, quite often for an assessment of my house cleaning ability and she said it was good, so I have gotten a second opinion, from one who knows or at least keeps the truth to herself.

My daughter ran my vacuum cleaner for three hours straight the other day. She brings me the collection container and shows me what’s inside. “What is this Dad?” she asks. “That’s called dog hair,” I answered. “You have met Molly have you not? That’s that big dog over by the back door. Molly is a shedding machine. Molly can lose a hair and grow and shed another one, out of the same follicle in the same day. If the doggy gynecologist looked in Molly’s mother’s uterus she would have found a hairball bigger than Dolly Parton’s wig.” She was not amused.

“Dad you have spiders. I have killed two of them since I have been here.” Reply. “Everybody has to be someplace. Even spiders. I hope you didn’t kill Elmer because he was one of my favorites. I feel sorry for Elmer because he only has seven legs but he does get around pretty good for a handicapped spider. Not sure if he was born that way or if he had a terrible accident.” Again she was not amused.

Back to the vacuuming, anything to quit talking about spiders. “Dad how often do you vacuum.” Reply. “Twice a week and then once a month I bring in my back pack blower and do a good job. But only if the wind is from the north and I can open the back door and blow it all outside. By the way the blower found a pair of girls underwear the other day under the bed. It went out the back door and is stuck in that spruce tree; does it belong to your girls? It has ‘Wonder Woman’ on the back of it and I know that’s not you.”  Again she was not amused.

“Dad how many kitchen towels do you think you have. The drawer is so full I can’t close it. You need to change with the silverware drawer because it’s bigger and besides---“Reply. I went to the towel drawer in mid sentence, took out half of them and threw the rest in the trash. “Problem fixed. Leave my silverware drawer alone.” Again she was not amused.

“Dad do you realize your electric toothbrush is sitting within four feet of the toilet?”

Reply. “Actually its thirty three inches and I do keep it there because that’s where the outlet is and I didn’t think having an extension cord draped over the vanity is a good thing and the shortest cord I have is a fifty footer. I want you to know I try very hard not to pee on my toothbrush. I don’t always hit the middle of the bowl but for all practical purposes I still get in the vicinity. If in the future it gets to be a problem I will go outside with Molly by the Spruce tree. The one with the panties hanging in it.” Again not amused.

PRIMING THE PUMP

                                                

When I was a youngster, we had a pump in the park where you could get water for the animals or a cool drink for yourself, after an afternoon of playing baseball. The pump was old and it leaked a little air so to get it started you had to pour some water down the well pipe to prime the pump. The water for priming was in an old rusty coffee can that had been filled by the last person who used the pump.  Once primed, you could pump water as long as your arms held out. Then when you were done you filled the coffee can, and left it there, with water for the next person. The can was always there and always full. It was strangers helping strangers. Someone befriended you, thought of you and you in turn wanted to repay the kindness.

I want all of us to take look around us at the youngest family member we have, be it a niece or nephew, brother or sister, son or daughter or my youngest granddaughter who is eight. These youngsters are our hope for the future and we need to do everything we can to help them get educated and become the leaders of tomorrow. We also need to do everything in our power to safe guard the world they have to live in. We need to leave them some water to prime the pump so they can keep going. We live in an increasingly greedy world, where sharing and caring, often takes a back seat to money and power.

I often look at the youngest generation and think—what kind of a world have we left you? Has our overwhelming greed for self-satisfaction left you an empty can? Our air and waters become more polluted every day. Our code of ethics that used to include good morals and a sense of decency has been watered down. Yes, we do reap what we sow but the sad part of it is, the next generation reaps what we sow also. A few weeks back the Pope came to our country and his message to all of us was, “start caring about each other.” Even if you’re not Catholic or even a Christian, how can you argue with that kind of logic? I’m not an Ellen DeGeneres fan but I watch the news and so often I catch the last five minutes of her show. The last thing she says everyday is “Be kind to each other.” We shouldn’t have to be reminded to do that. It should be second nature.

We look to our government so much to fix things for us and make us all get along. It’s almost like we always need direction from a higher power to do what is right. Or we need a law that makes us do it. What does that say about us? Even as a young boy scout we used to repeat an oath to the scout law. “To help other people at all times. To keep ourselves physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.” You can bake a cake and leave out an essential ingredient and to all outward appearances it’s still a cake. But the truth will come out when you share it. That’s the way life is too. If you practice what you preach and you preach love and caring then you have all of the ingredients to be authentic.

None of us will be here forever. Lets keep the can full for the next person.

THANK YOU

                                                            

Earlier today I received a phone call from a lady who wanted to thank me for writing for the newspapers. She was a former English Teacher so it was doubly special for me to hear from her. I know for a fact that my English would never win much recognition but I’m glad it met hers and I’m glad to have her endorsement. I love to take compliments and turn them into something positive and today I am here to tell you that the overwhelming amount of people I meet, are the reason I have so much to write about, and my world is so great. These are people who get up each day, to do their part, to make this nation better for all of us and they never get enough credit. This morning this lady told me “she doesn’t say thank you enough” and I’m here to tell you “neither do I,” so----to all of my readers, you don’t know how much it helps a writer, to be a better writer, when you hear positive things, so thank you so very much for your support. 

I need to share my credits with a few other people. Glenda Berndt who helps me out with my writing. My English teacher from a half a century ago who said simply—“Write Mike.” and good things will happen. The Northland Press for giving me a venue to write in. Pat, for keeping me in a good frame of mind and all of you readers who have wrote to me or simply talked to me in passing. Also, it helps to be living in this lake country we live in, where Mother Nature and the good Lord above have blessed us all so much and so often. Writing comes from inspiration and I’m inspired each time I walk out my back door. I have on many occasions met and continue to meet people who inspire me and I have also read much that has motivated me to write better. I think when you sit down to your keyboard and start to compose something; you are always drawn to subjects that have been written about over and over again. There is little new news in this world that hasn’t been done before but there are lots of old stories that need to be written about again. The trick is to write it in a new light and to write about things people want to hear.

I was blessed to travel to Hannibal Missouri over Labor Day. I say blessed because at least in my mind, if I had to lay claim to a writing mentor it would have been Mark Twain. His books are just a soliloquy of life itself, as seen through Twains eyes. Told as only he could tell them because he was the one who had actually lived them. But it’s about something much deeper then his books, as it also applies to his many, quips, quotes and observations of life around him too. He seemed to be always filled with quick wit and an uncanny way of expressing himself. At least in my mind there has been no equal to Mark Twain for all around writing. While in Hannibal, Pat and I took a ride down the old muddy on a riverboat and I couldn’t help but feel the presence of Twain-- or at least his literary creations, Tom and Huck, on every sandbar and Island we passed. I think every red blooded American boy at some point, feels some of the adventurous energy that Tom and Huck had and so many of us have also had a Becky Thatcher in our lives. I think every writer worth his salt has found something that Mark Twain said, and wished they had coined it instead.

GRANDPARENTS

Growing up, I was one of the lucky people who had a meaningful relationship with paternal grandparents. Because of divorce, I never knew my other grandparents, and that is sad. In the summer months, I would spend a week with Dad’s parents at their home in Northern Minnesota, and they made frequent visits to my parent’s home in Staples. When they got older and frailer, they moved to Staples and lived just blocks away from us so my dad could watch over them. They moved to the cities to a rest home about the same time that I was going out into the world, so I was able to continue to see them until their passing.

I think the relationship with grandparents is so special because here are people who love and care about you, without them having much disciplinary duty so, in a way, you’re more relaxed around them and you get a sense of what it was like for your parent to grow up in their home as a child. You also get a glimpse into how your parent compares to them as far as values are concerned. When we talk about the erosion of our morals and values in today’s society, to be able to go back in time another generation really brings things into perspective.

My dad was a great dad, but his dad was my hero. He had an air about him that is hard to explain, it just garnered instant respect. He loved people and went out of his way to meet them and make friends—and he had a lot of them. My dad was more reserved, and although he got along with people, he was not that outgoing. I think, in my own life, I have chosen to be more like grandpa because I had his example to look back on. I am sure, had I never met him, my life would be quite different. Now to be fair, I am sure Grandpa was on his best behavior around me. A luxury not always afforded my father.

In a way, grandparents can be supplemental parents, if we let them. I think most kids would like the opportunity to have that relationship with grandpa and grandma, and I think most grandparents would like to be an influence in their grandchildren’s lives. This can, sometimes, become a little bit of a balancing act because, as grandparents, you may think you know your children well, but your child’s spouse has equal interest in those kids. His/her views and wishes have to be taken into consideration, too, or you become this divisive character—and that does more harm than good.

Divorce and separation of your children can cause a lot of heartaches for grandparents. For many of them, they are robbed of having any kind of a relationship with their grandchildren. A few weeks back I spoke with a wonderful lady who said, “It wasn’t just losing her grandchildren, but losing a daughter-in-law she had grown to love, too, when her son went through with a divorce.” In times like this, as grandparents and parents, you seem powerless and torn. Sir Walter Scott’s words, “Oh what a tangled web we weave,” rings through my head as I write this, but in this case it has nothing to do with deception—just the cruel ironies of life itself for grandparents.

DEALING WITH, FOR BETTER OR WORSE

Today I had a note from a dear friend who has lost her husband to dementia. She went on to say that every day brings with it new challenges for him and her. She never knows what to expect or how he will act from one day to the next. She only knows that this man, whom she has loved all of their married life, is just a shell of what he once was. That the active life he once knew is over, and hers has been put on hold caring for him; that the future for them is not a week, a month, or a year down the road—it is getting through tomorrow. Thankfully, she has family that cares and loves them both very much. Their love surrounds them, but the time always comes when they, as they must do, go home to their busy lives and it’s just her and him again.

Over the past four years, I have made it a quest to try and write about the trials and tribulations that come with aging that most of us never think about. Of all of the cruel diseases that come into our lives, dementia brings with it problems that seem especially egregious because they can last for a long time. To a loving spouse this can be a big chunk of their life, too—a chunk of life taken away at a time when they have so little left to give in the remaining years. I cared for my wife, who had cancer, for eleven months and watched it ravage her body. The time I gave was measured in months not years, and when she passed life for me returned to a form of normalcy. If I’d had a choice I would have preferred it never happened, but we don’t get a choice, do we?

A family member of my own extended family has Alzheimer’s. Over the years, I have watched him deteriorate. He is at a point now where he is locked in his own little world. Still happy, but not that aware of the world or those around him. In his better days this man was an accomplished carpenter. He still has that muscular body that came from years of tipping walls, carrying sheeting and sheet rock, but right now there is little he can do but watch television. His wife must be on guard for his well-being all of the time—giving him his meds and feeding and clothing him. You think back over the years when your kids were little, and you had to get a sitter to care for them just to have a few hours to yourself, but you knew that the day would come when they would be responsible for themselves and you would have your freedom back. The difference here was that you were dealing with a developing mind, that you had great hopes for, and not a deteriorating mind that once was great.

We have all had heroes in our lives and these two women are high on my list. A long time ago they professed their love and commitment to their spouses. Now they are showing the world and us what better or worse, sickness and health really means to them. I remember a time toward the end of my wife’s life when things were especially hectic and precarious. Maybe it showed on my face, I don’t know, but from her sickbed she told me, “I am so sorry to put you through this.” I usually have an answer for most things, but I had no answer for that except to say, “You would have done the same.” I really believe she would have cared for me in the same way.

We all have our limits and capabilities no matter what the situation. This was not meant to cast judgement on those who cannot care for their loved ones.

THE SANCTITY OF LIFE

                                             

I sometimes wish I wasn’t so bothered by the way things are in the world because it tears me to pieces to watch the suffering of so many people. Last week I saw the body of that three-year-old Syrian boy washed up on shore. Later I read that his father, who survived, buried the boy, his other sibling and his wife and returned to his homeland. He said he was only leaving Syria so his family could have freedom. He didn’t care what happened to him any longer and he was going home. Try if you can to imagine what that was like. Try to imagine burying your loved ones on some deserted beach and then going back to the hell you had tried to escape.

We in this country have never known this kind of heartache. We count our calories instead of wondering where are next meal is coming from. We know if we get sick or hurt people will rush to our aid. We know if intruders come, the police will be there to protect us. Our homes are palaces in comparison to the cramped and cold homes these people are leaving behind, to live in squalor, in tents in some far off land. Imagine packing up tonight and leaving your neighbors, your friends, your pets, and most of your belongings and then having no idea where you are going to end up. Not leaving in your warm car or on a bus or train but trekking across the country side without food or water carrying your children and the aged and then when you get to the border being turned back. Talk about the depths of despair.

It is so easy for us to ignore this carnage because all we have to do is not look. Shut of the television or turn to the baseball game or the shopping channel. Instead we will go to bed and worry about the stock market or the Vikings or the traffic on the way to work tomorrow. We will say a hurried prayer for them if we do anything at all because in reality that’s all we can do. If our government intervenes we risk more war and this country is sick of war, as is the rest of the free world. So we will sit tight and let it play out. This isn’t the first time some ruthless leader sacrificed his country and his people for his own selfish whims and it won’t be the last time as nonsensical as that is. We care-- don’t get me wrong. That’s what makes it so bad.

I go back to the little dead boy on the beach and remember when I was a firefighter and although there were many deaths over the years the deaths of children were so egregious because we as guardians are charged with keeping them safe from harm. They depend on us for that and when we fail them it is so sad because all they really wanted out of life was a chance to determine their own fate and we robbed them of that. I cried many times over the deaths of children in fires and accidents and went home to look in on my own kids. Standing in their bedroom doors in the dark and watching for their breathing before I could go back to sleep. Yet those times are just blips on the radar in the amount of lives being lost in the Middle East. One can only hope that our creator has a special place for all the little ones who have died and a hopeless, endless hell for those who exploited them.

Yes, this is the price we as Americans pay, for caring about the sanctity of life.

REMEMBERING

Some days I close my eyes and I’m back in my hometown of Staples. It’s the mid-nineteen fifties and I’m twelve years old. Today I got up to another warm, cloudless summer day and put on my old cutoff jeans, a ragged tee shirt that is much too big for my skinny frame, and some old scruffy tennis shoes with connecting knots in the laces where they have broken and been retied many times. I have some cornflakes and make a peanut butter sandwich on homemade bread, wrap it in wax paper and head out the door. It’s August and I know summer vacation is drawing to a close and I need to pack each remaining day with as much adventure as I can.

My bike lies in the wet grass where I left it last night and I wipe off the seat, wet with the morning dew, with the tails of my tee shirt and head for Arnie’s house. Today we’re going to go north of town to the river and find the raft we made last week out of logs and baling twine and hid in the brush. With shades of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, we’re going to float down the river today. We have a starting point but no ending point; we’ll just go until the fun runs out but in the back of mind is a dream that if we were older and braver, we’d be on our way to New Orleans. My parents and Arnie’s parents know only that were going to the river today. They have no idea what we are going to do when we get there—or when we are coming back. Our plan, when we are tired and done with our adventure, is to let the raft float away and hitchhike back to town. Then find someone to take us back out to retrieve our bikes.

 I think how carefree life was back then. Hitchhiking although illegal was done all of the time. I was yet to hear the word pedophile, or pervert. We trusted everyone. Girls were simply the opposite sex and drugs were something your mom got for you, when you were sick, at the pharmacy. We had no money or watches or phones for anyone to steal—not that we believed that could happen anyway. No jet skis or personal watercraft to play on. Part of that carefree attitude came because we weren’t really responsible for much at that age but part of it came, too, because we lived in a kinder gentler world. Kinder and gentler because it was far less complex then today’s world and we had not yet lost our innocence.

As we age we often rebel against the world we now live in and that’s normal. It was that age of our innocence  I spoke of that we remember now, but time has a way of stripping you of that. Now, you don’t want to conform to the present time because you once knew, at least in your mind, a better way. What once was a pristine world is now seemingly polluted and jaded, physically and morally. I remember, years ago, a fresh snowfall and standing on the back porch, gazing out over the beauty of an unblemished landscape. Then, I stepped out into it and went down the road and retrieved the morning paper. When I returned, and before I went inside, I looked back once more and I couldn’t help but think, while looking at my tracks, that I had ruined the whole thing.  Yes, for every action by man, necessary or not, there is a reaction, and it’s not always pretty. Shannon Alder said, “There comes a time in your life when you have to choose to turn the page, write another book or close it.”