A LESSON FROM LIFE

                                                            A LESSON FROM LIFE

A couple of weeks ago, I fell and broke my hip while walking my dog. I have over the years been seriously hurt many times but this time seemed to be more egregious and mainly I think it has to do with my age. I have known other seniors who have experienced a similar injury who had trouble recovering from †his in a timely manner. I hope that I am an exception to that. I know that underlying health issues are often to blame and although I’m not the gold standard for health, I am doing pretty good.

Sometimes something like this is a wakeup call for some of us who haven’t seen old age taking bits and chunks of our vitality. You can take care of yourself as well as possible but when accidents happen, healing seems to be something the young will always excel at and we will continue to suck at, every day we age. Anyway, I have chosen the road called recovery and I hope it’s a smooth one. My prognosis is good, my attitude is good and Pat is as committed as I am to get through this in a timely manner.

Shortly after my injury, as I lay in the hospital, I temporarily climbed aboard that pity train that seems to be all too often your first resort but then not wanting to get caught up in that I tried to take stock of all the good things the good lord has done for me. First of all was the ground swell of love and support that began flowing in from friends and family. “Ah ha” I thought, “they do care for me.” Pat, my daughter and her husband just took the ball and ran with it Fixing my bathroom with handicap devices. My youngest daughter sent me a new Kindle reader because she knows how much I love to read. My granddaughters came to the hospital with treats and corny jokes. Neighbors back home were walking my dog for Pat and from the depths of despair came this over flowing cup of love and caring. Nothing is more meaningful then a video from my granddaughter of my three-year-old great grandson saying, “Get well Papa.” 

I have so many friends right now, whose health issues seem to put my own issues into perspective. People fighting cancer where the odds don’t seem to be stacked in their favor. Yet they say, “Just give me a chance. I’ll invoke modern treatments, knowledgably doctors, the will of God and my own tenacity-- and you know what? It has worked before for others and just maybe it will work again for me.” 

It is so easy to take life for granted. To get up day after day and do whatever you have to do, or want to do, to make life work for you and hopefully for most of us that is the norm. But every once in a while, life throws you a curveball, when you were looking for a fast ball and at least for a while you were fooled. But you come out of it older and wiser and knowing your loved and what more could anyone want from life then that. I start each day with a prayer for my sick friends and neighbors. I end the day with a prayer of thanksgiving for the good times the lord has blessed me with and lets hope for many more for all of us.

GROWING YOUR OWN FOOD

                                               

When I was kid my parents had a huge garden behind the house. We lived on the outskirts of Staples but we were still pretty much in town. My father wanted to grow as much food as he could, so to supplement the garden he had, he renting a acre of land on the other side of town, where he could plant those crops that needed a lot of room like corn and potatoes. My mother got her eggs and butter from her sister who did live on a farm near Motley. One of her other sisters lived on an orchard in Wenatchee Washington and she would send us boxes of fruit that mom canned along with the vegetables that wouldn’t keep in the root cellar. When I say root cellar it wasn’t one of those earthen buildings outside but it was about half of the cellar under the house where dad brought in sand and made bin’s for storing vegetables in.  Mom baked all of her own bread and rolls, so all we had left to buy was meat, macaroni, matches, milk and spices. Oh yeah, we did get corn flakes or oatmeal. I was sixteen years old before I ate store bought bread. Didn’t like it then and still don’t. Dad was proud of being self-reliant. He cut all the wood to heat the house and encouraged us boys to fish and hunt and work for the neighbors when we could.

There were no food shelf’s, Medicaid or food stamps and had there been, Dad would have turned his back on it anyway, because he had little money but a lot of pride. There was also no free food from the schools. You paid or brown bagged it. There was county welfare for those in need but it was nothing like what we have now. The only homeless people I knew about, were hobos that rode in on the trains that went through town. Most of them would gladly work for a meal or some groceries.

I listen to some of the proposals being put forth by political people and can’t help but think how wrong it is to promise people free stuff for their votes. Our country is twenty-two trillion dollars in debt right now. They are purposing many more trillion dollars in health care, free college and forgiveness of college loans, but they are short on ways to pay for it, except enact more taxes. Most of it a Robin Hood type scenario of taking from the rich to give to the poor. The moderates on that same left where this is coming from, see this as fundamentally flawed, as do the Republicans who oppose it.

We need to get back to people helping people and people helping themselves. We need more people standing on their own two feet. This country has millions of unfilled jobs because there is little incentive for entry level people to work and coupled with a broken health care system and an unpopular President, who has caused a lot of turmoil, we could be in for an expensive ride. History tells us that once free programs get in place; they are hard to get rid of. Someday when this country does go broke, and believe me, it will, you are going to have a lot of people, in a lot of trouble, dependent on a government that is failing all of us badly-- that will by then be powerless to help anyone. 

I hate to take sides in politics and I’m not now. I’m no fan of either party. The right has no good plans either but it shouldn’t be about the right or the left, it should be both of them coming together in a bipartisan effort to solve this countries problems.

IT'S ALL ABOUT THE MONEY

                                               

Before you go off on me for writing about baseball in January, I have to ask you to stick with me. There is a bigger point to the story and it’s all about money. As a kid growing up in central Minnesota, I was a fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers. Keep in mind that this was before the Twins came to Minnesota and the Dodgers left Flatbush for the west coast. Over fifty years later I can still name the starting line up for the Dodgers. Duke Snider, Pee Wee Reese, Roy Campanula and Gil Hodges to name a few. They were my hero’s and I could bet when the season was over, they would be back in Ebbet’s field the next spring playing for the Dodgers.

Then came the players association and then the agents and then came the end of baseball as we once knew it. It is true for all of the teams and for sports in general that today it’s a whole new ball game no pun intended. Players are signing contracts for more money in one year then it cost to build Ebbet’s field. There is no allegiance to any club, they’re all out, for who will pay them the most. In effect they and their agents have dehumanized professional sports. 

What is lost? Let’s look at some of the effects. Let’s start at the grass roots level. Colleges who invest in recruits for collegiate teams with scholarships, be it basketball, baseball or football, more often than not are going to lose that player to the professionals after one or two good seasons. Education and a degree are not the reason they were there, but they knew that. Once in the big leagues they will have to tough it out on a few hundred thousand a year and a signing bonus that would set most people up for life and then if they hit it big. They will play for the club for a few years and then become a free agent, and then, there off to the races. You say, “Yes but few make it to the majors.” I say yes,” but had they stayed in college they would have a four-year degree to fall back on and the college would have been compensated for that.”

There are some clubs with lucrative markets for television and broadcasting rights who are going to end up with most of the talent. Some of the players will stay with those clubs but It’s not allegiance to the clubs, its allegiance to the money they pay them. The rest of the clubs serve as a farm system of sorts for these clubs. So, if you’re a Yankee fan or a Dodger fan you might have someone to cheer for, for more than a season or two. Right now, the Yankees are in the process of trying to sign Gerrit Cole for a reported 324 Million for 9 years. Think about that.

I once went to a Twins game and spent good money on a jersey of my favorite player and they traded him two weeks later because he was going to be a free agent and they couldn’t afford him. That was the last jersey I will ever buy. I have some 10-dollar ticket stubs, from the Twins, for good seats I sat in back in the late sixties. You can’t get a hot dog and a soda for that kind of money now days at Target Field, let alone a decent seat. Not blaming the club, they have to do something to stay in the game because they will never have the money to compete with New York and L.A and most of us have already seen that beautiful ballpark paid for by taxpayers. 

Most of the clubs are losing money and they are propped up by rich owners who aren’t really losing  money because they will make it all up when they sell the club for much more money than they paid for it, to some other city that will offer them incentives, no other business could dream of getting and oh yes, another new ball park.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

                                               

It’s November and always about this time of the year, I think about my Christmas letter. I haven’t forgotten about Thanksgiving but then it’s a one-day shot and Christmas is a whole season. In fact, it goes even deeper than that. I have always felt that a meaningful Christmas letter should have three things. The past, the present and yes, the future. I hope that in these next few paragraphs I can achieve that.

The past has become the major part of Christmas for me. That’s because its

happened almost eighty times and that’s a lot to talk about. It’s not only my childhood, but also my children’s childhoods, and now their children’s and grandchildren’s. I don’t think in our wildest dreams, my wife and I ever thought our family would grow this big and wonderful. If there were one more wish I could have, it would be that she would be here to enjoy it with us once more, even if it was for just one day, and that is because she epitomized the spirit of Christmas.

They say Christmas is for the little ones and yes, for the gift part of it that may be true. But Christmas is also a time to remember, through memories that go far past the memories of those little ones. Memory’s of sad Christmas’s, memories of glad Christmas’s, they’re all there in the mix but not to be graded or rated because they were always no matter the circumstances-- meaningful Christmas’s.

I’m a dreamer of sorts. I always have been, always will be. If I had a chance to have the most meaningful Christmas yet I would somehow magically be able to spend a moment in time with everyone that has come into my life over the years. Every dollar I have made, every accolade about me that has been uttered, every piece of tangible personal property that I own, pales in comparison to the friends and family members that have been in my life and been part of my life over all of these years. I fully realize that without them I would be nothing.

Christmas in the desert southwest where I am now, takes some getting used to from a Minnesota boy. Songs like Jingle Bells and Frosty the Snowman lose their luster in the sandy desert but yet when I as a Christian man go back to that very first Christmas in Bethlehem, I’m betting the streets were void of snow and ice. So, when I hang some lights on my Bougainville bush instead of a spruce tree, the effects are the same and so is the end result. A happy colorful Christmas.

For Pat and I this Christmas, our friends and families are paramount no doubt, but this Christmas will also be about two old companions trying to celebrate the birth of our lord which means so much to both of us and the love and respect we have for each other and have grown to enjoy. So Merry Christmas and may the reason for this season bless you all richly and make it the best one ever. 

 Mike

WRITING AND ESSAY

                                                            

To write an essay, a column, on any subject and have it make an impact in someone’s life requires two things. A well written truthful piece and a receptive audience. In all of my years of writing I have tried to find the words that would make an impact, while still trying to make a statement. The English language is a cornucopia of meaningful words and there are so many ways to use them but so many times it is that one perfect word or a set of words that sets the scene. I am far from being an English major but I have taken great pride in having a good vocabulary. As for a receptive audience, you may cause some of the fence dwellers to cross over if your honest and articulate well but all to often there are those whose minds are made up. Too some of these people, the truth be dammed. 

In the movie “A few good men,” Jack Nicholson told his adversary Tom Cruise, when Cruise asked him for the truth, “You can’t handle the truth.” That in my estimation is where this country is at today. In a year or so voters will be asked to make a decision as to who will lead this country for four more years. They need to make that decision based on the truth but that elusive truth is not being told because it would be a death kneel for most candidates. Tell us the truth about the national debt, about social security and climate change. Not what will get you elected but what needs to be changed and what will happen if it isn’t. From the Bible comes these few words. “Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.” John 8:32. If you follow this you might not get elected but you won’t carry the moniker of being a liar either.

One thing that is a big problem is the deniers who just keep shaking their heads and saying it isn’t so. It used to be that to deny something meant you had to have proof to the contrary. It seems that is no longer necessary; just a shake of the head and the words “believe me” is enough. When I was a kid growing up, I got in trouble once and my father said let me hear your side of the story. I told him my side and it was a lie and he knew it. He told me, “Screwing up like you did is forgivable. Almost expected at your age. I’m not going to punish you for that but I am going to punish you for lying to me.” I never lied to my dad again. Why is it in politics that the party faithful put up with things they know are lies? They know it’s lies because they’re not that stupid. Yet they refuse to acknowledge it as lies or not the truth. You can say “no comment” if you don’t want to be part of it or you can say I know that’s not right but I still believe in him or her. Yet so many elect to lie too and agree with them because they want to be supportive.

I have a good memory and when it comes to remembering the truth it’s not hard because it never changes. But lie’s change all the time and one lie leads to another and you better be writing them down because most of the time you will never remember them.

DEMENTIA

                                                          

So, it’s too often just a clique when we say it but what I want to talk about is what it’s like to really lose your mind. We have all kinds of aches and pains and maladies that attack our bodies and in most cases with proper medical care we can overcome them or learn to live a new normal life with them but losing your mind is a whole new thing. Now I’m not talking about an emotional problem or depression or anxiety. Goodness knows that can be bad enough. What I am talking about is dementia. No organ in the human body has the complexities and the ability to make life good or miserable like the brain. To the body it is the center of life. A body without a functioning brain, is very sad indeed.

This summer I lost a good friend to this debilitating disease. He had been diagnosed some fifteen years ago and that’s not even half the time that I knew this man. At first the changes are subtle. When you’re over sixty you don’t get too alarmed at forgetfulness. Who among us doesn’t have those senior moments? But the day comes when the frustrations set in and you began to question, “Is this happening to often? Can it be happening to me?

Most doctors’ offices have a set of questions they ask, when doing a wellness test even if you’re not there for memory issues. But when you are there because of memory issues then the protocol changes. There still is not a cure for most dementia cases so having it diagnosed only confirms your suspicions and although there are some medicines to slow the progression, it’s largely a waiting game. And it can be a long waiting game. No other disease impacts the loved ones like dementia. It’s called the ‘long goodbye’ but to often, ‘goodbye,’ comes a long time before the end. In the case of my friend I am sure he didn’t know me for many years before the disease finally took his life. His wife, who was his caregiver, tirelessly took care of him to the bitter end. Not a task many people would have been up to. In some ways she was as much of a victim as he was. I think about this man a lot. We were the same age; had the same likes and dislikes and he was family. He was my daughter-in-laws father. 

Dementia is no stranger to all of us. This man wasn’t the only friend that I lost to this disease and it won’t be the last. I know of several cases right now in some of my friends and family. It’s become commonplace in society.

So why am I writing about this? Maybe it’s like this. I remember when A.I.D.S was a death sentence. I had uncles and aunts who died of diphtheria when they were kids. I had classmates who died of polio. Our friends lost their little girl to childhood leukemia when she was 11 or 12. Today most of them would have not only lived but they would have been cured. Medical science will find out how to cure dementia someday too but the question is when. There are a lot of foundations out there today and they’re all looking for financial help for research to cure a whole host of diseases. But there is only so much money to go around. Please help the foundations that support research to cure dementia.

THE CARNIVAL

                                                            

Growing up in a small town like Staples there was little to do for entertainment. Most of the activities had to do with the school and sports activities or concerts. So in the summer time when the school was largely shuttered, it became bleak indeed. But every so often there was something that broke the boredom. It was called the carnival and every so often they came to town.

Now I’m not talking about a church carnival or some entertaining things that are put in place for a civic celebration. No I’m talking about a full-fledged carnival that came to town and set up on the ball fields and the playground by the high school. There was a whole parade of trucks carrying in the rides and attractions and they set up a mini midway full of games of chance, entertaining things to see and thrilling rides.

One of the games I was always attracted to was the little digger cranes where for one thin dime, you got a chance to operate that swinging apparatus, inside its glass case and grab a prize and drop it into the chute that delivered it to you. Not having a lot of money to spend, I would watch others playing the machines hoping to see, just what it was that made it so difficult to snag those best things that were rarely taken. Like that shiny gold wristwatch that was always in the farthest corner from the chute. One of the things I noticed was that most people were in a hurry and either over shot the target or if they did snag something good, they were in hurry to get it out and lost grip on it. But on this one night a man managed to grab that watch but he dropped it in the middle of the pile and dismayed he left. Before they could reposition it-- which they always did-- I got my dime on the counter and guided the claws over to that watch and drug it out of there. I was overjoyed putting the watch on my skinny arm, and I sprinted home to show off my winning. Two days later my arm turned green and itched like crazy. I showed my dad and he took out his knife and scraped off some of the metal off the back. The back was lead, painted gold, and dad made me throw it away. He told me it would make me dumber then I was.

There were also the tents with deformed people and animals to see and a guy out front with a cane and a top hat, calling it the seventh wonder of the world. Somehow I am glad we have gotten beyond that over the years. Exploiting people was never my thing. Then there was what my dad called the hootchie kootchie tent where you had to be older to get in and see the scantily dressed dancers. No one knew at the time, that in a few decades you could see more then they showed, at the mall for free. My friend and I went around to the back and peeked under the canvas but before we could get a look-see, we got caught and had to run for our freedom. My buddy’s pants were all wet as somebody had relieved themselves behind the tent and he laid in it. Then there was a ride shaped like a bullet that spun you around and around and I took a fast trip in it, on a dare. There was room for two people in it and the other person threw-up on me, so my friend and I went home that night smelling like pee and vomit. But at least it was something to do and we could say we went to the Carnival and who knew that sixty-five years later I would write about it 

THE LAST HUNT

                                          

Several years ago I gave my deer hunting rifle to my grandson and became an on looker. For as long as we have lived here, my family has always hunted across the road. At first it was just my son and I and some friends from time to time. But slowly and surely the two grandsons grew up and took their place in the ranks along with my granddaughters husband. It was also about this time that I started to have lung problems and the cold air and the coughing wasn’t conducive to being quiet in the woods so I decided that after fifty some years of hunting, it was time to quit.

So for a few years I went out and helped put up stands and became the chief cook and bottle washer. It was also about this time that I lost my desire to kill anything, anyhow, but I kept that to myself. The last year I hunted, on the last day of the hunt, a nice doe ran up a ridge and stopped right in front of me. I could see her eyelashes flicking she was that close, as she stared at me, not sure where to go next. My rifle never left me lap as I shouted, “Get out of here” and she did.

Yesterday, the fifteenth of October, Molly and I went for a walk in the woods. I wanted to go out to my old deer stand and I wanted to go early enough that Molly’s scent would be out of the woods by hunting time. Back in the earlier days you drug some lumber out there and built yourself a platform for a stand and I had. Maybe an old piece of carpet to sit on and some steps nailed to the tree to get up there. I doubted any one had used it since I quit hunting and I wasn’t even sure it still existed. But I found the old familiar path that took me down to the edge of the swamp and there it was. The railing had fallen off but the platform was still there and the steps were too. Molly made herself comfortable under the tree and up I went. As I sat looking out over the swamp a flood of memories came back. The time seven does ran out and I didn’t have a doe permit. The time that eight pointer ran out and he smelled me but not in time and I still managed to get him. The time a fawn bedded down right under my stand. Then my thoughts wandered to other memories. The year our friend’s son got his first deer and threw up after we made him gut it. Then there was the first hunt after my wife had died, when I sat in the stand and cried. Even today, the day I left, I thought I had something in my eye but it was for a different reason.

Molly was restless and it was time to go. The woods were spectacular that day with red and yellow leaves everywhere blending into the green spruce and the white birch trunks and I was so glad I had come back out. I stood under the stand for a few minutes just taking it in and then I reached up and board-by-board, I pulled it all down. This was my little corner of the world and selfishly I didn’t want anyone else using it and I knew I would never be back. They say you close a door and another one opens but that day I closed a door that will never be reopened and I knew it. But I was so glad I had come and I hope that my son and grandsons will hunt here for many years to come. I hope they will build the memories that they will grow to cherish out there in the woods. Memories only a deer hunter understands. This year I will be gone when the deer hunters come. I wish them good luck and a safe hunt. 

VETERANS DAY

                                                           

I have some memories in the back of my meandering mind that have never left me and even as I age they seem to be as vivid as ever. Growing up in Staples, a booming railroad town in those days, I would often go to the depot in the evenings and sit on the baggage carts that stayed stored under a sheltered corner of the building and wait for the trains to come in, There was something so mesmerizing about the power and might of those big steam engines in those days and I never tired of it.

The year was 1952 or 53 and we were in the middle of the Korean War. Several times a week freight trains came through town, loaded down with artillery, jeeps and tanks. But all of that wasn’t on my mind that day. I had only come to see the evening passenger train arriving. When the train shrieked into view with a blast of that whistle, clouds of steam, hissing brakes and those steel wheels sliding to a squealing stop on those steel rails; I jumped down off the cart to watch the passengers disembark. Right in front of me was the mail car and the baggage car. The door suddenly slid open and there stood two U.S. Marines in their red, white and blue uniforms. I froze in place because between them was a flag draped casket. I was only twelve that year but I knew what was happening and I turned and looked around the corner of the building and there was a waiting hearse.

Those Marines were so focused, so stoic, they didn’t even look real but as the funeral director came with the casket carrier they got off and followed their comrade to the vehicle. I was unable to move and I stood and cried. I knew about the war and I knew about what could happen but reading about it and seeing it, was something I wasn’t ready for. This wasn’t G.I. Joe; this was the real thing The Marines paid their final respects, got back on the train and the train immediately left. The engineer had been waiting for them to reboard. The hearse left down Fourth Street and I watched until it turned the corner and was out of sight. I never found out whom that Soldier was even though I looked in the papers. I wished I knew so I could have paid my respects in person. The depot served more destinations then just Staples and he may have lived a long way off. All I knew was that somewhere that night a grieving family had their son back and their lives were forever and immeasurably changed.

My life has been filled with many Veterans; most of then thankfully came back riding in the train and not like that. But every time one of them dies and is honored with a military funeral I think of that day and what it meant to me, as a kid, to see the respect and honor that had been afforded that soldier on his long way back home. Also it brought front and center to me, in a startling way, that the wages of war is often death. I don’t like war movies. It’s not entertaining to me, to see people killed even if we won the war.

So on this Veterans Day I salute all of you. I once bought a home and the loan officer told me they gave out points if you were a Veteran. Somehow I think heaven gives out those same points to Veterans. If not, I think they should.

CROSSLAKE

                                                           

So this will be my last column written in Minnesota for a while. Pat and I are on our way to the desert southwest. We’ve been down there long enough now to make friends, make the house comfortable and give it our touch. Although we look forward to the warmth again in Arizona, Minnesota will always be our home. Someday when it comes to that and my days grow short, here is where my heart is, and here is where I want to be.

There are those who say to me it’s so sad to talk like that but in reality I can talk about it now while I can, or never talk about it at all. I have said before, I am a realist and I deal with the here and now. Crosslake has been my home for a long time and when I look back at my life I never wanted to be anywhere else. I once had a woman in Florida ask me, “Where are you from,” and I replied “Crosslake Minnesota.” She smiled and said, “I have been there and it’s so nice, you must be very happy.”

When I first moved to Crosslake with my wife, home was a trailer house and a garage. But out front was a lake with a sandy bottom and that’s why we bought. You can always change the shelter and we did. One sure thing about lakeshore property is, they’re not making any more of it. Across the road was deer hunting or just nature to enjoy. Down the shoreline in both directions were some of the nicest people you would ever want to meet. The fishing was great and plentiful and we never froze a fish. We caught them and threw them back or ate them. It wasn’t that hard to catch another when you were hungry for them. The town was pretty much as it is now. Oh, Reeds was on 66 and Ace wasn’t there yet. The school property was the old Catholic Church. Ernie’s store was still in business and the Log Jam was rocking. Most of the businesses are still here, albeit some are in other locations.

We, in my family, have come a long way since those days in the mid eighties. Grandkids were born and grew up and are now are having babies of their own. My son and his sons still-hunt across the road and we still sit around the campfire in the summer evenings or wet a line together. Although grandma’s absence has put a damper on things, we try to honor her by just staying close as a family. The house is pretty much like she left it. We have more pictures’ then Kodak of years gone by and I made a special place in the house where the kids and grandkids can sit and go through the albums. Memories just take on whole new meanings when you have the pictures to back up those tall tales.

As for Pat and me, the word is love and companionship so we stay close but still keep our own homes. She mother hens me with her nursing knowledge and my bad eating habits. Makes me eat my vegetables like my mommy once did and drink copious amounts of water.  She tells me I don’t listen to her but that’s not true. I hear every word she says. Do I always do something about it?  Well that’s a story for another day another time. Maybe it’s something like the “old dog and new tricks” scenario but I have to be careful here-- so goodbye.

OCTOBER DAY

                                                          

It’s a typical October day. Its not raining, but its dripping, Seattle style. It’s not cold but there is a chill in the air. The lake is deathly calm but drifting on the surface are hundreds of dead leaves blown in on yesterdays breezes and now they bob like little Sampans in an Oriental harbor. Already, last summer seems to be lost somewhere in the book of memories of days gone by. I’m glad I won’t be here to see the lake freeze over this year. It never was a high point for me but rather it was Mother Nature’s way of saying the seasons over; let’s just cap it off for now.

Once you retire and live at a lake the seasons are personified like the actors in a play, each season coming to its own conclusion. The curtain falls and rises again and then slowly one season ebbs into the next. Fall to winter never has the same anticipation as winter to spring but yet we must sit through all of the acts, or the play doesn’t make sense. The plants and animals now need to rest and so should we.

To the younger ones and the more hearty people that strap on the skis and pull out the fish houses, winter in the Midwest brings a whole new style of fun. But to the elderly it can be a forced hibernation and just because you walk like a duck on the ice and snow, it doesn’t mean you are one and if you were you would have left a long time ago to a place where the water stays liquid.

Oh how I remember those long winter nights of my childhood wrapped up like a cocoon in our attic bedroom as a kid. Nothing was between us and the outside weather but the roof boards and shingles. Nothing showed in our beds but the tops of our heads, the heavy covers muffling all the snores and snuffles. Outside the wind howled around the house and the window glass froze over with frost and the designs on the glass the frost made, seemed like Waterford Crystal. We could hear the crunch of the car tires as they pushed through the snow on the street below and only fifty feet away from our beds but couldn’t see the cars. The sound of the freight trains that rumbled through town a block away, echoed in that attic as if they were just outside. It was a cacophony of wind, steam whistles, and the steel wheels of boxcars clicking down the tracks and that rarely changed. The school building was always a welcome place for us kids because it was always warm there. Mom and dad wished for better times for us and we understood that they did the best that they could with what they had, but it sucked.

Yes, I have come a long way since that attic bedroom and so have my siblings. Kelly Clarkson sang, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” In a way, I’m not sure if it makes you any stronger but it does make you smarter and you vow that you will never shiver like that again but yet you have so much empathy for those who will. On the other hand my childhood isn’t on my list of regrets. It wasn’t easy but then building character isn’t always easy. I loved my family with all my heart and my parents loved all of us kids. You can at some point always buy a nice home and fancy things, if that’s what you want but you can’t buy a loving family.  

WHAT LOVE LOOKS LIKE.

                                               

A few weeks ago I wrote an essay called what is true love?” Sometimes I feel that those of us who were successful in love and marriage seem to want to dictate to those younger people in our families, what true love really looks like. Not sure if were bragging or teaching but sometimes you hear a story from young person that says, “You really didn’t need our advice did you?”

I heard this story at a family gathering from my nephew and his wife. My nephew had gone out to Oregon to go to college, after a somewhat rocky start out of high school. He needed a change in scenery so he took the trek to the west coast. His family all lives in the Midwest. While in college he met a young lady from Romania and they dated, but the time came for her to go home and so she said they had to say goodbye. He asked her to get engaged and she said she wasn’t sure how she felt about that or if he really felt that serious about her. She went back to Romania. He wasn’t taking no for an answer so he saved his money and went to Romania to find her. Long story short they were married a while later. I asked her what changed her mind and she told me, “She did love him and yes, she wasn’t sure about his love for her but after he chased me halfway around the world I know it was real.” She said.

I sometimes ask myself, “What kept people together so many years ago and has it changed. When I look at my own family and go back to my uncles, aunts and grandparents I find very few broken marriages. Does that mean they were happy ones? Not necessary but yet they stayed together happy or not. Is that good or not?

It’s good for the kids as long as they’re not involved in disagreements. A mom and a dad are necessary to show kids what a good family structure looks like. Now I know there are many single parents that do well but I bet they would be the first to tell you that it’s not easy and I bet most of them don’t really want it that way.

I guess what I am trying to say is, true love is no different now then it was way back then. The feelings of love, the attraction to each other-- that hasn’t changed. What has changed is the rules we used to live by. Divorce once had a stigma that no one wanted to be associated with. It was akin to a personal failure and yes Hollywood did it every day but that was Hollywood and I think that many of us felt they did it for publicity as much as for anything. They felt little shame in it and seemed to be in a league of their own. Something else that has changed was co inhabiting before marriage. 50 years ago that was looked down on but now its common place. Now that in its self doesn’t change how people feel about each other but many of them never get around to tying the knot. They just don’t want that commitment and without that commitment it’s easier to walk away. I also think we don’t look at infidelity in the same shameful way that it was back then. It’s part of the permissiveness and lack of morality that seems to have taken over our lives. So many things that were wrong 50 years ago are no longer viewed that wrong anymore. Those two young people I talked about at the start of this---well they restored some of my faith in love and marriage.

JUDY

                                                                                                                  

My significant other and I went to the movie “Judy,” the other night, the story of Judy Garland. As sad it was to see someone that talented, fall that far, I think it does us good to have this kind of life-style, acted out for all to see from time to time because there is no convincing some people of the pain and suffering that goes into, not only their addictions but what it does to those who love them too. Then there is the price of coping with being someone famous. How many other renditions of “Somewhere over the Rainbow” would Judy have done if she hadn’t left us so soon? Here it is 80 years later and we still love that song

 Our storied history in the entertainment industry is filled with so many examples that are no different then Judy’s story. There was Whitney Houston who must have never found, “That one Moment in Time” and Robin Williams whose life ceased to be funny. All of their talent destroyed by drugs and alcohol and we wonder how people that seemed to have it all, fell into that trap. All the money in the world isn’t going to help you once you’re in the grips of these addictions. Sadly all that was so good in your life will never be that good again, for even if you come clean, you will live with that addiction, the rest of your life. 

I grew up in a world where the primary addictions were alcohol and nicotine, that to be truthful will kill you too, albeit in a slower fashion. The government will always tolerate some of our vices because they need the tax money and to be truthful again we wouldn’t tolerate not having alcohol and nicotine. Go read up about prohibition if you need farther proof of this. Almost any social event we attend is disappointing to us if alcohol is not served. It’s just no fun unless you can get a buzz on.

I have a dear friend who is an alcoholic who has been dry for many years and she has told me how proud she is of that. To some alcoholics being clean is much like being a cancer survivor. Like these cancer survivors you live with the fear that it could start all over again but yet you’re proud you have weathered the storm. Some don’t and they pay the price. My brother was one of those who couldn’t kick the habit and he died an early death living in squalor. Judy Garland died alone on her bathroom floor and my brother died alone on his floor. One was famous and one was not but in the end it mattered little. They both left on the same terms. Victims of an addiction.

There is a term often used about being an “optimist.” To have a cheery attitude and a can do mind set, is to be congratulated but when the word optimism, trumps reality, then you’re in trouble. The world loves an optimist but even the most successful ones know they can’t laugh or wish or sing their troubles away and they have to face their problems head on. This country is also full of whiners that like to blame their troubles on something or someone else. It’s always abusive parents or being poor or getting in with the wrong crowd that got you to the booze and drugs. I guess we need a sign on the southern border that says to the Mexicans “Please don’t bring drugs into this country because we have no self control.” 

BOYS OF SUMMER

                                                

So today was the last day of the regular baseball season and now it’s time for the “Boys of Summer” to become the boys of October and cap off the season with the playoffs and ultimately the World Series. Baseball is the only sport, were the winners are called the ‘World Champions.’ Although baseball is played in many countries, nothing compares to the level of the play, in the major leagues in the states. Players in every country of the world have as their ultimate goal, the chance to play in the big leagues in the United States.

Baseball has been such a big part of my life even though I never played at any high level in the game. I did coach for many years and it was so heart whelming for me to be able teach what I knew about baseball, to hundreds of young boys and girls that I coached. Baseball was to me the ultimate sport because it was a game for everyone. You didn’t have to be big or tall, overly fast or extra strong. You just had to have a love for the game and the desire to use what talents you had to your advantage and oh yes that fire in the gut, to play your best. As a kid my glove was always there strung through the handlebars of my bicycle, my taped up busted bat tied to the bars. In the summer there was always a “pick me up” game somewhere in town and we would play until dark. We were too busy playing ball to get into trouble, so my parents never worried about where I was but I missed a few suppers.

When I was about ten or twelve my kid brother and I slept upstairs in an attic bedroom. It had one light and that was a bulb that hung from the ceiling. You turned it on and off by pulling the chain on the socket, which I tied a string to, that then ran to the head of the bed. It’s about then that I acquired a small black electric radio. There was no outlet in the room so I found an adapter and plugged my radio  into that light. At night I would lie in bed and listen to the voice of the St Louis Cardinals, which had a signal strong enough to hear up there in my attic hideaway. I listened to the great Jack Buck, Harry Carey and Joe Garagiola as they extolled the play of men like Stan “The man Musial”, Red Schuendienst, Bob Gibson and Enos “Country” Slaughter. I could only dream what it was like to go and sit in that stadium and watch those greats. A few years ago in St Louis, Pats brother–in Ted–law took us to see the Cards and that night I crossed one more thing off my bucket list. 

When I graduated from high school I moved to the Minneapolis and a few years later the Twins came to town and my allegiances switched to the hometown team and they have been there ever since. I wanted to get to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown this year but it fell through the cracks. I need to do it soon before its too late. I want to wander the halls by myself because I am sure my emotions are going to run unchecked when I touch Harmon’s Plaque and pause for a selfy with Kirby’s. So many names, so many memories that they scarce all fit in my ageing mind.  The great sports writer Grantland Rice wrote something about baseball that sums it all up for me and I quote. “For when the great scorer comes to call against your name. He marks- not if you won or lost- but how you played the game.” 

THOSE FALLING LEAVES

                                   

Each day as I take my walk down the road that goes by my house, I notice things that have changed from the day before. Maybe it’s an old dead tree that finally succumbed to old age and gave itself back up to the earth. Maybe its something as insignificant as a new row of gopher mounds along side the road or the gathering of geese on the lake before the fall migration. Yes, nothing impacts me like the changing of the seasons, from summer to fall and oh yes-- those falling leaves.

When the words were written to the song “Autumn Leaves” the author most have felt just as I do today. I too equate the deaths of those leaves and the end of summer with a lost love. I too remember her lips, the summer kisses and the sunburned hands I used to hold. Yes, since she went away the days have grown long and I do miss her most of all, when autumn leaves began to fall.

My beloved friend Pat and I talk often about our lost spouses. For both of us this was our first love, the father, or the mother of our children. You don’t erase decades of memories by finding someone else, you just build new memories and when you do they’re not to replace old ones but to add to them. You don’t move on-- you continue on. For you see life goes on without them and although you remember so much of what happened long ago and through the sands of time, you can’t change those memories nor do you want too. Hearts were stilled yes-- but not our hearts.

Each day as the sun sets I think about the finality of it all. What did I do today that I will remember again someday or was it just another wasted moment. So precious is each day, each moment, especially when you think of them in the context that you will never get that moment back again to relive. Oh, how nice it would be if we could go back and right some wrongs or relive some special moments but that’s not the way it works and maybe it’s a lesson in reality for us to get it right the first time.

Today the rains of yesterday have moved on, the clouds have parted and the winds are calm. For at least this day those autumn leaves will stay right where they spent their summer and where we can see them best. There is a goodness in Gods greatness and one only needs to look around to see it. Mark twain once wrote, “God has put something noble and good into every heart his hand created.” My friend Andrea, my neighbor, has shared a picture on face book, she took of Molly and I walking down the road with the leaves of autumn everywhere around us. I have often thought it’s the way I want to be remembered, going forward yes-- but not afraid to look back despite all of the decay around me.

The past doesn’t change no matter how much time you spend thinking about it. Good and bad, happy and sad, they all add up to the efforts of a lifetime and it’s that lifetime that in the end will be the story of your life. Live it, love it, remember it, be proud of it. Now go and enjoy those falling leaves.

GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

                                              

It seems like only yesterday when Pat and I made our way home from Arizona to Minnesota for the summer months. “It’s always good to be home again,” we said at the time but now after three years of wintering down south in the same place, the same will be said when winter comes again and we head back to Maricopa. Whichever place we are at. It’s now home away from home.

When we arrived in Minnesota the trees were still bare and remnants of last winters ice and snow still lurked in the shadows. But in the roadside ditches and sunny hillsides, green grass was showing and down by the garden the rhubarb was emerging, poking its knurly red heads out of the black soil. The ice on the lake was all gray and cracked, days away from reverting back to a liquid and freeing the lake from winter’s icy cover. Yes, we were going to have another blessed summer. We had a carefully planed litany of events choreographed for our Minnesota summer we planed on living out on those summer days. There were weddings, meetings with old friends, concerts in the park and yes even unexpected funerals. Days basking in the sun at the beaches or rocking in the boat with a fishing rod in hand and nights with the grandkids, cuddled around a campfire. There were evenings on the deck watching the sun go down across the lake as it has done so many times before, only to welcome you the next morning, peeking over the eastern horizon.

Now as I write its late September and that summer we were so looking forward too is fast fading away. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear Pete Seeger singing, “Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing. Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago.” Memorial Day, the fourth of July, the State Fair and Labor Day are in the past now too and so now we wait for Autumn. The days are growing shorter, and summer 2019 is on its way into history.

I try to think of all of the things I wanted to accomplish this summer and yes some of them got done and some of them were relegated to another time and another day, knowing full well at my age that another day and time is tenuous at best. Last spring I tore out another coupon from that book of life we all live with for one more summer and cashed it in. It’s a book that you can’t look ahead in, only back at and its pages, at least for me are becoming fewer and fewer. Some people can simply ignore the passing of life but that way of procrastinating can leave you with regrets someday that you didn’t do the things you wanted to do, when you could and life is so fickle it can all change in a hurry.  I think when all is said and done, it will be the summers of my life that will be remembered as the fondest and maybe that’s why we follow the sun in the winter months, looking for that elusive eternal summer. Winter up north is a time of hardship for many with it’s cold dark nights, snow and ice and we feel blessed to escape its icy blast. Life goes on for those who can’t escape it and I hope that their days in the sun will come too. But as much as you look forward to leaving in the fall you also looking forward to returning in the spring, to a place where our creator did some of his best work and I’m betting it was a warm spring day when that idea struck him.

A NEW PHONE

So I upgraded to a new phone yesterday. My old one was failing and gee wiz it was five years old.  The new one is pretty much like the old one, except it does things the old one couldn’t do, that I will never use, or never understand; but hey I needed to do this and if you ask any of your tech savvy friends they will understand why.

I asked at the store if they had any good sales on the phone I wanted to buy and the sales person, bubbling over with glee said, “This is your lucky day. Its buy one get one free.’ I explained to him that I live by myself with a Labrador dog that has no thumbs so she can’t push the home button and really no one to call anyway because all of her doggy friends don’t have phones.  Yet.

Well anyway I kept my old phone case but unbeknown to me the hole in the back of the case for the camera to peak out of didn’t line up with the camera eye so my pictures were rather dark. I did figure it out eventually because I’m no dummy, so I’m proud of that. So I’m off to buy a new camera case. Maybe I should have got the free phone, so I could trade it for a new case. Oh well live and learn.

Sales and advertising get almost laughable some times and especially this buy one, get one free offers. There are certain items that you buy that rarely change or wear out, so having two of them just doesn’t make a lot of sense. I once bought an iron tool that was guaranteed for life and it was on a buy one get one free sale. When I asked the salesperson what I was supposed to do with the second one he said, “Give it away to a friend.” I asked, “How about you sell me one for half price and my friends can buy their own.” “No can do” he said.

Another ploy is offering things for 50% off. I went to my favorite grocery store that was offering T-bone steaks for half price. They were 7.95 a pound on sale ½ price. My Staples High School math puts that regular price at around 16 dollars per Lb. I didn’t buy and when I went back the following week they were 8.95 a pound not on sale. When I asked why they told me, “Different grade of meat.”

Another favorite trick is to shame you into buying things, just because everything has a shelf life you know. Talk to a mattress salesman and tell him your mattress is 9 years old and he will tell you, “You are playing with fire my friend. That mattress is so full of bugs and sloughed off skin cells, it just might be labeled hazardous waste. Your lucky it hasn’t walked right out the door a long time ago.” No it doesn’t

matter that you had it covered with a bed cover all those years, those critters will find a way to get in there. There just might be a separate disposable fee for something like that. He heard most of them are being sent to a super fund sight out in the Mohave Desert and it ain’t cheap but just for today buy one mattress and get another free and I’ll get rid of your old one somehow. By the way that free mattress will cost three hundred dollars for delivery.                         See you next week readers

ONE MORE SUMMER

                                               

It was Saturday night of Labor Day weekend and the last concert of the summer season in the park, in Crosslake. The evening started out warm and comfortable but as the sun dipped beneath the horizon a chill set in and many people folded their chairs and slipped away, even though the concert wasn’t over. For me it was an ominous warning that once again summer was retreating and colder weather is ahead. Oh, we might have an Indian summer yet. But it’s always been--  and at least for me, the last gasp of summer.

Labor day in Crosslake is the omega of the summer season. A time when the sounds of squeaky wheels reverberate across the lake as docks are pulled from the depths once more, to sit out the winter as silent sentinels on frozen shorelines waiting for spring to come back once more. Boats, water toys and pontoons are hidden away now under blue tarps or in dark garages and one by one the cabins are shuttered and abandoned. The town goes from bustling to a much slower pulse. Most of the planed summer’s activities have all been exhausted; the kids are back in school, the harvest is on; hunting season is right around the corner. The sign in the restaurant has been turned around 180 so it now says, “Seat yourself” and all around the many lake’s it is strangely quiet. Last summer I took a trip around the chain of lakes and marveled at the homes and cabins. I couldn’t help but think about all the memories that must have been made in those homes and all the friendships that were renewed this summer between families and neighbors, often around the beach or the fire pits over good food and drinks. God willing there will be another summer for a do over  for everybody next year but for now we must wait.

I have in my house a quiet place where all of the picture albums are displayed. There was a time when we developed our pictures and put them in a book that led to many books to page through on cold and lonely nights. Twenty years full of weekends and vacations at the lake. So many of the early pictures were of our grandbabies that now have babies of their own.  She was so religious about those picture albums when she was here but that’s old fashioned now as we store them in our phones or computers in somewhat of a private fashion. I often wonder if she had lived, would there have been more albums or would she have succumbed to the phone herself. There are pluses and minuses to this; the camera on the phone is always with you but for the most part, eventually the pictures are lost to the ages, never to be seen again and so those who do follow us and want to revisit our trip of happiness and tears called our life, you will have to be content with just the story.

But that is what life is all about isn’t it. You get married and settle down, raise a few kids, retire to the lake to enjoy the grandkids and then they too grow up and everybody scatters like dandelion seeds in the wind. Their world gets busier while yours gets quieter and those special times become fewer and fewer and soon there your are, all alone picking your way through those picture albums and smiling, sometimes through a tear or two while whispering to yourself, “Yes I remember that.”

A TRUE SURVIVOR

                                           

Many years ago, I went on a fishing jaunt up by the border with some friends in northern Minnesota. We came upon this little resort that looked all run down and in need of attention and after stopping and meeting the old lady that ran it by herself, we found out why it didn’t have any modern conveniences. She told us it was the way she wanted it and the way she was going to keep it. She had some bait boxes at the end of the dock and some pop or beer for sale. A couple of old basic cabins sat on the hill where you could stretch out for a night. No reservations though. If they were available, and most likely were, you could get one for a cheap price. The place did have electricity and a phone line for emergencies in the main house.  It was not the kind of place the females in my family, at that time would have stayed at. The toilet was out back and there was no place to plug in a hairdryer. You see this place was so far off the beaten path that to go there, meant you wanted to go there. It was hard to find the place by accident, there were no roads into it that I saw and it looked like you had to come by boat. For years she had run the place with her husband until he passed away and now in the last years of her life she was trying to hang on to what they once had together and she was going to do that until her earthly life was over. She admitted that not that many people came any more, because she lacked all but the basic necessities. All she had to offer was pretty much right there at the end of the dock selling bait and drinks and her hospitality. I’m not going to mention where this was, because by now I’m sure she has passed away and so has her business. Although the remoteness was for me at the time the allure, I’m sure it isn’t that way anymore. There’s just not much true wilderness left.

I couldn’t help thinking about that lady after I returned to what I called civilization. I tried to picture what it was like for her in the winter, all-alone in that wilderness. But then I would rationalize and think you know what? She never knew about the threats we all face everyday in this world. The pressures and responsibilities of work, and caring for a family. Taxes and pension funds, health care, cars and traffic. She was just one with nature out there and it was her living and maybe her religion. I’m sure I didn’t know the whole story. There were other resorts fairly close by and I’m sure she knew about them and they about her. But a part of me left that day envying her and the way she lived.

I see people today walking around with their phones in their faces all the time. Then I do a little self-examination and I try to think about how often I too watch the news, read the paper, surf the Internet and talk with others about the sad state of affairs this world is in. My God look at what I write about sometimes. Then I think, the most peaceful times of the day for me are the times I lace up my boots, take Molly and head for the woods. For its there, that I find myself, one with nature. I used to go longer and farther into the woods then I do today but now I think about falling and maybe getting hurt so I stick to the trails because it’s easier walking and easier for someone to come and find me if I can’t make it out. Oh yes I do have my cell phone but its in my pocket. What I am really interested in-- is right there in front of my eyes.

SOMEONE TO CARE FOR

                                              

A while back Pat and I went to the cities to attend the celebration of life of a dear friend. There were many memories and deserving accolades shared amongst the friends and family gathered there that day. But as the ceremony progressed I couldn’t help thinking that as nice as this was, why can’t we do this for people before they leave us, so they too can enjoy the love and respect they so richly deserve.

My father-in-law was disabled and after his wife died we had to put him in a care facility. The guilt, my wife and I felt about having to do this was only tempered by the realization of how ill equipped we would have been, to care for him in our home. So for thirteen years we made the long trip through the cities, from north to south, to visit grandpa almost weekly. When he passed away, as sad as it was, we took comfort in the fact that we had done our best to not forget him.

One of the things I witnessed in all of those trips to that home was the many people who lived there forgotten. Many times we would take grandpa out to a café for Sunday dinner and the looks on the faces of those who had been forgotten, sitting in their wheelchairs, was akin to visiting a pet shelter and seeing those mournful eyes of the animals no one wanted, looking from behind those wire cages. The holidays were especially bad.

My companion Pat goes once a week to visit the shut-ins at a care facility as a volunteer ombudsman. She has dedicated much of her life to caring for the sick or teaching others how too. Now retired from teaching and nursing she still feels the call to do something. The official term Ombudsman is someone who has been appointed, to be an advocate for the people who live in these facilities. Listen to them and confidentially help resolve their problems. I know she does do that but I know also from listening to her, her real intent is to provide an extra level of comfort to the residents.  I am so proud to see her dedication. 

As I have aged I too am feeling my limitations. My son has told me, “Dad don’t be doing things you shouldn’t be doing. We can be there in two hours and take care of it for you.” Pat is constantly reminding me how to take care of myself and we talk every day. I have thought of how maybe it would be easier if I moved closer to my family so they wouldn’t be so far away but my children tell me they understand how important is to me to live here. This is my home and once I leave it, I close a door I will never be able to reopen. I don’t just leave the buildings and friends behind. I leave my life behind.

We are our brother’s keeper. It’s up to all of us to not only care for each other but to say those nice things that are in our hearts and minds to those people who need us in their lives now--and not over a casket.