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.

            

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.

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.

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.

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.”

DAILY NEWS

I rarely watch CNN or Fox News because they don’t just report the news; they bore you to death with it. When the latest Malaysian Airline’s plane went down, CNN had sunrise to sunset coverage of it. They paraded us through an unending list of retired pilots, air traffic controllers, and anyone else who has had anything even remotely to do with airline travel, all with their expert opinions on why the plane went down. Often there are conflicting testimonies, and that adds even more to the drama, as now we have on-air arguments between the so-called experts. Shades of Jerry Springer. They will bring back stories of airline disasters—some that go back to the time of Emilia Earhart—for examples to talk about. They will show us maps of the ocean floor, and bring in weather experts to talk about wind shear and updrafts. All of this just makes us more confused than ever.

They like to show pictures of the grieving families of the victims, asking them all kinds of questions about how they are dealing with this, and what could the airlines have done different, and if they are planning on suing anyone. They bring on the traveler that missed the plane, because he overslept, to talk about karma. They want to know if people think President Obama is insensitive since he never made a trip over to support them; and if four battleships sent from the United States, at a quarter of a million dollars a day, are enough to show sincerity in the ongoing search. They will bring on forensic experts to talk about bodies decomposing, and if people suffer much in a plane crash. Then, one day they find the black boxes and they tell us it will take two years before they will know what happened. By that time, we will have forgotten about it and will be intrigued by a new disaster. Yeah, you’ve got to love the newsies.

Political campaigns are always a hoot if you bounce back and forth between the two stations. One is the Republican’s poster boy, and the other is about as liberal as you can get. Me, being in the middle, I’m not sure which way to lean. I know now that Halliburton is not trickling down any of its money to me, and I also know that we’re about one more government program short of busting the bank. I had the following example shared with me a while back. Let’s say you have an adult child who has twenty thousand dollars in credit card debt. Each month they pay only the interest and add a few more hundred dollars on the principal. What’s your advice for them? Go on charging? Or maybe try to get your fiscal house in order? To be fair, both parties spend way too much money they don’t have, and someday the chickens are going to come home to roost. Is it going to affect me? Probably not, because I’m old, but I have three kids and eight grandkids that it will affect. I feel bad because they didn’t make the decision to spend all this money and not pay the bills.

PBS seems to have good news coverage. You won’t find any babes there in short skirts, or pulpit beaters preaching hate messages—just the news—straightforward. They don’t find any reason to embellish it one way or the other. Or, if you want, you can do what more and more people are doing by just not watching it, and letting the news come to them. I think that’s going to be my choice.

NINE REASONS NOT TO BE A COP AND ONE REASON WHY.

                                                                                               

                        

I write this for all of the bad publicity, police officers have had lately, at the expense of a few. In all of my years of public safety, I have known many police officers, my son included. I have found the overwhelming majority of them to be dedicated officers but like all jobs that serve the public, there are a few who shouldn’t be there. But when one slips through the cracks, they all have to suffer for it. Name any other occupation that is this way. No one hates a bad cop more, then another cop.

1.  To be a cop, first you will need a degree from a college to be considered. Upon graduation you will need to pass a skills course, psychological tests and be lucky to be hired at one of the few jobs that open up each year. There are often hundreds of applicants for one job. Most likely you will spend months or years waiting for a good position and in the meantime you will work part time at jobs as security officers for private firms or as community service officers for local police departments, with, little or no benefits.

2. When you get your first job it will most likely be in a small town department, where you will work alone most of the time, at a much reduced pay schedule from bigger cities. Your chance of working the day shift is almost 0. There are no holidays in police work. It’s a 24/7 job, 365 days of the year.

3. Working your way up the ladder, to bigger, better jobs, in bigger departments will require much relocation and often up-rooting your family.

4. Most people don’t really like you most of the time and they see you as a threat or someone who is just looking for a reason to pinch them for something, when in reality most police officers look the other way a lot. They don’t like confrontation any more then you do. They’re not out to make your life any tougher then it is.

5. You will have to go to people’s homes when they are sick and hurt but yet your medical knowledge will be that of an advanced first aider.  You will be bled on, puked on, spit on, infected with God knows what, to bring it home to your family. You will see suicides, murders, child and spousal abuse, and decomposed bodies.

6. You will get to confront people high on drugs and alcohol acting out. They will be irrational, sometimes violent, and sometimes with weapons but you will have to use extreme restraint or be criticized for it by the public and the police administrators, who have to answer to the public and ultimately the council. Politics abound.

7. You will have to go to accidents and try to do your best to keep someone alive until more qualified help arrives, while the drunk who caused the accident wanders away. In a worst-case scenario you will get to go to someone’s home, at three in the morning and tell them that their son or daughter is dead. Then you get to go home and look in on your own sleeping kids, your spouse and go to bed and try to sleep.

8. You will carry a gun but you hope and pray everyday that you never have to use it because you know that taking someone’s life is something you will have to live with for the rest of your life. If you are ever shot, you will most likely be ambushed and there is no amount of training that can prepare you for that and little you can do to stop it. You will be shot for what you represent-- not who you are.

9. When you retire--- and if you stick it out that long-- you will have thirty years of memories of things most people will never see or experience, even once in their lifetime. It makes for such sweet dreams.

10. This is the good one-- not like the rest. Every once in a while you will find a lost child or talk a husband and wife into loving each other again, instead of fighting. Maybe you will do C.P.R. and save a life. Rescue someone’s dog off the ice, talk some sense into a run away kid or get someone into a treatment program or just give someone a ride to a homeless shelter on Christmas Eve or give them five bucks for a meal. Yes, every so often you will feel good about your job. Yes, number 10 is what keeps cops going.

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POPE FRANCIS

                                               

On more then one occasion, I have listened to Pope Francis speak, and all I can say is, “What a breath of fresh air.” There are over a billion Catholics in this world and for one of the first times in my fifty-five years of being one, there seems to be a man at the top who truly cares about, not only the church he leads but those outside of the Catholic Church too. Gone is much of the hard line rhetoric that the church has engaged in, in the past, and here with Francis, are those conciliatory gestures meant to soften that rigid stance and seem more sincere to all of us, in a fast changing world.

There is an old saying that “you can catch more bees with honey then vinegar.” I think Pope Francis recognizes this and in his embrace of the poor and seemingly unfaithful he is saying, “I’ll take the high road here and if you will listen to me, I will listen to you.” I think this gesture when he became pope, in taking the name of the beloved Saint Francis, in of itself, was meant to say to the Catholic leaders and the faithful. “I want my papacy to be more about love and caring, and not just promoting and governing the Catholic Church.” St. Francis of Assisi was the epitome of serving others and in reality, he, a humble Friar was never ordained as a Catholic Priest. He didn’t need that kind of support to become what he was. He simply led by his own quiet, humble, example and Catholics and non-Catholics alike revere him and now the leader of the church, is emulating him.

The popularity of this Pope provides the real evidence that this is a man for all people and not just those who pledge obedience to him because he is their leader. When I was a young man I was the oldest of eight children. My father continually warned me that I needed to set a good example for my siblings. That they looked up to me and they would copy me. Pope Francis knows the world is watching him too and he is setting that example we all need to follow. Influential leaders are hard to find in this world. When one does come along that seems to have many followers and even some with no spiritual connection to him, it is heartwarming indeed. It shows that people still recognize and will follow someone who seems sincere and gives them hope for a better life.

As for the Catholic Church there is always room for improvement and Pope Francis is doing that. Weeding out waste and inconsistencies. Challenging Cardinals, Priests and Bishops to clean up their act and remember what their true vocation is all about and policing those who have gone astray instead of hiding them. It is doubtful that the Pope will orchestrate much change in the rules the church lives by. Those rules are the bedrock of a religion that has existed for over two thousand years. But before this Pope is done we may all have a better understanding of why the rules can’t be changed and not—“just because I told you so.” We also may have a better idea of why people are leaving the Catholic faith and how to interest them again. But the biggest thing that may come out of all of it is, starting a dialogue between other faiths and people without any faith, because we will never understand each other, until we get to know, love and respect each other.

Submitted by Mike Holst 14042 Big Pine Trail Crosslake MN. 56442 218 851 0386

OUTSIDE INTERESTS

When I was a young boy, my father gave me a list of do’s and don’ts, things he never wanted to catch me doing. Dad wasn’t a tyrant who would beat me within an inch of my life if I disobeyed him. He never threatened me; he just told me “Don’t let me catch you doing this.” He never told me why, and I never asked. I must admit, there was something about him that told me I had better do as he said, but as a kid I had no idea what it was. I also must admit that I was tempted by my peers to test him, but something told me not to. Later in life, when I had a son of my own, I thought about this mystical power he had held over me, and wondered why I was so afraid to challenge him. Was it fear? I thought. No, it wasn’t fear I reasoned, it was just respect. Then as I got older I thought, “Why should I challenge him? The things he told me not to do were not that important. If he felt those things were bad for me that was good enough for me.” He didn’t have to be important for me to respect him. He was my dad and that was reason enough.

I did respect my dad for many things. He never became rich or famous, nor was he the president of anything. When he died, he left his bills paid, and his reputation intact. He always worked hard, mostly out of necessity to feed and clothe his large family. He treated his family as if they were the greatest things that had ever been bestowed on him, and when you break it all down, he was right. He never had anything happen to him that made him want to toot his own horn, but he was quick to talk about the successes of his kids.

I think of the young man down south, a while back, who threatened to kill his family and shoot up his school. I think about it, and wonder what it was that made him rebel like that? From all that I read about the case, his parents were good people, and it was something in society that steered him so wrong. What a travesty when outside influences rob us of our children. When you try your best, but your best isn’t good enough to overcome the scourges of society. Unlike those who lose a child to an accident, his parents will suffer every day for the rest of their lives when, most likely, it wasn’t them that let the boy down—it was the world he lived in.

We should be ashamed of the things that exist in this country under the guise of personal freedom. Selfish, mean people who want to profit with no regard for anybody but themselves; they care little about your son or daughter. They will introduce them to drugs, pornography and prostitution. They will take the life you created and ruin it; and when they are done with him or her, they will find someone else to ruin. All it takes is one tiny crack, in the armor of your kid’s defenses, for them to sneak into their underdeveloped minds and make an honor student into a killer. A kid, who could have grown up to find a cure for cancer, will now rot away in prison.  It’s done every day of the year, and more and more. We live in constant fear of what our kids are being introduced to, that’s beyond our ability to keep them from getting involved in.

NEW YEARS 2015

                                                             

I wish that I could write a message to everyone that would be full of flowery and optimistic verses, based on a world that has seemed to come to its senses. What I have witnessed in the past year, and within my own make up, at being a realist, throws cold water on those thoughts and we are a very troubled world indeed. But I refuse to be defeated and my only salvation comes in thoughts about how people have overcome adversity before-- but then I think it was only because they were committed and really wanted it to happen. My hope-- my prayer--is that we will want it bad enough too. I firmly believe that adversity shows us what we are really made of and that the tools for change are inherent in each of us. Like building a house however, those tools are useless-- unless we pick them up and use them.

Over the past years I have written several columns dealing with the shortcomings and inequities that plague this nation and several times I have been criticized for being overly pessimistic. It was never my intent to bring doom and gloom to the forefront but rather just a challenge, to say this is the way it is and why don’t we do something about it. To those who “poo paw” this rhetoric and prefer to go on with their heads in the sand. To those who are so blinded by their political parties teachings, that the truth gets buried in the sand-- right along side of their head-- your not doing anyone any favors. Please, let’s have an open mind.

The real answers will not come from Washington and we shouldn’t wait for that. Washington is owned and manipulated by outside interests that have only their own self-interests in mind. Until the day comes that we see people there defy the outside interests and become there own people, interested in serving those they represent back home, they cannot and should not be trusted. But rather change needs to come from each of us and if the tail needs to wag the dog then so be it. They will get the point soon enough. “No pain, no gain,” however should be our mantra because we cannot undo, what has been done to our country without, a lot of pain. Like pulling a rotten tooth it leaves a hole and discomfort but gradually it will heal and we can go forward again.

The start of a New Year may only be symbolic in nature but it is a start. We can’t undo the past but we can cover it up with enough good things, that hopefully it will only be remembered for what it was-- mostly a bad idea. We have over the years had many significant days to remember. Dec. 7^th 1941, July 20^th 1969, Sept 11^th 2001 to name a few. Some of them good, some of them bad, but all of them a day to remember. Lets make Jan 1^st 2015 a significant day too.

We have some very stormy weather on the horizon but we have proved we can weather storms before. Haruki Murakami said about adversity and I Quote. “And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm is all about.”

CHRISTMAS 2014

                                                           

                                                                                               

CHRISTMAS 2014

Somehow, I think it’s getting a little harder for me to write about Christmas each year. Sometimes I’m not always sure what were talking about, when we talk about Christmas. I know the true meaning and why-- but I think it’s evolving to a point where the birth of Christ, will just be an after-thought, lost in the crush of Holiday parties and mad gift giving. It’s like celebrating your own birthday with a lavish party but no one ever gives you birthday wishes-- they just say-- “what a party huh?” So you say, “This is a free country and you’re able to celebrate anyway you want to,” and you know what? Your right and I have no problem with that. My problem comes when you call it a Christmas Holiday and yet have no intention of recognizing Christ’s birth as the reason for the holiday.

            But in the true spirit of Christmas, I must get beyond this and not let others spoil my Christmas. If I’m to be a scrooge, then I only add to my dissatisfaction. It seems ironic but the Christmas’s that stir my soul the most are the ones when I was so poor and not the opulent ones that came later in life. Maybe it was because those poor Christmas’s came with a huge measure of sacrifice from my parents and others and sacrifice is so often, synonymous with love. How easy it would have been for them to say, “Let’s just skip the whole thing.” However they didn’t do that because they knew if I was to see the real meaning of Christmas, then it had to happen. They knew as a child, maybe I wouldn’t understand their sacrifices but they also knew that there would come a day when I would-- and believe me it is here and now. Meager or not it wasn’t meant to be about gifts; they were just an afterthought. It was really about Jesus’ birth and us. Dr Seuss said in ‘How the Grinch stole Christmas.’ “Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas he thought, doesn’t come from a store? What if Christmas—perhaps-- means a little bit more.”

            Christmas for me evokes so many memories. I look at pictures from Christmas’s past and although those sometimes-grainy photos are really just moments frozen in time, the stories they tell are still so real, so fluid. For me at least they are truly a hallmark moment. Nostalgia-- at least for me-- brings comfort and hope from the past and that enriches my present and helps me to make what is happening in my life today, okay and more bearable.  If Christmas still weren’t important to me anymore-- then I wouldn’t be writing this, would I?

            So its Christmas 2014 and I really hope that it’s one that you will never forget. That one of the reasons will be because little boys and girls will have a dream or two come true from under your Christmas tree and you will be the happy giver. That somewhere in a house of worship, you will sing Silent Night and remember the reason for the season. That someone you love will blow you a kiss from across the room or snuggle with you in the corner of the couch in front of a fire and it will all be so perfect and someday sixty years from now, those same little kids will look at a picture from that very night and say. “That was the best Christmas ever.

CHRISTMAS 1950

Growing up in the fifties there was no such thing as an artificial Christmas tree. I don’t even remember a Christmas tree lot in my hometown but they were popular in the big city, I guess. My father, on this particular holiday, of which I speak, borrowed a page out of “Chevy Chase’s Christmas Vacation,” although the script was yet to be written for many years. I had to keep telling him. “My name is Mike, not Rusty,” but maybe that was just a coincidence.

So a couple of weeks before Christmas, dad, mom and all eight of us kids would pile into the old family sedan and we would wander the countryside, looking for the perfect Christmas tree. Dad’s philosophy was that any land that didn’t have a fence around it was public domain and the trees were there for the taking. In fact, it was an honor for any tree to be chosen as a Christmas tree and he would mutter something about those rights granted to us by our forefathers in the constitution. I was never able to quite figure out—if, what he said was true-- why did one of us kid’s always have to be a lookout-- and how come, what should have been a fun family event, always turned into a snatch and grab. There was no time for measurements either, as Dads reasoning was, we could always make the tree fit the room. Myself, sitting in the back seat of the car that day could not help but notice that Mom and Dad had a remarkable resemblance to Bonnie and Clyde.

On this particular year of, which I speak, the tree we brought home, tied to the roof of the old Plymouth, could have decorated Rockefeller Square. Most of the treetop was gone by the time we got home, being drug down the highway behind the car. The rest broke off while the tree was being squeezed through the front door, which I can only describe as trying to push a corncob into a Pepsi bottle. Because the base was ten inches in diameter we dispensed with the inadequate tree stand and put it in a washtub. The top of the tree-- after trimming-- had a similar size diameter as the bottom, so the angel that was supposed to be perched up there, alone on a spindle, had a virtual stage for itself, Rudolf, Santa, G.I. Joe and a Raggedy Ann doll.

The girth of the tree took so many lights to adequately light it, that we were only allowed to turn them on for a few minutes each night and then only after unplugging every other electrical appliance in the house. I personally witnessed the lights in the neighbor’s house dimming and the streetlight in the alley going out when dad plugged the tree in. Also because the living room was not that big, most of the family had to sit in the dining room when we gathered around the tree. Dad seemed to be especially proud that year because we heated with wood and he was heard to say after Christmas, “There was a quarter cord of wood in that Christmas Tree.” Yes Virginia, my family was one of the original recyclers. So with those fond memories of Christmas past in mind, this year I decided to go cut a tree myself and get back into the spirit my father tried to instill in all of us. My neighbor has so many spruce trees she won’t miss one but if she does, I have my story already concocted. I will tell her it was an old man in a 36 Plymouth with a whole raft of kids and he went that way and no she cannot come see my Christmas tree.

WISHES

                                                            

If you had one wish, what would you wish for and don’t tell me you would wish for more wishes. I have asked myself that question so many times but always the answers were not forth coming. Maybe its because I am a realist and had little faith it would happen and likened it to the old English proverb that said,” If wishes were horses beggars would ride, if turnips were watches, I’d wear one by my side,” That little ditty doesn’t make much sense but it does show the folly of trying to get something for nothing. Even to win the lotto you have to buy a ticket. To those who believe in a higher power, even asking for divine intervention, takes some effort on your part. You have to at least ask and practice a little faith.

I guess before we formulate a bucket list of wishes, we have to ask ourselves what is really important in this world and what isn’t and what is really possible? I used to wish and pray a lot for world peace. But then reality bit me in the butt and I grew to realize that in all of the annals of history in this world, there has never been world peace and there never will be. That somewhere, somehow, what we perceive as an evil person is trying to inflict power over some lesser members of society. There is an old Christian hymn that begins with,” Let there be peace on earth and let it began with me.” I have grown to realize that is probably all I can hope to accomplish in my lifetime when it comes to peace and believe me there are days I struggle with even that but in the end-- I am the one, I am trying to please. Maybe my wish should simply be that I could live in peace with myself.

I could wish for riches but what good would more riches do me? When I look at the world around me and all of the struggles taking place out there personally, and amongst family and friends, I realize how blest I have been. I know now, that had being rich, been one of the most important things in my life, I probably would have been rich. All to often there is a price to pay with being rich. A price that would have gone against many of the things I believe in. My late wife taught me a great lesson in life. For you see, she was a very private person who led by example. She worked hard always and loved hard too. In the end, she didn’t take to the grave with her, ideals that money can’t buy but left them to keep on giving every day in her family and friends. Maybe my wishes should be for things that I can personally make happen because that’s how wishes come true. If wishes just magically appeared to all who wished for them-- who in the world would not have all they ever wanted?

I have always thought that unless you are soliciting someone for something, like kids do at Christmas time, then your wishes are probably more like prayers. If you’re not directing your wish to any one person here on earth—then I ask-- who’s left? On the other hand, to have some celestial power grant you all of your wishes is to take away your self made dreams and ambitions. Life is much more worth living when you have goals you want to achieve and celebrations you want to have and you get there by yourself. That’s called self-satisfaction.

Now if your wish is for me to shut up. Then I will—There, you got your wish.

WATER

There is something mystical about a body of water that can appear so peaceful sometimes, yet turn into something so menacing at other times.  Have you ever watched, on a peaceful summer night when that crimson sun is setting low over the lake, down at that place where the sky, sun and water seem to simply melt together? It seems to be an only fitting and proper ending, capping off another perfect summer day. It is so conclusive and you almost expect that at some point, when and where they meet, for sky, sun and sea to whirl around and blend together—like those tiny glass pieces and beads in the end of a kaleidoscope—forming a spellbinding picture and a brief parting encore to the day, and then quietly fading away into a starlit night.

Then there are the days when the gray clouds seem to roll and churn out of a cold angry wind. Together, they make the water heave and boil in some kind of grim, macabre partnership, and the waves seem to stretch and reach out with white watery tentacles from the greenish black depths of the lake, grasping for a chance to tear away at anything that gets in its way. It pounds the shoreline in relentless fury, trying to devour the very land that holds it in and somehow seems to be the only thing impeding its forward progress.

Yes, water can make quite an impression. Without it, you’re dead in three days, and all the creatures on the face of the earth would not survive. We clean ourselves with it, we journey to other lands on it, and we use it as a gigantic moat to protect our shores from intruders. It evaporates and then comes again as rain to grow our crops and cleanse the earth. It’s the gentle tinkling of ice against glass that ushers in an afternoon cocktail. It’s the snow in the mountains that feeds the rivers—that feed the desert valleys and makes them bloom. Without it there would be no waterfalls, no rainbows, “Where bluebirds fly.” No “Up the lazy river by the old mill run.” No “Dan and I with throats burned dry and souls that cry for water.”

Every drop of water that was on this earth a million years ago is still with us. It has been used over and over again. It has been evaporated, condensed and rained. It has been boiled away, condensed and rained. It has been sweated, condensed and rained. The tears that were spilled from the cheeks of a child in Kenya can, theoretically, come back as raindrops over India a few days later, or lie deep in an aquifer for centuries before coming out of some spring. It has been frozen for ten thousand years, melted and drank, and yes, it’s been consumed by animals and peed back out onto the earth in the greatest recycling effort that has ever existed.

But there has been a change. Mother Nature has, for years, been the filtering device that cleans and recycles our water. She has taken muddy rivers water, full of debris, and brought it back from the bowels of the earth sparkling clear, cool and refreshing. But then man, in his infinite wisdom to control the growth of crops and reduce the insects that eat them, and the weeds that crowd them out, has introduced chemicals that can no longer be filtered out and now we get to wash with it, and drink it. Just something else we have left our kids and grandkids.