NOISE

                                                           

It’s 10 p.m. in the busy twin cities suburb where I used to live. I picked this time because although it’s not really the still of the night, it is a time when life for many of us is winding down and we’re ready to call it a day. There really is no still of the night here in the big city. I am lying in bed with the window open. You learn to ignore the ambient noise of living in close quarters like this with so many people but just for the next few minutes I’ll try to identify for you all that I can hear. Not everything I hear has to do with man’s activities’ but that’s true wherever you are.

            

I can hear a television set in my neighbor’s house. From my bedroom window to theirs, it is less then 35 feet. I also hear his sprinkler spitting water on his front yard and people talking in the driveway. A dog is barking somewhere up the block and there are sirens from the fire station a half a mile away. A train is traveling across the river a mile away and it’s actually in another city. The sound of cars and trucks on the busy highway three blocks away is ongoing and never stops. Cars go by the front of my house, 40 feet away, on average once every minute. Somewhere fire works are exploding or at least I hope its fireworks. I hear tires squealing and an engine racing down the street. I hear my refrigerator running and two clocks ticking, I hear a crow cawing and ducks quacking on the pond out back. I hear the wind rustling in the treetops and the sound of a distant air conditioner laboring. I hear the cat licking itself as it sits on the end of the bed and my wife’s shallow breathing as she sleeps beside me. I hear the distant sound of an airliner passing high overhead, descending toward the airport twenty five miles away and somewhere, someone, is running a lawn mower even though its dark. Go figure. Otherwise it’s quiet

Tonight I’m in my cabin on a small lake in Northern Minnesota. Once again it’s ten p.m. and once again I’m lying in bed with the window open. My Partner has passed so it’s only my breathing. The clock is still ticking and an appliance is running. I also hear a boat motor out on the lake as someone is trolling for fish. I do hear birds chirping and waves breaking quietly on the shoreline, while all the while a soft breeze blows through the pine trees like a whisper. Otherwise it’s restfully quiet.

A few years back I took a trip to the boundary waters in Northern Minnesota. We were camped on an island, just four of us. That night I walked away from the campsite and my companions and found a perch on a rock next to the lake maybe a city block away. It was a quiet evening in the wilderness and I was admiring how bright the stars were. Then as now, I listened for the sounds of the forest. I could hear only my own breathing, otherwise it was eerily quiet.

Think about the last time you heard nothing. Was it restful or was it eerie? Maybe its what you get used to and what you can tune out. I sat in a park, on a bench, in Wadena Minnesota one day, next to the railroad tracks talking with a man. Every twenty minutes a train came through and the ground literarily shook beneath your feet. The noise was ear splitting. A few feet away an old lady sat on another park bench sleeping, oblivious to the trains. “One more day in Mikes meandering mind.”

THE YOUNG BOY AND THE SEA

                                     

Some sixty years ago, on a hot July day, I took my old steel Pflueger rod and reel, put on my old cutoffs and tennis shoes and went fishing in the Crow Wing River north of Staples. It was about a five-mile bike ride north of town; on a day when the sun was baking everything in sight. I got out there early and the plan was to walk down the river and fish until I got to the Golf Course Bridge and then walk back on a trail along the river to get my bike and ride home.  It was maybe a trip of two miles or so.

I fished this way often because it was cool walking in the river and I had access to many deep holes and drop offs where the fish hung out. For the most part the river was waist deep and nothing but sand. As a parent today, think of your fifteen year old kid, five miles from home and all alone in the middle of a river. Not a house in sight and no way to call for assistance. No way to know if the weather was going to go bad or not-- or if someone was going to give me any trouble. I admit, that although that happening was unlikely, we didn’t give it much thought in those days. I had nothing worthwhile to steal except my bike that I had hid in the woods.

Maybe about half way along my trip down the river, I had caught a few skinny pike and some rock bass on the old silver spoon I had brought along. I had a stringer tied around my waist and my plan was to keep a couple of fish and put the rest back. My mom was always appreciative of the fish, as we were a poor family. I think I saw the pike before he saw me, lying in about three feet of water. The river was running clear and slow. The only time that river got muddy was after a big rain. The fish finally spooked and ran for the far bank of the river where the water was deeper.

My cast was perfect, right in front of him and he took the spoon and ran for the deep hole. With my antiquated fishing gear I couldn’t hold him back and I found myself half swimming, half running down the river and being pulled into the deep hole, with the fish until I was forced to swim and give up my fishing gear. I probably weighed 90 pounds at this time in my life. I swam around the deepest part of the hole, which was full of dead trees and then came up on a sandbar and there was the fish still pulling my rod and reel along in about a foot of water. I ran and jumped on top of the fish and wrestled it up in the sand and held it until it quieted down. I was able to get it on a stringer and several times the fish would run and knock me off my feet, on my trip to the bridge but I made it to the bridge, tied the fish to a tree in the water and went and retrieved my bike. Then I went back and retrieved my fish.

My bike was an old Schwinn with the double bars on it and I tied the fish between the bars and about half of him hung over the front fender. When I got home I took the fish uptown to the butcher shop and they weighed it in at nineteen pounds. I know I’m a fiction author but this isn’t fiction. I have read Papa Hemingway’s “Old Man and the Sea” and I’m not Santiago and the Crow Wing River is a long way from the Gulf Stream but for one summer afternoon I too fought a big fish, in my own back yard and won. This is my story, I haven’t been drinking and I’m sticking to it.

NEXT TIME AROUND

                                              

I have often thought if I could come back to this earth after I die, as some other creature, what would it be? Maybe a bear? No, there not very social creatures and everyone tries to avoid them or shoot them. I also don’t want to spend my whole winter living in a dirty hole under a tree. How about a wolf? No although they are the smartest of the animals and have great family ties there are growing concerns of people coexisting with them and if people get their way, there just going to kill them all, so someone can hang their hides on a wall someday and talk about their big kill for the rest of their lives, like Frank Buck on steroids.

Maybe a raccoon, they’re cute and love to play and roam around. But wait, they never learned, unlike the chicken, how to cross the road with out getting run over and that seems like a gross way to die with a tire track across your butt and your tongue hanging out. Porcupines are just too ugly and skunks stink. Deer, well they have the same problems the raccoons have with the cars and come November they’re public enemy number one and its all out war. Squirrels are out as I hate acrobatics and as far as being a domestic animal, I don’t want to be someone’s pet and get hauled to the vet for a bunch of shots and get my glands expressed and told I’m fat. I also want to be the judge of whether I can reproduce or not, so no sniping off anything.

So maybe animals are out and I need to expand my horizons. Maybe take a look at the birds of the air or the fish of the sea. But I have to say something right now about being a fish. Seriously you want someone to be dangling food or imitation food in front of your face and trying to entice you to bite into it, so they can yank you aboard their boat and show you off, until your ready for your last breath. Then they throw you back where you came from or eat you? Not so much. You know fish aren’t really the sharpest knife in the drawer and I know that’s a very insensitive analogy. But basically a fishes’ life sucks and what about in the winter in this country when you have three feet of ice over your head for five months, wow talk about claustrophobia. So I guess that leaves me to the birds.

Now birds exist from the tiniest hummingbirds to the big eagles and I do see some benefits in being a bird. I like the eagles but I don’t have the temperament to just go around killing ducklings, baby rabbits and an occasional poodle. They’re just nasty birds to tell the truth. Ducks and geese—well if you like packing up and going south every winter and not on Delta by the way. That’s just way too much wing flopping, for me. I’m not sure either if you ever saw the breeding process of ducks and geese but those males are not much on foreplay and no flowers or candy girls. Once the eggs are in the nest and they have done their nasty deed, they’re no place to be found. We got a few people like that around here now and believe me it’s a trouble spot. I would enjoy the liberty of flying around and finding the hood of some shiny new Cadillac to leave my mark on. That would be hilarious. Also I like to sing, so that’s down my alley but yeah I’m thinking maybe a humming bird. Living on sugar all day would be fantastic and darting around the world like Speedy Gonzales-- well that speaks volumes to me. Yep. I want to be a humming bird in my next life.

EDUCATION

                                                         

If we could solve poverty we could solve a lot of our problems in society. Most of the problems we associate with race really have to do with poverty. Educated people usually find a way to sustain themselves and make a living. Uneducated people are more prone to find illegal ways to make a living. But we need to go farther back and say why do people shun education, to spend the rest of their lives living hand to mouth? If we take that step back, we come to the basic family structure and that is the crux of the problem.

I want those of you who are educated and seemingly making a good living, to think about how your family and your peers encouraged you and mentored you as you grew up and went though the education process. Left to your own means, you would not be where you are today. So I ask the question. How do we somehow intervene in this process of having family’s be more responsible for the well being of their off spring, and especially as it pertains to education. Poverty begets poverty and for many of those families with illiterate children, it’s becoming a way of life. What government interaction we do see, seems to be focused on taking over the chore of raising these kids for these people. Something that just exasperates the problem.

My grandfather told me, “When you raise your son, you raise your son’s son. If you fail in that process you will fail generations to come.” We need to, as families, encourage others, brothers, sisters, even neighbors to do their jobs as parents and educate their kids. No government intrusion will ever work. Just common sense caring for each other and a way back to the basic way of living life. Education first.

Last week in St Paul, there was a story in the news, of St Paul teachers hitting the streets to recruit more students for their school district. A district, which is millions of dollars in debt with declining enrollments. I applaud these kind of efforts by educators and especially if their target is kids that are no longer going to school. My parents were poor people who knew the value of an education and would not have ever allowed any of their children to quit school. The biggest reason for declining enrollment in public schools is two fold. Parents who allow their children to quit school, by not caring if they go to school or not, is the big one. The second reason is competition from private schools. That being said the competition problem in schools is not contributing to the illiteracy problem, only to the public school problem of declining enrollment. Parents who pay to send their kids to private schools are very well involved in their children’s education.

Look. I’m just an old writer with a lot of opinions based on living seventy some years of life. But along with those opinions are some dreams and aspirations for the world to come. I know those will have to come from the youth of today. My class had their chance and we didn’t get the job done or I wouldn’t be writing like this, would I? To the parents. Tell your kids you love them and please, please keep them in school. This country needs new blood and new leaders if we are going to make this country great again. Yes, I said again, because were not as great as we once were.

MY STORY

                                                       

I have now lived, where I presently reside, for over thirty years. In 1988 when we bought the place, there was just a garage and an old trailer house on the lot. For many years it was just a summer playground for all of us at the lake. A place for the kids and grandkids to play at and it made our family’s get togtether’s so much more meaningful. I had always wanted a place at a lake up north and I wasn’t sure if my wife was just trying to appease me, as she often did, or if she really enjoyed it too.

Then in 1996 we decided to build a new home on the lot and we planed on moving there after retirement. The rest is history. We decided to do most of it ourselves to save money, so for the next five years, every weekend, every vacation was spent working on the project. As for me, I had dabbled in construction over the years so much of it was nothing new-- but for her, who was determined to do her part-- it was a steep learning curve. I have always said if most people had my late wife’s work ethic, unemployment in this country would not exist. She did all of the sanding, painting and sheet rock taping and she learned as she went. She was always on the other end of the tape measure for me and she was my biggest critic and loudest supporter at the same time. Even when we didn’t agree, she never deserted me, she just became more resolute. She wanted it right or not at all.

Seven years ago she followed the angels out the door one Saturday afternoon and left me alone in this beautiful home, filled with the memories we had made but then by myself and broken hearted. Some days even now so many years later, as I walk around the yard and pause at the flowerbeds she planted. I realize that this place is a stage she made for both of us but it’s now largely an empty one, for the main actor has left the theater. Last year I entertained the idea of selling the place and moving into something more my size. It’s a big house and a lot of upkeep. But as much as that makes sense, as I look out my office window today and over the backyard, I guess I finally realized that’s not what she would want me to do.

I now have Pat and I’ve told you about her and what her companionship means to me.  She’s experienced the same memories and taken that same trip as I have. She has lived in her house longer then I have in mine and she intends to stay put and now she’s urging me to stay put too. So basically I have two women talking to me and giving me advice. One I can’t talk back to and one I better not talk back to.

My kids tell me “Dad do what you want to do. We’ll support you.” Secretly I think they would rather see my money tied up in the house where I can’t spend it, then in my pocket. Tomorrow is Fathers Day and I’m going to Pat’s for dinner. No one is coming to see me but it’s not that they don’t care. One daughter is in Arizona. One is hidden away on a farm in Wisconsin and my son in Big Lake-- where he works about every day of the week but if I called him and told him I needed him, he would be here posthaste. My grandkids are largely grownup and have busy lives and babies and other sides of the family and the beat goes on. So what do I do about it?  Well I write about it and I bet I’m writing today for a lot of old people.