Wednesday, November 28, 2012

MY LAST BLACK FRIDAY


                                               
Well, Thanksgiving is over, and although I enjoyed it with friends and family, and had the usual amenities, this year there was an empty spot in my memory bank. For the first time in years, there were no Black Friday activities. My daughter and her family moved to Mesa—and with no players—no team. We had been, for years, a well-oiled team and veterans of many Black Friday battles. Our playbook was well put together, and through years of skirmishes, victories and defeats, we were almost unstoppable. After the usual dinner and football games, we would gather at the dining room table. We split into four teams—Alpha 1, Alpha 6, Sky Hawk 3, and my team, Delta 1. The whole mission was called “operation-enduring shoppers.” Missions were chosen carefully. Coupons were passed out along with money and credit cards. Watches were synchronized, cell phones were preprogrammed. We would stat at 0-400 and return to base at 0-600. The younger members of the team were sent where speed and agility were a must. The older members were sent where stealth and craftiness were essential.

 In 2010, my son-in-law Rick, and I, drew the short straw and were sent to a big box store—that will remain unnamed. This is to protect the innocent. We would arrive at 0-200 with the doors to open at 0-400. Our goal was a 32-inch television, with only fifty per store. When we arrived at the scene, there were about 75 people already in line but our sources said, “Not all of them were after televisions.” We had a good shot at success. Our preplanning showed us the TV’s were in the center aisle, just south of the bras and panties, and were on a pallet. I would lead the charge, and Rick would create a diversion, by heading for another aisle screaming, “Give me that big screen television.” At 0-400, the doors clicked open and the rush was on. I survived a hip check from a large lady that would have flattened Adrian Peterson. Rick went down in the doorway screaming, “Save yourself, Chief!” I vaulted over a chain and sprinted for the center aisle. My hamstrings were tightening up but I saw the target ahead. Now I don’t know if you readers knew this, but I was an old baseball player, so I slid into the pallet with a headfirst hook slide, and got the last one. With the box in my arms, I dove under a display of thongs, saying a silent prayer. Mission accomplished

I suffered a hernia, and chipped a tooth, but emerged with my television. Later, Rick would be diagnosed with a torn hibiscus. Hey! Look it up—that’s not just a flower, my friends. At 0-600, we returned to home base victorious. One thirteen year old member of team Alpha 1 broke her retainer, and the sixteen year old from Sky hawk 3 lost a shoe and tore her designer jeans, but otherwise, we were left unscathed.

It’s been two long years since that memorable night in Burnsville. I had my tooth capped, and I wear that hernia like a red badge of courage. Rick says his hibiscus feels better in the warm desert air, but he does mist up talking about it. There is talk of Alpha 6 being reactivated next year, but nothing for certain. I have no idea where that television is. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go adjust my truss.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

CHANGING THE WORLD


                                               

I have on my desk a small picture of my parents taken about fifty years ago. I can’t help but think how much I loved them, even though they had nothing to offer me but their love and support. Maybe there was an advantage to being poor because you knew up front they had nothing to give you but love, so from the moment you first went out into the world, you knew its was up to you and you alone to make something out of yourself. Hopefully that would be something they would be proud of. They did give me one thing to take with me though and it was probably more important than anything else they could have given me and that was a good example of how to conduct my life.

The other day on my face book page there was a rant from some college student, that I don’t know, which said. “We just have to wait for these stubborn old baby boomers to die off so we can make things right.” Now to be fair, things the last fifty years have not gone well. Our countries financial condition and failed wars have left us in precarious shape. If that was what he was referring too I would have concurred. But to tell the rest of the story, his tirade was about us trying to impose our moral values on him. Our country is on a slippery slope when we talk about moral values. Somewhere, someplace, someone took the words freedom to mean, “Whatever pleases you” and that is why we are, where we are, today.

If there was a place left on this earth that was livable and as uninhabited as this country was the day the pilgrims came here, I am sure I could fill a boat up in a hurry with people who would want to go there and get back to the values this country was founded on. I think often of the word polluted. We think of it most often in the context of our water or the air or the oceans and land. Intentional or not we have succeeded in polluting our world and to some degree it may not have been avoidable. It’s hard to avoid waste. But when it comes to our values and our character it is avoidable and they too have been polluted.

The French have a saying “Laissez faire.” It means to allow to do so, without interference. There are some things where to much interference is not good and government interference comes to mind. But as highly evolved as we are, to allow everyone to just run amok, would be a disaster. Hence we have a constitution and a bill of rights. What has happened however is their original intent has been watered down and misinterpreted and litigated to pieces and they no longer even resemble what they were meant to be and we call that freedoms. Were they perfect to start with? No. But when freedom of the press is construed to mean immoral pictures and writings with no redeeming social value what so ever. When freedom to bear arms means everyone can have assault rifles. When freedom of speech means you can incense people around the world with your views. That’s not freedoms we should have. They only satisfy people who are out to make trouble for someone else. To that college student who wants us to die and get out of the way so he can change the world. Be careful what you wish for my friend. We weren’t and look what it got us.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

HOME IS WHERE YOUR HEART IS.



We, as native Minnesotans, know just what to expect as we approach another Minnesota winter—that snow will fall and cold temperatures will come—that heating bills will rise and driving can get treacherous. But we also know that there will be days when the sun will shine, icicles will form, and those snow banks will be a place where children, with rosy red cheeks and snotty noses, will play. It will be a chance to dust off the snowmobiles, and ride through God’s country to places otherwise inaccessible to us; a chance to wax up the ski’s, or dust off the snowshoes and hike across this winter wonderland. The air can be cold and crisp—but it’s clean, pure and invigorating. Tiny villages of fish houses will dot the lakes, and to those who have tried it, we know the solitude that comes your way in those cozy shelters. It’s a chance to have the Christmas season the way it’s almost always pictured in our minds and hearts.

We have here in Minnesota, the optimum in the theater of seasons. We start with spring when the outside world renews itself with flowers and plants that have lain hidden for months, waiting for our stars warm rays to wake them up. Streams run cold and clear with the freshest abundant water on earth. Babies of every species are born, and the birds of the air return home to nest because they know this is the place they want to be and to raise their young.  Summer is the time when the whole world comes to visit us because, well, there is nothing like a Minnesota summer. It’s the world’s playground personified. Then, as the world tilts towards winter again, the trees give us a kaleidoscope of color and warm Indian summer days linger until, at last, the whole country goes to sleep and winter settles softly over us once more.

There is a reason people settled here, and it’s not just because it was where the wagon broke down. It was fertile ground for planting crops in, and an abundance of fresh water to nurture those crops. Timber that shades us, warms us when it’s burned, and shelters us with its lumber. The world outside is a virtual zoo of birds and animals, some of them providing us with food. Yes, a lot of them do rest or migrate in the winter, but you know what? They always come back. I have traveled from the desert southwest to the swamps of Florida and the warmth of the gulf.  I have gone from the Cascades of Washington to the seashores of Southern California. But always, the places that seemed to be closest to my heart, have been the places that most resembled home.

I fully realize that people all over this great country have places that they call home, and they have many reasons for putting down roots where they did. Many people from here have gone elsewhere, looking for something better—and that’s just human nature—but I have seen so many of them come right back here where they started. There is a saying, “Minnesota nice,” and I believe there is a lot of merit to that saying. I think our dispositions are shaped and influenced so much by the world around us; the people we associate with and slowly, but surely, we become a product of our environment. As I look out the window today, I see my world in this slow but sure transformation to winter, but I don’t dread it—I embrace it.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

BIT'S AND PIECES



 Well, my columns have been all over the place the last few weeks, so I thought it was time to revisit some old subjects you might be wondering about. First, this update on my new Lab puppy who, by the way, now weighs sixty pounds. She hasn’t eaten any more shoes for some time now, but she is still hiding them. I am down to my sandals and my hunting boots for footwear right now. The sandals are comfortable, but a little breezy when doing yard work, and the cameo boots are too noisy in church, and don’t look good with my suit pants. She has eaten a pint of wood filler, which she did pass through her system. I burnt it in my fire pit and it burned for three days. I did, however, run it through the log splitter first. She also ate a family of mice she found in the garage—and regurgitated them on my feet at suppertime one night. One of them was still alive, so she isn’t chewing her food well enough. No wonder she got sick. She still likes to sit on my lap when the moment strikes her, but it is not a graceful mount. She launches herself from about ten feet away, usually when I am reading the paper, with a cup of coffee in my hand. This sends my recliner into a backward flip, and needless to say, it’s not good. She presents herself at the back door and whines when she wants to go outside, which is about thirty times a day and usually right after I sit down. Otherwise, things are pretty good.

With the elections close at hand, the Sunshine Boys—that intellectual group of old men who live in this town, and who meet each day for the good of all of us—had their annual meeting at an undisclosed location because one of our members may, or may not, be in the witness protection program. The members came up with some new suggestions for the next City Council. The following is from the official minutes of that meeting. First, they would like to see a drive-up window for building permits and ten-minute service at City Hall. In the winter, they want both of the streetlights in town to be on motion detectors to save energy; and they want the Crow Wing County Maintenance Department to drain Adney Lake so we can either prove, or dispel the claim, that Fergie caught a seven pound three ounce Crappie, and then put it back. We also want the city to apply for matching federal funds so we can buy a slightly used Saturn 7 Rocket for the Fourth of July fireworks this year. Think big is our motto. There was also a suggestion that came out of the St. Patrick Day’s parade traffic jam this year—that next year we all park in Emily and Pequot and take shuttle buses. One member wanted to know when we were going to get light rail. There was a motion to require all poachers to have silencers on their rifles in the city limits, because it wakes people up at night, but it died for lack of a second. We will not be able to conduct business this winter when the snowbirds leave, because we won’t have a quorum. There was some discussion about who started a rumor about one of our members. We were not able to resolve it, and now we have a new rumor going around about who started the rumor. By a vote of sixteen to twelve we wished Bob a happy birthday and adjourned. Respectfully submitted.
Mike Holst