WHATS IN A PICTURE

                                                

A picture from space, taken by some orbiting astronauts, intrigued me so much the other day. I saw this blue and white orb we call home, bathed in wispy white clouds, spinning through this dark and forbidding place we call space.  The earth’s beauty as we see it from space is spellbinding, and it is in direct contrast to the blank black universe around it. There is an old saying “You can’t see the woods for the trees.” Standing here on earth, that’s indicative of how I feel, and at least what I know about the world beyond us. Usually, when we see something we perceive as special, our next impulse is to bring it closer to us or us closer to it. We want to use some of our other senses to bring out the real beauty of things, such as through touching, smelling and hearing. When first seen, a rose showcases its beauty through its color and delicate structure. But when you smell its fragrances, and touch the intricate workmanship in its petals, you get the real picture.

If it wasn’t for the fact that we can’t live indefinitely out in space, and have to come back—and initially came from this earth to start with—we might never know the real truth about what is going on down here on the surface of this beautiful planet. Imagine if you came from somewhere else in the universe, and for the first time saw what the astronauts are seeing and describing from space. Would you, in your wildest imagination, think that the inhabitants of such a place would be doing their best to destroy this planet and each other?

Just for a moment, hang with me and let me tell you a story. Pretend with me that you are from some other planet, and right now you are orbiting our earth and scoping it out because where you came from is no longer a fit place to live. Where you came from looked so much like planet earth at one time. From the spacecraft, you peer down below the clouds, and what do you see? Well, you hear loud explosions, women and children crying, rockets raining down on each other. You look farther, and on one side of the earth there are people fat and plump, and on the other side they are dying of starvation. Mountains of corn on one side of the planet, and on the other side you can’t see anything and—well, that’s because there isn’t anything. Why do some of them live in mansions and others in mud huts? Why can’t they share? Why do some people drink clear water and others have to drink their own sewage? Why are the people that live in the good places so angry at each other?

You look at the planets vast seas, now covered with floating garbage and an oily sheen. Your planet back home once had seas like this, too, that teemed with fish and wildlife, but something went terribly wrong and now they’re empty and dead. It’s getting harder to see from out here because the atmosphere is shrouded with some kind of gas that is coming from down under. Ah yes, burning forests and huge smoke stacks. That happened to our home, too. A few people are looking up as if they are praying to a God. Yes, we had a God, too, and he warned us about destroying the world that he gave us. But we paid no attention and did it anyway, because we knew better than he. We knew better than our God because we were smart, and had a free will to do as we pleased. Slowly the silver spaceship drifts away . . .The end of the story. 

LOVE TRUMPS IT ALL

                                                

I wish this had been ready for Valentine’s Day, but it applies every day, doesn’t it?

I have written before about love and how music has affected my life. Years ago, Gene Pitney sang a song called, “Only Love Can Break a Heart.” I remember only bits and pieces of the song and its melody, but what I never forgot was the first line of the song, “Only love can break a heart, and only love can mend it again,” and how, today, it pertains to my situation. Shortly after my wifes death, I went through a rough patch for a while. I visited the doctor’s office, even though my body was fine, looking for some magical pill that would help heal a broken heart. Then slowly, over the months, I learned the secret of mending that heart, and you know what? It pertains to a lot of us, every day of our lives.  

I thought of that song one day when I was feeling down and out. Then I thought of all of the people that were reaching out to me, in my time of need, because they knew that the best way to heal me was to love me. But even though I started out talking about me today, I want you to know how much this pertains to all of us as we go though life. You don’t have to lose the love of your life to have a broken heart. There are people who never had a significant other to lose, and they still have broken hearts. What we tend to forget is they, like us, need to be loved.  They don’t need a lecture from a shrink on how to turn their life around. They just need to be listened to, empathized with, and showed that they are loved.

Love is such a powerful emotion that you would think it would be everybody’s choice in life to be filled with it. Put your hands out right now, palms up. The right one is love and the left one is hate. The choice isn’t even close. The problem is though; love seems to be on a barter system for many people. You give me some, and I will give you some. What we don’t seem to understand, all too often, is this—that even in a barter system, the process has to start someplace and someone needs to make the first move. You walk up to someone with your hand outstretched, and most likely, his or her hand will find yours. You open your arms to someone, and they will open theirs, and you just got yourself a wonderful, loving hug.

The world, being the way it is today, has caused us to erect a lot of walls between others and ourselves. It wasn’t our intention, it was a guarded reaction brought on by an increasingly dishonest world. So you have this little feeling-out period with new friends, and all too often, we never get beyond it. Although we may have unlocked the door in the wall, our foot is still holding it shut. Remove that foot, open that door, and extend your right hand and give it a try. Benjamin Disraeli said, “We are all born for love. It is the principal of existence, and its only end.” I will end this by going back to the music I talked about, at the beginning of the column, because for me—music is love, and love is the music in our own private concert—and we are the Maestros.

RUSTY AND MORRIE

                                               

Many years ago a small group of men started gathering for coffee each morning at Reeds. They came from all walks of life and backgrounds and all they wanted out of that time together, was to share their stories and bond in friendship. They were coined the “Sunshine Boys.” Well this year hasn’t been good for the Sunshine Boys, as four of them have passed away but there was a special friendship in that group that you couldn’t help but notice, and that is what I want to talk about today. It was between Rusty and Morrie. Clyde “Rusty” Rust and Morris “Morrie” Mikkelson. Both of them long time Crosslake residents.

Many of the people who frequented the Legion Club in town will always remember Rusty calling bingo numbers or working at the club. Putting his military uniform on for Memorial Day in the honor guard. Being in the parades. Cooking brats and hamburgers at the Mission of the Cross Church he loved, at the flea markets. Rusty was just a fixture in Crosslake

Morrie was involved in several civic projects in Crosslake but he told me the one he was most proud of was his work at the library. He could recite historical things that had happened in Crosslake for as far back as you cared to remember. We had a discussion about Abe Lincoln one day and Morrie corrected something that was said. The other man shrugged his shoulders and said. “You probably knew him personally.” He was one of the kindest, old gentlemen; I was ever privileged to meet. Mitch Alborn wrote a book called “Tuesday’s with Morrie.” I should have taken notes about all of the conversations we had. There might have been another book.

The two friends moved into Golden Horizons together in their later years and Rusty, who still had a car, would bring Morrie with him to coffee each day. We all watched them start to fail over time, using a grocery cart to lean on as they made their long way in each day. We always put Morrie at the head of the table so he had a place for his walker to sit but actually he had earned that spot. Then one day they stopped coming. To the rest of us they were gone, but not forgotten. Last year at our annual picnic at the campgrounds we got to see them there together with all of us for the last time and it was heartwarming to say the least.

On January 28^th Rusty passed away and not surprising a few days later on February 4^th Morrie went to be with his friend. A. A. Milne who wrote “Winnie the Pooh” said about friendship. “If you live to be a hundred I want to live to be a hundred minus a day, so I never have to live with out you.” Maybe that’s how Morrie and Rusty felt. “We’ll be friends forever, won’t we Pooh?” asked Piglet. “Even longer” Pooh answered.”

May they both rest in peace. Gone but never forgotten.

Mike Holst

ABOUT MINNESOTA

 I wanted to write a few things about this great state we live in so I gathered up some things, mostly off the Internet and put them together in this little essay. I hope you enjoy

I saw a sign this morning that said “Minnesota. Come for the culture. Stay because your car won’t start.” Although there are many good things about this state, January does bring out the skeptics. My father said, “It was warm enough here to survive and cold enough here to keep out the rif raf. Not sure who he meant by that but he was a die hard Minnesotan. Most Minnesotans are bilingual so they are not stupid. They talk English and they talk Minnesotan. It is a language where the words “bedder nut” mean better not. Where we have a “bat tree” in our car and the word “Alla” is not religious in nature but it is the contraction for the words, all of the. The words the “boat–a-yuz” refers to both of you. If someone says “uff da” it means it sucks. Yes it’s a language unto itself.

This is a copy of the Ten Commandments Minnesotan style.

1 Der’s only one God, you know.

2 Don’t make that fish on your vall an idol.

3 Cussing ain’t Minnesota nice you know.

4 Go to church even when you’re up nort.

5 Honor your folks.

6 Don’t cha kill. Catch and release.

7 There is only one Lena for one Ole. No cheatin.

8 If it ain’t your lutefisk don’t take it.

9 Don’t be braggen about how much snow you shoveled.           

10 Keep your mind of your neighbor’s hotdish.

Minnesota is the home base for Lutran Airlines, which flies out of Dulut. There is no food served in flight but they do have a potluck dinner. Everybody in the first six rows brings a salad. The next six rows brings the rolls and lefsa. The next six rows brings the hot dish and the last six rolls brings the desert and beverages. There is no charge for the flight you know, but they do have a free will offering and the plane will not land until they meet the budget. Sometimes the flight gets bumpy but it’s no worse than riding your John Deere tractor across a plowed field according to the pilot Mr. Swenson. Yah sure, ya betcha.

I heard a story the other day about a man who lives south of Duluth, who had his land surveyed and found out he was actually living in Wisconsin. He seemed to be very happy about finding this out. He said there was no way he could take another winter in Minnesota. Archeologists found copper wire buried in Southern California and determined that California had a wired communication system 300 years ago.  Hearing this Solu Latvia dug a big hole in his pasture south of Ely and found nothing. He determined Minnesota went wireless 400 years ago. ---Uf da.