BUCKET LIST

     

So the last five years and particularly since I have met Pat, I am working on my bucket list. My wife and I seldom talked about such things. She was very content with the status quo. But the older I get, and with time marching on, the more I feel pressed to work on it. Also the more I get behind on the list, because each time I accomplish something on the list, I am introduced to five other things that weren’t on the list because I didn’t even know they existed. In the end, if this keeps up the list will be unmanageable and when someone says to me “turn out the lights the parties over,” I going to look like a miserable failure. So I have revised the ground rules for my bucket list. Nothing is written in stone and the list will be reprioritized from time to time. There is no earthly way that I have the time and money to accomplish everything my gullible mind can conceive of. Again also, and this time because of Pat, things need to be mutually agreed upon, so that might make my #1 into a #8 and vise versa or not at all. It’s something more to complicate the process.

To be fair a true bucket list has to be feasible. Otherwise it’s just a wish list and my wife’s grandma said, “If wishes’ were horse’s beggars would ride.” I always wanted to climb a fourteen thousand foot mountain since I was a kid and although that desire somewhat preceded my bucket list, if I was younger it would still be there and if I were richer I would have done it then. Now, at my advancing age, if I was a multi millionaire and I’m not, I am sure I could find some strapping mountaineer who would push, pull and drag my old butt to the top. I would stand on the peak smiling into the setting sun, with a little frost in my mustache, pull out my list and my grease pencil and cross it off. Then come back down the conquering hero, pay of the people who got me to the top and live the lie. To be fair a true bucket list has to be honestly accomplished.

There are things that were on my bucket list that I have eliminated simply because the allure wore off. I always wanted to canoe down the Church Hill River in Canada until I hit Hudson Bay and see the Belugas and the Polar Bears. Then I read some first hand accounts of those who had did it. Covered in swarms of black flies and mosquitoes. A few of them killed by the bears they came to see. I do admire people that go exploring like that but I’m not sure that I’m cut from the same cloth as they are anymore. I talked to an old Irish Man a while back at an Irish festival and he told me how he and his wife crossed the ocean in a small sailboat mind you, sailed down the eastern coast, around the tip of Florida and parked at Fort Meyers. I have to admire that kind of attitude even though the man was a grouch. He complained to me that Americans are obsessed with dying of various diseases like cancer but the Irish fear only things like dementia. “A fate worse then death,” he said, “ Is losing all of me grudges.”

I think in the end, where you have gone and what you accomplished will not be a defining factor of a successful life. It will be the friends you have made along the way and the lives you have touched and then-- to die peacefully---with no grudges

CHURCH FIRE

                                            

I’m not sure how many of you were ever to St. Mary’s church in Melrose. My wife was born in Melrose and so many of her family members had called that building their religious sanctuary over the years. Entire families were baptized, and raised in their Catholic faith, within that church that was built in 1899. Stearns County has a lot of these old parishes. As you drive around the countryside their steeples are often the first thing you see stretching into the rural Minnesota sky. You have to feel how important their faith was to these German People, who settled the area, and fully realize how important that building was to their lives.

The city of Duluth had a similar situation with a church fire at Gloria Dei Lutheran Church in the downtown area last February. Like St. Mary’s, the church had been around since the eighteen hundreds. Years ago the people who built these churches made them a monument to their faith. Huge stained glass windows and ornate woodwork. Paintings, statues, altars and murals that told a story of how the church evolved through the ages. But then at some point we need to say where does the building leave off and the church began. It’s the house verses the home discussion. Not that the building isn’t important, it is, and the longer the building lives on, in the hearts of the worshipers, the more important it becomes to them.

As a fire fighter I witnessed first hand the grief that comes with the loss of a historic building. You feel just how much of somebody’s life that building represents. Not that we, the firefighters, didn’t try hard to save everybody’s buildings but I think in the times that I am talking about here, there was just an extra special effort, because this was a one of a kind place and you can’t just order up another. I am sure in Melrose, many of the firefighters were very familiar with St. Mary’s Church and this was the one place they never wanted to see burn.

A lot has changed not only in the churches we build but also in the attitude of the people as it pertains to the church buildings. I go to the Cities quite often and pass many churches in the suburbs. A lot of them, if it wasn’t for signage, could be mistaken for any commercial building. No more stained glass windows, no steeples or bells. Just a nice, comfortable place to worship. Not that that’s wrong and maybe it says “Hey it’s the message that is really important here.” But if you’re at all nostalgic you would understand

Some years ago our Church in Crosslake moved to new quarters. I knew at the time there would be some hurt amongst the older parishioners that were leaving the church they had known for so many years. But as time evolved-- and even though there is a picture of the old church in the assembly hall-- we found out we had a new place to make memories that was so much more functional then the old one. The walls changed but look around-- the people are the same. It is my hope; my prayer that St. Mary’s in Melrose can be made whole again. That somewhere down the road the doors will open once more and those same people, who always sit in that special pew, will be back to worship their God, once more in the place they call home.

OPEN SPACES

I just finished reading a book, “Oregon Trail” by Rinker Buck that a friend bought  me. In it he chronicles his trip, from Missouri to Oregon, in a covered wagon, pulled by a team of mules. I couldn’t help but get swept up in his love for wide-open spaces, and those mules. Open spaces that are fast disappearing in the western United States. One can only imagine the hardships the pioneers went through to fulfill their dreams of owning land in the west. The wagon ruts are still visible in many places, and so are the graves of some of the settlers who succumbed to disease, starvation, and accidental death on that trip to fulfill a dream, some 180 years ago.

Growing up as a kid in the Staples area, I would often wander to the Crow Wing River north of town. I would walk down to the river and fish as I walked along the bank, and then hike back through the woods to where I left my bike, ride the five miles home, and hardly see a soul. I was one and alone with nature and the great outdoors, and that was—and still is—the way I like it. I have been to theme parks all over this great land, but they all pale in comparison in my estimation, to the natural paradise the good Lord gave us.

A few years back, right here in Crosslake, I took my dog, and starting from Big Pine Lake, in a canoe, I followed the river down to where it intersects with County 11. A short trip, for sure, but the river meanders through many miles of wilderness and pristine country. I took my time, and one night we camped on the riverbank, sleeping in an old pup tent. Gus slept with one ear cocked, so I wasn’t afraid of critters. We had a campfire, ate pork and beans, and roasted hot dogs. That night, lying with my head out the tent flap, I had never seen the stars so bright. I enjoyed that total silence that is so hard to find. I didn’t bring a phone.

It’s so hard to get off the beaten path, anymore, because the paths I speak of have been beaten down everywhere. Four wheelers and snowmobiles have crisscrossed the large section of woods across from my house. They leave ruts you could break an ankle on, and stagnant pools of mosquito-infested water. Once they have beaten down the brush enough, the pickup trucks are not far behind. The garbage is everywhere, and the animals retreat deeper and deeper into the woods. Molly and I like to escape to the woods for our nature walks, but many times we have to move off the trail so some vehicle can get by. I know it’s just a matter of time before it won’t be fun anymore.

The early pioneers left their comfortable homes in the east because they were disenfranchised with what had happened to the land and the people out there. They reached a point where all that was left was to escape. They had one thing going for them—an unblemished place to escape to—something that no longer exists unless you have the money to buy a big tract of land. Even then, there is no reassurance that, someday, an oil rig will pull up and show you the papers that let them drill on your land for oil; to feed the enormous appetite of all of those motorized vehicles that are just waiting to chew up that same piece of land.

MY BIRTHDAY

                                                         

So today, March 5^th, is my 75 birthday anniversary. I am entering, in all probability, the last quarter of my life. If there is a fifth quarter I will be truly surprised and amazed. As I look back over the first three quarters of my life, I feel so blessed. The good lord has not just graced me with so many good things but life went so well for me because he has been on this journey with me, every step of the way. It was his presence during the bad times that lightened the load and his steady hand on me that made the good times so happy. I felt him rejoicing right there with me. I am sure when this journey is over he will be standing there to welcome me home.

Somewhere in that first quarter of life, with my parents and siblings, I learned what a loving family was all about. They laid the foundation I have built my life on. Somewhere in that first quarter of life I found my own true love and that was the missing piece of the puzzle for me, the essential ingredient for having my own family. It was a time of growing up with each other, through sharing, caring and sacrifice but we made it all happen together.

In the second quarter of my life we built on that love and tried to instill it in our children. This was the time when we really got to know each other. We suffered together as we lost parents. We lamented over an empty nest and watched those kids we loved so much, now going out to show us what they were made of. Wrinkles and gray hair and all kinds of wear showed up. Shakespeare said, “With Mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come” and we did. Life back then was truly a lesson in love and commitment and we looked forward to the next quarter.

In the third quarter life became so much easier. So many responsibilities were being shed with kids finding their own way and jobs winding down. Grandkids were our new passion and although we had little control, the lessons of the past came through as we watched them emulate their parents who had emulated us. Retirement and travel and the house on the lake and then after 10 glorious years in retirement, God took her home and for a while I struggled with that but time and faith, heals souls and hearts everyday and they did for me too. 

Today at the start of that last quarter my loving friend and I are enjoying the Florida sun and taking life one day at a time. We take nothing for granted anymore but the fact that we are here to love and support each other no matter what life brings. That the friends and family we have loved and enjoyed along the way, have been the magic sauce in this time tested recipe for life. For that I am truly grateful. Maya Angelou said and I quote, “Let gratitude be the pillow on which you kneel to say your nightly prayer. And let faith be the bridge you build to overcome evil and welcome good.”           

                                                                        Mike

                                                                                   

MY ROOTS

As I look back over my life, I feel so blessed with all the things I have seen and done. Much of what I experienced, and lived through, is not available any longer to those coming into adolescence—and if it was, they probably wouldn’t do it, anyway. I’m talking about the simple things that helped shape me into what I am today. Maybe I should clarify them as “simple experiences in life” and not “things.” Some people would call them hardships, but to those of us who experienced them, we don’t see them that way. We saw them as a way of life that we are enormously proud to have experienced, and although we now have evolved into the simpler, easier way of life of never ending electronics, climate-controlled environments, fancy cars and vacations, we probably wouldn’t go back to our roots if we could—but we do take pride in the fact that it wasn’t always this way, and we can attest to that.

I have told my kids and grandkids that, to really appreciate what you have, first you must relate to what it was like to be without it. I remember a day shortly after I had left home and went back for a visit. My mom wanted to show me something. She took me into the kitchen and showed me her new, used clothes dryer. I still, today, picture her walking outside in the wintertime, with a clothesbasket full of steaming laundry, and hanging those wet clothes on the clotheslines. Her hands would be chapped and red, her face weary, but on this day she was beaming. How many people do you know in your life that rejoiced over a used clothes dryer?

Our house was a shack—but in it was something you don’t find in a lot of houses. Not like we had, anyway. A family that truly loved each other and pulled together. When there was nothing on the table to eat but vegetables, no one complained. When your clothes were all hand-me-downs, no one complained. When you couldn’t play sports after school, because your dad needed you to help him cut wood, you didn’t ask why. And when you graduated from school, and knew it was time to leave, you vowed that you would work hard every day of your life, because that’s what you had been taught to do, and it’s exactly what you did. On the day that I left home, my mom, with tears in her eyes said, “Don’t forget about us, Mike.” Some fifty-seven years later, Mom, I haven’t forgotten and I never will.

I look around me now days and see all kinds of families, most of them rushing from one place to another. Hockey, football, and dance class—almost anything you can think of. But there does seem to be one exception—families in church. I go to church, and all there is, is a lot of old people with a few exceptions. My parents herded all eight of us kids to church every Sunday, no matter the weather or what was going on. When I once asked my dad why church was so important, he told me, “If I tell you now, it won’t make any sense to you, anyway, but there will come a day, son, when you’re going to slap yourself across the side of the head and say, Now I know why.” I see the greed, the lying and fighting in politics. I see the lack of morality in society. Shootings, assaults and killings are commonplace.” Drugs and addictions. “Yes Dad, now I know why.”

WRAPPING IT UP

                                                           

For a lot of us here today the world has become a far different place then the one we grew up in. Some call it progress and yes, in some respects it is progress but progress to where? No one wants polio and small pox around again but yet it seems we have traded these dreaded diseases for others born on the backs of the carcinogens we have poisoned the earth with. Just think half of this state has bodies of water unfit to swim in or drink. A state that once was called the land of sky blue waters. We seem to increasing love violence as seen in our sports. The harder the hit in football, the bigger the wreck in Nascar, two hockey players slugging it out at center ice until their faces are bloodied always bring the crowd to its feet. Movies and videos games where the body count is not calculable and people are ate up like those little globs on the Pac Man machine.

Gone, but not forgotten are love songs and slow dances. Families praying together and sitting around the supper table sharing their fears and successes. All of this gobbled up in a frenzy of greed and power that took a world that shared and cared to a dog eat dog world most people my age don’t like or understands. We used to have a world of compatibility and teamwork and now we have a world have competition and selfishness.

The minds of today are going to be the mentors of tomorrow whether we like it or not and that’s somewhat scary. The mentors I talk of that should be mentoring today’ youth+ are the same minds we didn’t mentor well enough or we wouldn’t be where we are now. So in fact we have no one to blame but ourselves. I always dislike when people criticize the young people of today as if we had nothing to do with it.

I’m going to close with Lyrics from a song by one of the greatest songwriters this country ever produced. I’m not going to sing them so you can relax there but the words Bob Dylan wrote some fifty years ago are still so relevant today.

“Come mothers and fathers throughout the land. And don’t criticize what you don’t understand.

 Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command. Your old road is rapidly ageing.

Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend a hand. For the times they are a changing.”

WHAT IS WRONG WITH AMERICA?

                                    

I often hear the comment and especially in an election year—“What is wrong with America?” As I look back through history I find very few times when everything was hunky dory. There has always been challenges and most of the time we have met them but that is life right? You have problems and you fix them. If I had to pick out one thing right now that is different. We have problems and we’re not fixing them. Instead of working together and fixing things, the common practice in Washington, and at the state level too, is to not fix things so you can blame the other party for the unsolved mess at election time. When you have nothing to brag about in respect to your own behavior then the next step is to point fingers and make excuses. Try to make yourself look good by making others look bad.

It makes me think about times when my kids were little and got caught with their hand in the cookie jar, they often would say, “Ya, but do you know what she did Dad?” It never worked with me then and it doesn’t work now. Most of our unsolved problems came about because of inattentiveness and no responsibility. Kicking the can down the road or what ever clique you want to use.

I while back a presidential commission named Simpson and Bowles was commissioned to look into a fix for some of our financial problems. It was a bipartisan panel and they spent a great deal of time on it. The problem was their solutions would cause some hurt and hurt is political suicide, so it was wasted effort. You know it’s kind of like not going to the dentist and spending your money elsewhere. Your problems get worse every day you ignore them. In some cases they get so bad there is no fix anymore. But you had a good time while it lasted. If your my age, in my seventies, who gives a rip huh? But if you’re my age, in your seventies and you love your kids and grandkids the picture does get a whole lot cloudier.

This pervasive attitude about debt is growing worse each and every day in this country and it has it roots right here in the population. It has become a way of life. We no longer manage our money, we manage our debt instead. Young people start accumulating credit card debt the day they get out on their own. No one saves for anything anymore, just put it on the card. No one saves for college. Just borrow the cost on student loans. When you do have an asset that becomes worth more then you owe on it, you borrow the equity and buy a boat or go on a vacation.

That’s the way the government operates now too. They borrow one fourth of all the money they spend. 19 trillion right now and counting. They spent every penny of the social security trust fund with no way to pay it back. No one ever talks about paying off the debt anymore because to be truthful they feel it’s not feasible. Just pay the interest and get on with it. So I ask you. “What’s wrong with America?” The same things that have always been wrong with America-- but now-- unlike the past, we have elected to do nothing about it.

WHY I'M GLAD I DIDN'T WIN THE LOTTERY

A few weeks back, when the lottery was worth 1.5 billion I, like most people, went to the store and bought a ticket. In fact, I bought 2. The night of the drawing, I went to bed before the numbers were called, but I dreamed that I had won. The next morning I woke up in a cold sweat, grabbed the tickets and ran to my computer. I hadn’t matched even one number, and I sat back-- so relieved.

You see, in my dream I watched the numbers being called, and one by one they matched. Then they called the Powerball, and yes, it was my number. For a few minutes I was dumbstruck, then, realizing I had one and a half billion dollars in my hand, I fainted and fell off the edge of the bed on top of Molly, and she bit me. Coming to, for the rest of the night I paced the house with a loaded rifle. The next morning I went to lotto headquarters to claim my prize. So far, I had told no one. I asked that the money be transferred to my checking account at my bank in Crosslake. Then, I called my three children and Pat to tell them the news. Two of my kids called me a liar and said, “That’s not funny, Dad” and hung up the phone. My son said, “Cool,” and went on to ask me how my health was—and reminded me of his power of attorney. Pat said, “Sure you did—but I need to go grocery shopping and will you take me to Brainerd?”

Back in Crosslake, I went to the bank to check if the transaction took place. They told me they couldn’t check right now because something made their computers crash early this morning, and the FBI had closed the bank thinking it was a terrorist action. When I told them I won the lottery, one of the girls took my hand and led me over to the clinic next door. She whispered something to the receptionist and a nurse gave me a shot. I woke up an hour later, handcuffed to a chair. By that time, the truth was out and I was released. The bank apologized and asked if I wanted to be on the board of directors, in charge of their new addition? The clinic gave me a coupon for a free physical, and a prescription of my choice. I wanted to go home, but my road was closed, so I drove across the lake and snuck in the back door. My phone said I had 14,000 messages in my voice box. My computer had crashed, and there was a guy from Publishers Clearing House on my back porch, wanting to know if they could borrow 5 thousand dollars a week, for life, because they were in a bind.

Over the next few weeks, I changed my phone number and put blinds on all of the windows, as the yard was full of people crying and holding up requests written on cardboard. Molly had to use a litter box because I couldn’t take her outside. I had death threats daily from disgruntled beggars, and I hired three security guards just to watch my place. A man from Baxter, who was in line behind me at the convenience store where I bought the ticket, is suing me, claiming I jumped the line so I had his ticket. I hired the tax firm, Wecheetem & Howe, to do my taxes. Pat and I escaped to South Florida, where we are living under an assumed name. I drink a lot nowadays, and take antidepressants. My son moved to Lake Minnetonka and won’t give me back my checkbook. Molly ran away with a 3-legged Poodle. I just want to go home and go for a walk. I hate the Lottery.

WOMEN

                                                         

I wanted to write something about women. I fancy myself as somewhat of a student of the fairer sex but sadly admit; I don’t really understand all there is to know about them. But then I’m smart enough to know that if I lived a hundred life times I could probably still say that and not be far from the truth. But on the other hand if I did understand all there is to know, I probably wouldn’t be so interested in them anymore, because the mystique would have been revealed, the veil would have been lifted, and at least for me the game would be over.

This world has its share of crime and violence but if you look closely at it you will be hard pressed to find women participating in that kind of behavior, too any great degree. The ones, who do, probably learned it mostly by trying to emulate men. As a man I’m not proud of having to write this but it is, what it is. Even in the animal kingdom this quest for dominancy by males is exhibited everywhere. They will fight to the death for it. The farmer knows that fifty cows and one bull is a happy situation. But introduce two bulls and it doesn’t work. Sadly, that leaves twenty-five cows for each, but for some far-fetched reason that isn’t workable in the old boys selfish mind.

If you put a fence across the world and split the males and females up, before long the males would have all killed each other and the females would all be giving each other new hair due’s and gossiping about each others kids. Being the nurture’s they are, they would get along fine, for a while, until the kids grew up, but then they would be overwhelmed with this feeling of worthlessness and they would all be over looking for a hole in the fence and a man if there was any left. Yes believe it or not, we do need each other.

I once worked for thirteen years with an all men work force. Then I abruptly changed roles and went to work in an office with all women for almost twenty years. So it is with some authority I talk about, how they differed. I went from this pack of men who had very little good feelings for each other-- at least that they exhibited-- to a group of women who could spend the first hour of the work day gushing over Melba’s pictures of her granddaughter while the phones rang off the hook. I watched men throw things and slam doors and cuss each other out and then I watched women either cry or pout. Not that they didn’t have some devious ways of getting back at each other, they do. It might not be this instant, as the men would do, but it was going to happen sometime within their life time and you could make book on that. With the men, I know where I stood, usually within a few minutes of shooting my mouth off, but with the women? Well you’ve heard that old clique, “the suspense is killing me.” Well if it had been literally, it probably would have been a blessing.

I think when God laid Adam down and yanked out that rib and made a woman, he in his infinite wisdom, knew it had to be something different then he’d made the first time around or this earth was in a world of hurt. Wow, my lady friend just sent me an apple. Nice.

MY GRANDFATHER

I have, over the years, never forgotten about the relationship I had with my grandparents. My grandfather was my mentor and my hero. Although I had loving parents, he was a big part of my life, and I have often written about him. My question is this. “Do, and will, my grandchildren have that same love and respect for me that I had for him?” Maybe what I’m asking is really a two-part question because, sometimes, people love you just for who you are, and not what you are. Respect, on the other hand, has to be earned.

As I look back on his lifetime, I see a man who, with his sister, emigrated here from Norway as a teenager, leaving the rest of his family behind. What I have been privileged to find out is that he had no future there, and he wanted to better himself. Think about leaving your family— not just running away, but going to another country across the big deep Atlantic. Grandpa was always a restless man, always looking for something better. After he married, and much to the chagrin of Grandma, they moved many times. He was a soldier who fought in the Philippines during the Spanish American War. He was a man of the cloth, who shepherded many small congregations throughout Southern Minnesota. He was a businessman, a faithful husband, and a father of 8 children; two of whom died from diphtheria in adolescence. Everywhere he went, he left a trail of friends.

By the time I got to know him well, he was retired and lived in a small town called Mizpah in Northern Minnesota. As a young boy, I would go stay with him for a few weeks in the summer. Every day he would walk down to the Post Office, maybe a mile away, and come home with a fistful of letters. Then, he would sit on his porch and write replies to all of those people, typing them out with two fingers on an old Smith Corona Typewriter. Despite all of his moves, grandpa never left anyone behind. He loved animals, and once told me of the heartbreak of having to leave his horse behind when he left the service. He said it was the most faithful animal he ever knew, and he had often slept in the stall with it. He waited each spring for the Martin’s to return to his immaculate birdhouse. There was always some mongrel following him home from town for a treat. Whether it was man or beast he loved them all. But it was his undying love for grandma that was beyond reproach.

Grandpa died during my 22^nd year. Grandma had suffered a massive stroke shortly before his death. They lived in a retirement home in Bloomington. She was moved to a care center, and at the age of 85, he would run away from the home and go visit her as much as he could. I remember him calling me, and asking me to take him home, as I Iived close to the hospital. Then, one day, my dad called and said he had passed away. I asked my dad, “Of what?” “It was his heart, Mike,” he told me. I said, “I didn’t know he had heart trouble.” Dad said, “When your heart is broken, you have heart trouble.” We live in a far different world today. My grandchildren are grown and scattered, and have busy lives of their own, so I don’t get to see them much. They will write my legacy, not I. I hope it’s a good one, and if it is, they have my grandpa to thank for that.

TPS ON FOOD

                                                           

I watched an hour long show on televisions the other night on nutrition and it seemed to be so ironic, that some of the foods they are now telling you not to eat, were the same ones they were touting as healthy for you ten years ago. They got into trans fats and saturated fats and gluten free and sugar free and when it was all over, if I was to take them seriously, I might just as well have dumped my cupboards out and sat down the floor and sucked on a celery stalk and waited to die. It makes no sense to me to eat greens when the beef that is so full of fat was raised on greens.

 I want to share what I had made for supper yesterday. My homemade bean and ham soup and how bad or good it must be for me. At Christmas we had a ham for supper so I had taken the left over meat and the bone and made homemade bean and ham soup. It has carrots, celery and onions along with the navy beans.  It was my usual recipe, except my friend Al told me to put in a spoon full of baking soda to kill the farts. It doesn’t make it any healthier or tastier; it just makes you more socially accepted the next day. It does nothing for the taste, so feel free to leave it out if you enjoy that sort of thing.  Sorry, no pulling the finger from me today kids.

The beans in my soup are high in fiber, protein and antioxidants whatever that is. So that’s got to be good right. We hate those dang oxidants. My 8^th grade science teacher taught me, that oxidizing was another word for rust. Bad enough the car rusts, we don’t need the old body rusting. The carrots are high in carotenoid’s and my, doesn’t that sound healthy? Even if Bugs Bunny stutters a lot he’s one healthy rabbit and that’s good enough for me. He’s older then most of us. There were onions in the soup and everybody knows onions are just essential to most cooking. Onions have phosphorous, copper and potassium in them and by the way, none of that stuff rusts. Then there was celery. Not sure if celery is a food or not but it was left over and I wanted to get rid of it. Now bean soup needs lots of salt and that’s bad I guess, but people who would eat bean soup without salt would probably be just as delighted with a bowl of snow. Warmed up of course

But-- then there was that dreaded ham, all full of nitrates and carcinogens, fat and salt. Probably double smoked in some dirty old shed using turkey dung for fuel. That hog probably ate slop from grocery store dumpsters and everybody knows that slop was full of cigarette butts and rodent poop, swept off the sidewalk in front of the store. That the guy who lives behind the grocery store dumped his used antifreeze in there along with some dirty diapers. But how can you have ham and bean soup without ham? You can’t. Who knew there was that much flavor from a dumpster? So you win a few, you lose a few.

Now here is another good eating tip. Don’t eat bread with your soup. Bread turns to starch and starch turns to sugar and sugar turns to alcohol. You have a sandwich before bed-- and bingo.—You wake up with a hangover. Who knew?

IT'S A COLD DAY IN CROSSLAKE

                     

It’s a cold day in Crosslake this morning at -22. I walked down to the mailbox and fetched my paper around 7a.m. You could feel the air freezing up the lining of your nose. But beyond that it’s warm in the house, and for the most part, that’s where I intend to stay. Somehow though, I recognize that not everyone is at liberty to just stay in the house—that there are essential services that need attention, and someone is out there doing just that. It’s these people that I write about today.

If you think it’s cold walking 800 feet to fetch your paper, then I take you back sixty years, to a 14-year-old boy that used to deliver the paper every morning. My mother didn’t drive, and my dad was at work. Most likely, the old jalopy my dad drove wouldn’t have started, anyway. I would dress as warm as my clothing would allow, but oftentimes, it meant walking with my back into the wind, my fingers curled into fists inside of the mittens mom had knitted for me. My frozen canvas paper bag banged against my leg with every step. By the time I got home, I would have a red welt on my leg. The scarf over my mouth would become loaded with frozen vapor from my breathing, and I would keep moving it in a circular pattern around my head, looking for a dry spot. I did have a sheepskin coat that was warm, and nothing was warmer than the stocking caps mom made for us. There were times I felt sorry for myself, but then I would think of dad working outside in the railroad yards all day, or mom hanging up wet clothes on outside clotheslines.

It was New Year’s Eve 1965 now, and as firefighters, we were called out to assist another department at a high school that was on fire. It was -31 that night. We had rubber turnout gear that buckled down the front, and steel helmets with cotton liners inside.  We wore leather chopper mitts that were soaked after the first few minutes. The call came in at around midnight, and at daybreak the next morning, the fire was under control. Hoses and engines were frozen in the streets, and Steam Jennies were brought in to thaw the ice and remove them. Ladders were brought back fully extended, too full of ice to operate. You walked around with thirty pounds of ice stuck to your gear. There was a lot of frostbite, but no serious injuries.

I’m sure all of us who grew up and lived in Minnesota have our stories. I have heard the stories of soldiers, in Korea, fighting a war in the ice and snow; mountain climbers in -100 degree wind chills; a relative missing many toes that were lost in a winter walk home from school. I think we have developed a character of survivors here in the northland that much of the nation does not have. As Kelly Clarkson sings, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Most of us older folks have got the stories, but we also have the desire to go where it is warm. No longer tied to a job, we can go out or just stay inside when it’s cold. But here is a shout-out to the lineman who keeps your electricity going, the tow truck driver who crawled under your car to hook a chain, the propane delivery person, public safety, and everyone else ­­­who keeps us safe and moving when it’s bitterly cold.

                       

FRIENDSHIPS

 FRIENDSHIPS

My friend and neighbor, Andrea, sent me a picture the other day that she found in her archives. It was a picture of our two old dogs, Gus and Honey who, like us, were good neighbors. For years they had played together, smelled so many scents, dug so many holes and thought of a world of mischievous things to do. Now, in this picture­­­ with their gray muzzles and arthritic hips, they sat serenely just looking out over the lake like two old matrons. Too tired to play games anymore, and just biding their time.

It was the very lake they had played and frolicked in so many times together. But now it was just the backdrop for a few moments of sitting serenely together. A priceless snapshot, of a moment in time, for sure. They died within a few weeks of each other a few years back. I am sure their lives were made richer by the friendship they enjoyed, the treats they shared, and the love they shared with both of us and each other. Maybe somewhere over that rainbow bridge they have found each other again, if you choose to believe in such a thing. I know Andrea and I do.

I have moved on, as I have had to do many times in my life when I have lost a faithful companion. It hasn’t always been dogs that I lost; sometimes it’s been more significant things, but always, the loss and the sentiments are there. Memories and pictures are such wonderful things to have. My mind is made up of millions of them, and like peeling an onion, I often go back, uncover them and play them over and over again. Yes, the tears come again, but so do the smiles as we find love that is in so many places in our lives. It would be a crying shame, no pun intended, if that shared love, and those fond memories, were left to die from neglect, buried with the objects of our affection.

I think it’s so wonderful, in human nature, that the bonds of love we possess are stretched out, not only to those we should love, meaning each other, but also to God’s creatures that are put here to be our companions. Josh Billing said, “A dog is the only creature on earth that loves you more than they love themselves.” This world would be a far better place, for all of us, if we could find that same unconditional love for each other that dogs give to us. Dogs are many things to many people but they are not hypocrites like man can be. In my moments of sadness I have found it hard to remain sad when a seventy-five pound Labrador crawls into my lap to lick away my tears.

Instead of Gus and Honey in our lives now, for Andrea and me, it’s now Molly and Brutus. The curtain has been reopened and the stage has been reset. For sure they are different doggie personalities, but buddies just the same. Being old myself, I’m not sure who will cry over whose grave this time when the grim reaper comes again. Maybe for me that will be the easy way out, but I’m a realist, so I’ll leave that one to the powers that be. For now, I’m going to take my buddy for a walk or maybe she is taking me—either way, it works for both of us.

                                                                                                Love Mike & Molly

GLOBAL WARMING

Over the years I have been intrigued with the cause and effect of global warming. I have studied carbon footprint and the effects of co2 emissions caused by burning fossil fuels. I have watched with great interest as scientists explain in detail what effect this is going to have on mother earth. But just last week I was made aware of how cows, through their release of methane gas, are contributing to this problem.

As long as we like meat and dairy products, there is little we can do about this—we can’t teach these cows manners.

On my travels around the Untied States I have seen many oil well installations. At night, you can see the flares from these wells as they burn off excess gas that would otherwise be released into the atmosphere. This is the oil companies’ way of not causing harmful gases to pollute our atmosphere. In many cases, the gas is collected, sold, and transported through pipelines to heat our water, homes and to use for cooking. They, in effect, are killing two birds with one stone by extracting oil and capturing the by-products for domestic use. It is not feasible to capture all of it so they burn off the rest.

Back to the cows. I truly believe that necessity is the “mother of invention.” If these ruminants are polluting our earth something must be done about it. I love milk and steak too much to even suggest getting rid of them, but what if there was a way to get rid of the gas. So, I have come up with a methane valve that could be attached to the cow in the appropriate place. This valve would have a detector that would sense the gas and produce a spark that would burn off the gas. Now, to be realistic, I realize that fire in this area has the potential to burn the cow’s tail. So, I have designed a space age heat shield that would protect this appendage from damage. I also realize that from time to time the cow needs to eliminate solid waste so there would be a pressure sensitive spring that would allow the apparatus to swing to the side for this.

Now, being a little bit of a pessimist but more of a realist, and knowing how the American public likes to misuse products meant for other things—wives, this will be labeled for veterinarian use only. It will also be labeled for outdoor use only. We don’t need any barn fires.

I truly believe that the small amount of discomfort this could produce for the cows may teach them to have some manners, and much as we humans try to put a handle on our rude bodily functions, maybe they can control themselves better, too. I’m sure they don’t enjoy what they are doing, but do it out of necessity. I have never heard of a cow asking another cow to “Pull my hoof.” I also think that, on a dark summer night out in the pasture, well, do you remember when you were a kid and you saw the fireflies? It was kind of pretty wasn’t it?

I am not looking for a Noble Peace Prize here; I’m just trying to do my part for global warming. I am looking for investors. Serious inquiries only, to Bovine flatulence.com

THE NEW ME

                                                        

A while back, through the generosity of Pat’s Daughter and son-in-law, we were invited to come to the cities and they would take us to the Guthrie Theater. Now through most of my life I have been kind of a country bumpkin so I was never one to spend a lot of time with the arts. I called them artsy fartsy kinds of people and although that sounds disrespectful, I meant no disrespect. I, in my ignorance, knew nothing of the arts but also in my own stubborn way, ---didn’t care to know either.

For most of my married life, my wife was never that insistent that I expand my horizons and see how the better half lives. Coupled with that was her desire to never spend a lot of money on entertainment. Oh, we went to Disney world and took the grandkids to theme parks. She had coupons. But the trips were far and few between. The highlight of my entertainment life was when the neighbor guy scored two tickets to the 87 World Series and took me along. My wife did not like sports. She couldn’t figure out why they didn’t give all the players a football, so they all had one and would quit fighting over just one. I did see a Neal Diamond concert once with her, obscured somewhat by some pot smokers who were in front of us. At first I was furious about it but I gradually got the giggles and nearly was thrown out singing, “Sweet Caroline.” It won’t have been so bad but Neal was singing “Hello Again” at the time. I did go to a few football games in the Metro Dome with free tickets and my son-in-law. Thank the Good Lord for being born farsighted and not afraid of heights.

Then my life changed and along came Pat. Now she has never complained about my backwards ways but in the end she arranges the entertainment calendar and I always remember my father telling me one thing. “You want to get along-- shut your mouth and go along.” So I think somewhere in her diary she’s been writing that this guy could be a much better catch, if he had a little culture. What do you do if you buy a house and it’s the wrong color? You repaint it. My friends, I am here to tell you, I’m not just being repainted, I’m being remodeled. You got to give her credit, she didn’t have a lot to work with, and she does like football and you got to love that.

So in a few short years, since we have met, I have been to the Chalburg and Tornstrom’s Auditorium. The Franklyn Art Center many times and the Theater at Mystic Lake. I have eaten in the better places around the Brainerd area. I have gone to Rome and saw the sights. I have wiggled my toes in the beaches of Hawaii gone south for the winter and I have loved it. My bucket list has been rewritten and added too many times. I’m on a roll.

Speaking of Bucket Lists. Going to the Guthrie was never on it but now that I have been there and saw “Dickens Christmas Carol,” from center stage and three rows back. Well, I put it on the list during the intermission. Crossed it off when it was over and I’m waiting to go back. I’m feeling good about myself and looking forward to the next adventure my friend can come up with. Life is good.

DECEMBER 26TH

                                                          

It’s the morning after Christmas as I write this; sitting at my desk and gazing out the window. The snow, which started during the night, continues to drift down and it has bleached all of the color out of my little world and now there is only a photonegative resemblance of it in black and white. The wind lifts up little eddies of snow and they swirl around the trees and buildings, looking for someplace bare to settle on. A month ago, in fall, it was the leaves that were trying to cover everything but now fall belongs to the ages and winter is king. Unless someone moves the snow and ice it will be with us until spring. It’s a subtle change but a change never the less. A change I have witnessed for three quarters of a century and never tired of.

There have been many other changes in my life—and especially in this Christmas season. Today there are so many foods for thought to dwell on; my busy mind can hardly digest them all. The house is super quiet with only the click of my keyboard and the soft snoring of Molly lying in front of the stove. Like all dogs she lives in the moment, something I have never mastered. I am a slave to my memories and all day, like the soft snow outside, they have whispered incessantly through the dark recesses of my mind, like Marley’s ghost of Christmas past.

Ten years ago the house would have been alive with grandkids, with wet mittens, snotty noses and rose colored cheeks, just back inside the house from sliding down the hill and out onto the icy lake, now asking for more cookies. Several dogs would all be fighting over the same cardboard box even though the floor is littered with them. All the women would be off to town to gobble up the after Christmas bargains. The men are watching a football game balancing coffee mugs on their knees and telling the kids, “Yes you can have all the cookies you want, just get outside and play and take the dogs with you.” But then the kids all grew up and many moved away and she left me for her heavenly reward and briefly the whole thing fell apart. I wonder if there is a Wal-Mart or a M.O.A in heaven. If so I know where she is today.

For a while I was like a lost child in a department store. I was scared yes, because I’d never been lost like this before. But then something happened and I wiped my tears and sniffed my nose and somewhere out of nowhere she came. She had suffered the same heartbreak, as I, and I didn’t have to try and explain what was missing in my life right now. She knew all to well what we both needed and it was simply-- each other. I guess I never knew-- I never thought, that there could be a new life like this, which could come out of an old life. That so long ago, there had been a first, “I love you” and then sadly a last “I love you” but it wasn’t the end of the, “I love you’s.”

Such a wonderful Christmas this year. Those snot nosed kids now are positioning to have snot nosed kids of their own and so we drove from home to home and shared the love with all of them. We ate, we drank, we worshiped the birth of Christ and yes, Christmas will keep changing for all of us, as will life itself and in the end the love we shared will be what we’ll remember. The holiday is history and there is a lull right now but believe it or not I’m looking forward to next Christmas.