Tuesday, March 24, 2015

MIGRATING

                                                          
Sometimes when you travel south during the winter-- while Minnesota is frozen over-- to a place that is a whole lot warmer, you start thinking to yourself, “Oh I could live here for sure, or at least until the sun gets back up in the sky where it belongs.” Life seems to be slipping you by as you age and you want to make each day count. Actually each minute count and yes the time between the minutes too and that’s hard to do when you’re walking to the mailbox in the winter, like a cross between a ruptured penguin and a scared turtle. You spend way too much time getting dressed to go outside and then undressing when you get back in. At night the north wind howling across the frozen lake and around the confines of your house is about as menacing as it gets. But I’m not so sure it’s just the cold that I hate, as much as the persistent clouds and short days that only add to the misery. There was a time when my life was filled with snowmobiles, skiing, ice fishing and answering fire calls in thirty below zero and I loved it. But something happened and I totally, wimped out. I won’t even go in the cold storage vegetable room, at Costco anymore, because the last time I was in there and stayed too long, I had to be treated for hypothermia.

I used to listen to my dad talk about the people he called sissy’s, like his rich sister, who went down south for the winter but then when I thought it through and wondered where his animosity was coming from-- what was dad going to say? It takes a few coins to go down south where its warm and dad could ill afford to go as far as Northern Iowa. So to save face, he just said with a shiver, “Waste of time and money.” Now I pride myself at being somewhat of a realist. I see things for what they are and not for what I want them to be or wish them to be or what someone else thinks they are.  When fall comes up here in the northland, the migration out of Crosslake isn’t just ducks and tweetie birds. It’s everyone who doesn’t have a good reason to stay. Even the bears and the skunks take to their dens, until this thing called winter blows over. If those critters had access to some wheels, and not just the ones that frequently run over them, they would be long gone too.

Now, for sure, there are some things you have to put up with down south, that your not used to and its not just surviving the trip down I-75. They---the Floridian natives-- see you as tourists the first time they see you down there and if you’ve been there more then once, then they see you as rich tourists, so everything is priced appropriately. You have to listen carefully as they talk kind of funny too. Kind of like they just wandered in off of some bayou. Pat and I went out to eat in a fish food place and the waitress asked me, “You all want some snapper.” I told her, “No I wanted fish, not turtle and Pat would order for herself.” I finally settled for a cheeseburger, which sounder something like a chess booger when she said it. No sense getting sarcastic with them though-- because despite the fact it’s been 150 years since the war—if you live north of the Mason Dixon line you’re still a damn Yankee down there and don’t you forget it. The only thing that makes it all right this time is-- you’re a damn Yankee with money. Here’s a friendly hint on how to remain inconspicuous down there. Buy a Florida tee shirt and don’t say ufda or yah-sure ya—betcha and if your going to the Crab Shack for supper, don’t ask for hot dish.






            

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

HUMBLENESS

                                              
My dad was a dyed in the wool railroader most of his working life. He could sit at a railroad crossing, in his car, smiling and watching every boxcar pass on a 100-car freight train, as if he personally had something to do with it being there. He loved to talk about the big train wrecks he worked at with his jobs on the wrecking crew. Clearing a wreck and getting the trains rolling again, made him feel like a Marine wading ashore on Iwo Jima, sent to take the Island back from the Japanese. When he talked about his role in the Union-- “The Brotherhood of the Railroad Carmen of America”-- he would puff up like Jimmy Hoffa did when he was in front of the Teamsters. He talked like a railroader and thought like a railroader.  I would bury my nose in his denim jacket, with a hug, when he came home from work and he even smelt like the railroad. So deep was his dedication to his job-- but yet, through it all, he was a humble man who knew he was just part of a team, proud to do his part.

Today in America so much emphasis has been put on money, degrees and success that we have denigrated the American blue color worker to something, necessary but not worth getting too excited about. In fact, in a lot of instances we have shifted that part of the jobs overseas where we don’t have to watch it being done and the people doing it, don’t have to be paid a living wage. Have you ever noticed how many people have a title now days? I have a friend who earned a P.H.D in education. Today twenty years after her retirement, she still signs her name Doctor, so and so. She still doesn’t realize that right now, she is just one of the masses and being truly humble, doesn’t require credentials. I signed a book I wrote; to a man I once worked for, who had been retired for years and was now a personal friend. When I asked him how he wanted it signed he said, make it out to the Director of---you get the picture. Even after all of those illustrious years, it was hard to come down to earth with the rest of us. Mac Davis sang a song called “Oh Lord it’s hard to be Humble.” Guess he didn’t know how prophetic he was, even though he was joking about it.

On the railroad the engineer drives the train. But it wouldn’t run without the man who greased the bearings on the boxcars. Or the person who refueled the steam engines with coal and water and the man who crawled into the boilers and removed the clinkers or the people who put the train together. They all had their jobs and they were proud to do them. So often we forget the supporting staff that is behind the success of our leaders. My dad, the railroader, had this little verse memorized and he would recite it often.
It’s not my job to run the train, the whistle I don’t blow.
It’s not my job to say how far the train is supposed too go.
I’m not allowed to pull the brake or even ring the bell.
But let the damn thing jump the track and see who catches hell.


C.S, Lewis once said “True humility is not thinking less about yourself but thinking about yourself less.” I have always felt that life itself is a lesson in humility because just when you think you know it all or have all the answers, you meet someone who knows something you don’t know.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

FLORIDA

                                                            
I am writing this today, Jan 28th, before leaving for a month in Florida. I can’t begin to tell you the misgivings I’m having before I leave. Sometimes there is a degree of sacrifice that goes with leaving the place you love, albeit a short time. I am a creature of habit. I can’t relate to what it’s going to be like, to not walk down that road each morning to get my newspaper and come back to that kitchen smelling of freshly brewed coffee. Then there is Molly —oh my God-- I am going to miss that dog, even though I know she is being well cared for.  I’ll miss my church with so many friends I have learned to pray with and associate with. The sunshine boys and how am I going to get along with out that string of B.S. I watered my plants this morning and I have made arrangements for them to be cared for. Some of them have been with me for decades.

I have gone places before but only for a week or so, except for when my wife and I had the motor home. That made it better because it was still our home with our stuff inside of it. But even then, I yearned for the lakes and woods and the newspaper. Crosslake is addictive and those of us, who have learned to appreciate it, know what I am talking about. I am pretty much taking a month off from writing, which in itself is a sacrifice for me. There is always so much to talk about and so little time left to do it. But I do look forward to spending time with Pat and seeing a place I have only read about before. I know she will be a great companion to have along. There are people in this world who make you just feel better about yourself. People who sometimes complete you and she does that for me.

I am fast approaching my mid seventies and I have found that just like a car that goes over a hill, the trip down the other side, picks up speed all the way down, unless you do something to slow it. But my brakes are not what they used to be, so even my best efforts to slow it down can still leave life whistling by. Your memory changes and you start using word like short term and long term. Long term is remembering the day you bought those pants you’re wearing at Fleet Farm. Short term is remembering to zip your pants back up-- and really short term is remembering to unzip them before you---awe you know where I am going with this.

I’m back from Florida now and it’s the first week in March. Winter doesn’t seem to have the same sting now that it had before we left and there is hope it’s mostly over despite the fact it’s still cold here and we drove back in a storm that last day. Molly hasn’t left my side since I picked her up and the first night home she kept coming in the bedroom to make sure I was still there. My hope is to do it all again next winter, with Molly along this time-- but I know that no matter where I go and no matter how warm it is there and how cold it is here, my heart will always be in Crosslake with the place and the people I love.




Friday, March 6, 2015

THE BLAME GAME

                                              
They call it the “blame game” and it’s become a way of life with people in this country. No matter what happens it’s somebody else’s fault. Personal responsibility? What’s that? The election we just had, held our nose and voted in, was the epitome of the blame game. When you talk to those in office, they, in their estimation are just short of sainthood. When you talk to those trying to get there---well how we ever survived without them being there, is nothing short of a miracle. We the voters are just some lost souls who couldn’t find our way to the bathroom, without them.

Our schools turn out less educated kids all the time. According to the “blame game” it’s the fault of those stupid teachers. The parents not being involved in their kid’s life-- that’s not a reason. Schools are wrestling with starting times. Kids are too tired to learn.  Who is it that doesn’t see to it that the kids are in bed at the right time? Answer. “Not the parents,” if you ask them. The only solution has to be later start times. Guess who’s going to stay up an hour later now that we solved that. Kids need more free meals too; they’re too hungry to learn.  I grew up in a place where moms and dads wasted their hard earned money on food for their kids. Somehow they felt that was their job and not the schools.

Social security disability will be broke shortly. At some point, no one in the rest of the world, or in this country, is going to lend the government any more money. I feel bad for all of the people who are going to be hurt but not for the politicians who perpetuated the myth that they would take care of them. It could get nasty.

You see the “blame game” in marriages and relationships when it’s all, “his fault” or “her fault” and never, “our fault”. You see it in everyday lives when people hurt themselves through their own foolish or accidental mistakes and then find legal counsel whose, motto is, “As long as someone got hurt. Someone has to pay.”

Life is a learning curve we all take. Sometimes we stray and go places we don’t belong, or say things we shouldn’t have said or do things we never should have done. Apologies are often in order but today too many times apologies no longer suffice. Someone needs to get hurt or someone needs to pay through the nose. Back to the “blame game” it’s simply not your fault. The bad thing about all of this---and lets go back to the learning curve for a minute is---no one learns anything.  In reality, your child’s teacher is only responsible for teaching them what the curriculum is about. That doesn’t include lack of respect, and the things mom and dad were charged with the day the child was born.  From that day until they were on their own, it was your job to teach them love and respect and that continues for as long as you are loved and respected in their lives. Government officials shouldn’t make promises they can’t keep and that includes things in the future.

After all of this being said. I want this nation to be a benevolent nation and help the truly needy but not a nation that perpetuates the myth that it’s the governments or the schools job to raise your family.



A LONELY TIME

                                           
If there is one emotion that we all experience in our lives, that is a sad one and has my full empathy, it’s called loneliness. Just so you know that this essay is not self-serving. It’s not me I’m talking about. I have been blessed with friends, family and a special companion who has made my life happy, despite my losses.  No I’m talking about the friends and acquaintances of mine that have been left behind by the loss of a loved one. There have been so many lately and due to the age of most of my friends that I’m talking about I’m sure there will be more. But as a writer who sees all this sadness. I honestly believe that tears are words that need to be written down so you can examine them more closely and within those tears lies the answer.

We need to be careful when we talk about loneliness that we don’t confuse it with solitude. Separation, that is beyond our control, sometimes from the loss of a loved one, almost always brings on loneliness. Solitude however is most often self-initiated because people just want some alone time. I talk often about my walks in the woods where I go to sort things out, without outside interference and how I enjoy being there, but I wouldn’t want to live that way and yet I don’t do it to run away from anything either. I just need some degree of temporary separation, from time to time.

There is in my heart—as I believe there is in everyone’s heart—a love for someone or something that we just can’t let go of, or at least it seems that way. It’s when we are actually confronted with this separation that eventually we find out that’s not necessarily true. It’s not an easy process or a quick process because it’s filled with so many memories of times, and places and a life and a love gone by. But as time goes on you start to realize how precious the time we have left really is. You get to a point that instead of wishing away the days and hours, you count the seconds; and then you count the time between the seconds and then one day you realize, that somewhere out there exists another lonely heart, looking for those same bits of soothing healing, that will help us push into the background, all of this pain and suffering we seem to have had and bring some semblance of happiness back into our lives. Anton Cheklov said, “If you are afraid of loneliness do not marry.” But I ask you what is worse. “A lifetime of self imposed loneliness, because you never wanted to lose anyone, or a lifetime of sharing love and companionship while you can. It should be noted that friendships and relationships are the antidote for loneliness.

There is a time when the tears and love you’ve had for your lost one will trump all thoughts of moving on. You feel it will bring on thoughts of unfaithfulness and you don’t want to desecrate their memory by moving on with life right now. So you wait for life to sort out all of those feelings and you mourn as any good spouse or friend would. There is no amount of time that is right or appropriate. That’s only for you to say. But I’m here to tell you that at some point you will ask yourself that inevitable question. What would he or she want me to do? There are so many lonely people in this world and if you are serious about living the time between those seconds and still making someone happy in the process---and that includes more than you-- then I believe it will happen--- but only if you give it a chance.



Wednesday, March 4, 2015

LIVE AND LAUGH


It has been over three years since my wife passed away, and I am finally finding it easier to talk about. That’s a good thing, right? Or is it? I ask this question because some of the things I have been talking about, would not be talked about if she were here, and by here I mean in close proximity. Just so you understand where I am coming from—I will give you a little background on our married life.

All of my life I have been somewhat of a humorist. My father was that way, and it was the way I grew up. Here, in the Holst family, we often temper our sadness with laughter. I know there are some out there that may find that disrespectful, but believe me, my humor is given with all due respect. In her case, there is not enough respect to go around that would show how I felt about her. She was always what was known as a “good sport.” We grew up together, we loved together and yes, we often laughed together.

A while back, I was out at coffee and at our table were some ladies I know. I was adlibbing one of my stories about my wife, when one of the ladies said to me, jokingly, “Your wife is going to put a curse on you.” I told her, “I believe she already has.” I often think of that trip we will take from this world to the next. In my mind, I see this shaft of bright lights going up those silver stairs to the clouds, and at the top is that receiving line of all of my past relatives and friends. The very first one in line will be my wife, standing with her hands on her hips, tapping her toe on the floor and giving me the look. She will say words to the effect of… “You just couldn’t help yourself, Michael, could you!”

Mark Twain said, and I quote, “You go to heaven for the climate and hell for the company.” Being a realist and a man of good faith, and knowing what is expected of all of us to reach the pearly gates, I have to admit, I probably will have friends in both places. I think though, given the choice, I will go with the better climate. That is, if I have a choice. To my parish priest, if you’re reading this and shaking your head, I want to say… “Believe me Father, I’m not assuming anything, I’m just saying.”

I hope that, when my time comes, everybody who comes to my funeral—and here again I am assuming—will have a laugh or two, even if it’s at my expense. I hope that if Lee is there, he will have a new joke for once, and right now, I am going to be the bigger man here and wave that thirty-second rule we impose on him at coffee. For one time only, Lee. I’m just warning you people, don’t let him get started.

Just so no rumors get started, I am feeling fine right now. I just had my yearly physical, and the doc gave me a C plus. However, I have heard that she grades on a curve and everybody gets a C plus. I just wanted to clear the air here a little bit. I don’t want any of my relatives coming over, looking around and taking notes and pictures with their cameras. I don’t want any more correspondence from realtors, or scooter chair and walk-in bathtub dealers. I just want to have a laugh or two.


WHY THEY DO IT


As an author, I am a writer of fiction. I chose to write fiction because I want to have some control over the stories and their endings; something not possible in real life stories. But yet I want to have an air of authenticity to my stories. So, I choose real subjects, not fantasy, and I don’t wander off the path of reality. I have always wanted people to believe this really could have happened.

In 2011 I wrote a book called the “Last Trip Down The Mountain.” It was a fun book to write because, over the years, I have been amazed at the people who climb mountains. I have read most of the stories that have been written about them. For the rest of my life I will be an armchair enthusiast of mountain climbers, and regret that I never did it. There are always those who question the sanity of mountain climbers, and are continually asking that same old question, “Why do they do it?”

I, myself, have never climbed a mountain, but I think I understand why they do it. Don’t get me wrong, they are a breed unto themselves, but I think if there was a list of qualifications drawn up to be a climber, it would sound like this. Climbers must be lovers of the great outdoors, and particularly the mountains. They must be, at the same time, cautious and yet fearless. They see something up there most of us don’t see. Not just the peak and not just the challenge of getting to the top of it, but a desire to establish a relationship with the mountain. Sherpa’s in Nepal believe that you only get to the top because the mountain lets you. That it was the mountain that helped you find the right place to put your feet, and the right path up, and the mountain that kept the winds from blowing you off its slopes, and held off that avalanche until you had safely passed. That it was the mountain that kept your body from failing when you were breathing air one quarter enriched with the oxygen you breathe at sea level. That it was the mountain that calmed your fears and urged you on. But above all, it’s an addiction that, once acquired, never goes away. There are just too many peaks to climb in this world to ever feel fulfilled. Most climbers would rather die than quit, and a lot of them do die, but maybe, unconsciously, that was their goal when they compared it to quitting. To go as far as they could before fate said, “That’s enough.” The ones that do quit, and live, are usually too crippled to climb again—with missing digits, broken bodies, hearts and spirits. But they will always remember the day they stood on the summit with outstretched arms, looking down on the world beneath them, bursting with pride—three quarters spent and only halfway home.


Life is this great journey we take, and we are all as different as the fish in the sea and the birds of the air. There are other extreme sports that push people to the edges, too, and I don’t pretend to understand why they do it, either. We are inquisitive people, always looking for answers, always looking for new discoveries.  All I know is—anything you want that bad must be worth having. In mountain climbing circles there is an old saying, “It is better to live one day as a tiger, than a thousand years as a sheep.”