MY MOST UNFORGETABLE CHRISTMAS

                                     

 

I dreamed a dream the other night that this year at Christmas, I could just go back and relive one of the 79 Christmas’s I have experienced in my life, instead of creating another one. Although most of them are lost to memory, a few of them are still there in my meandering thoughts. I can remember my wife’s last Christmas before she passed. I remember the year after our mother passed, six days before Christmas. I remember Christmas’s when you couldn’t see the tree for the presents.  Kids parties at the fire station, when Santa came on the ladder truck. But my most precious Christmas was when I was about six or seven years old.

 

That year, 1947, my parents and my three brothers and I were living in an apartment fashioned out of the attic of an old house in Staples Minnesota. My dad worked in an ice cream shop up town. A job today that would be more appropriate for a high school kid, trying to make some spending money. The war was just over and there were no other jobs to be had.

 

Somewhere, Dad had found a Christmas tree and he’d hauled it up into our cramped living space and Mom decorated it with paper cut outs and popcorn strung into garlands. She even made an angel for the top. There was a string of bubble lights that dad would light for a few minutes each night and then quickly shut them off so they didn’t burn out. If one burned out, they all went out and he had no extras. Then came Christmas Eve and we gathered around the tree and the bubble lights stayed on at last. There was nothing under the tree. We sat there while Dad read the Christmas story from his bible and then he got up and went outside and came in with a red sled. It was obvious, it was a used sled that he had repainted. The kind with the metal runners. I remember Dad trying to be happy and festive and I remember Mom hanging her head and crying softly while she nursed the baby. Maybe it was the simplicity of it all and maybe it was just the humbleness of that Christmas Eve, that I can’t forget.

 

Christmas has never been about things for me. It has been about people. Suffering is always more easily tolerated when it is suffering shared. Happiness also is meant to be shared but the one ingredient, the one common denominator, that enhances happiness and tempers grief is love and that Christmas night was all about love and not any tangible things. Of the six players on that Christmas Eve, that night way back then, only three remain. We have all had wonderful lives. I for one am so grateful for the life I have had, the family I shared and the family I fostered and I’m so privileged to be a part of all of it. So grateful for the three family members that were there that night that have since passed on and the indelible memories I have of them. But the thing that makes me the happiest is just the fact that I remember that distant Christmas Eve, like it was last Christmas Eve. Something happened there that night that simply made it so unforgettable to me and I think I know now, what it was and I hope I never forget why. I wish I could drive back there on a quiet Christmas Eve and just park outside of where the house once stood  and let the feelings of that night wash over me once more. Maybe I could even bring some bubble lights.

 

Mike

 

 

PEARL HARBOR

                                                            

A few years back I was standing on the deck of the United States Battleship Missouri, in Pearl Harbor. As I stood there under those big guns that cast a shadow over the grave of another American Battle ship, the sunken Arizona, I closed my eyes, I could almost hear the bombs that fell on our brave sailors that day. Then walking around the super structure and facing the stern where a podium stood, I could also hear the voice of General Douglas Macarthur at the surrender that ended that horrible war and took place right there on that deck. I have never been more humbled, prouder of this country, then on that day, some 70 years later. 

 

President Roosevelt called Dec. 7^th 1941, the day of the attack, “A day which will live in infamy” but September 2^nd1945, was the day that will live on in my memory. It was the day when a weary country celebrated the end of tyranny and the beginning of peace.

 

Today our country has all but forgotten the sacrifices that were made to achieve that peace. That cohesiveness that existed on that September day in our country has been replaced with political infighting and rancor that threatens our very existence. This by people in power who weren’t worth the sacrifice our country exhibited during that war. As I look out today, Doctors and nurses are fighting this pandemic. Volunteers by the thousands are handing out food and meals and I see in them that same spirit of World War II. But then I look towards Washington and our leaders and all of that goodness is overshadowed, by greedy power grabbing politicians on both sides of the aisle. They should all have to go and stand on that ships deck and apologize to the spirits, of those who gave their lives for our freedom. 

 

I read a book by Tom Brokaw called the Greatest Generation. It should be something all people should read. Because within it he talks about the generation that proceeded World War II. The people who lived through the great depression and coincidently they were the ones who played the biggest part in fighting that war, here at home and abroad. It talks about the sacrifices they made for the good of this country. I was born in 1941 and the Great One was the generation that proceeded my generation. But their ideals were still apparent in my generation and we did subscribe to them. But over the years there has been a steady erosion of those ideals and principals and it shows. It should not take a World War to bring people together.

 

My generation is growing old and tired and what we want for this country is not going to benefit us. It’s for our kids and grandchildren that we worry. We take some blame for what has happened because in effect we allowed it to happen. I have in my yard an old apple tree that once was full of fruit year after year. But then about ten years ago it started producing less and less fruit. It still knew how; it was just worn out and at the end of its useful life. Next spring, I will cut it down and right next to it I have already planted its replacement. This year it had its first apples and its future looks bright. Maybe that’s where I am today in my own personal life. I still remember what goodness and love for America was all about but it’s time to step aside. It’s time for a new show in town. One that is progressive without being overly redundant about the past. A lot of the answers are already here. At least it’s a good place to start.

 

 

 

 

 

   

THEN THERE WAS ANDREA

  

Since we bought our place in Crosslake back in 1987, we have had quite a few different neighbors. They were all good people in their own way but like all things, some were better than others. A couple of them pretty much stayed to themselves and early on, one widowed lady and my wife became such good friends that after she moved away, my wife seemed to not want to take that risk of having another friend leave her, so maybe it was her way of just being gun shy. That was in the house to the west of our place. 

 

To the east of our place were a couple we got to know quite well and they were there for a long time. We took some trips together and seemed to get along well but eventually they too moved, although my wife had passed away at the time. My wife and this couple liked to go to casinos so she had that in common with them. Me not so much. My thoughts on gambling were. Why not just send them the money and save the gasoline?

 

Back to the house to the west. A man and his wife bought the house about twenty years ago and tore it down and built a beautiful house on the property. Then he too passed away but the family still owns the house. The matriarch of the family and I only call her that because she does fit the part, comes up from time to time but old age, her friends and her home in the cities seems to take up most of her time. There were four boys in the family who seldom come and so that leaves Andrea. She comes up when the ice goes out and goes in the late fall as do I. Andrea-- and I hope she forgives me for this-- is just south of 50. I’m just south of 80. She is as young at heart as very few women her age are and she just loves life up here.

 

Andrea will sit on top of her boat house for hours at twilight, with her camera, looking for that perfect sunset. She loves to go in her boat to the river with her music and soak up Mother Nature. She has a little dog named Brutus who is joined at the hip with her and maybe that’s all of the dependents she really wants. She has a small business and makes jewelry and crafts she sells at shows and in some stores. She has earned the title of an artist. My bedroom window faces her work area and at night when I go to bed, I see her bent over her table creating. She’s a night owl at heart and almost nocturnal and you seldom see her before 11 in the morning.

 

What I’m really trying to tell you about Andrea is what she means to me. This was the summer from hell when it came to having company because of the virus. So, Andrea and I would sit on my porch and talk for hours. We were two lonely ships that almost passed in the night but then said-- “We need to be friends.” I am her fixit man and she is my watch dog, keeping me off ladders and out of places I don’t belong in at my age. My children, who are all older than Andrea, know she is here for me, living by myself and that helps them not worry about me. I once read a book called Tuesdays with Morrie. It was about a young man, a student, and an old man, his college professor and the rekindled relationship they enjoyed in the fading days of the old man’s life. Maybe in a roundabout way that’s where Andrea and I are. An old writer giving his memories and what he perceives as his wisdom, to a young in heart and spirit lady, who is such a good listener.

 

IS THIS OUR EPITAPH

 

While you are reading this Pat and I will be back in Arizona for the winter. For me this was the summer that was never was, living in fear of a flu that would not be kind to us and the hate that is tearing our country apart. I have never left for down south with as much trepidation as I have this year. I have never been sadder about the current shape of our country. Both fiscally and morally. The gloves came off in the last election and I’m not sure they will ever go on again. I think truthfully, we have forgotten how-to live-in peace. 

 

We both know the isolation that made life so lonely this summer in Minnesota, will have to continue down there in Arizona, as there is no running away from this pandemic. It will mean some subdued Holidays, as we will be estranged from most of our families. Last weekend we both said goodbye to our up-north family’s. Goodbyes have taken on a whole new meaning. There was a time when it meant goodbye for now, but now, one is not so sure what that goodbye means. We can only hope and pray.

 

In the animal kingdom the older ones know how much more vulnerable they are to danger. The senses they once used to warn them of danger have grown old and weak. The legs that outran the fastest foe have been hobbled. Their immune systems are weaker and disease and climate have taken their toll. Their future is bleak. We as humans have long recognized our waning bodies and reached out to loved ones for support. But now those very same people who helped us in the past, have become a liability, as their active lives expose them to the very disease’s we have to avoid.

 

So, we sit back and we reminisce. We think of the days when politicians would put their minds together and despite their party affiliations, come up with answers to our country’s problems. The greatest leaders we have in this country today, want nothing to do with politics. They know that to win they need to play the game and the game is rigged and they too will be marionettes with someone else behind the scenes, pulling the strings. We once held our leaders to a higher standard back then but then somewhere along the way we dumbed down that standard and we put up with the lies and corruption and at election time, we settled for the lesser of two evils.  We think of how we loved our grandparents and took them into our homes when they no longer could care for themselves. A place where they could still be part of a family instead of sitting in a chair looking out at the front door of a care center, hoping the next person coming in is someone they know. None of this will ever change now because it’s not possible with the life styles we now embrace. Materialism and power now rule the world, not sensitivity.

 

We also know that the time to change any of this has passed and although we once embraced this long gone life style, we are the ones responsible for allowing it to slip away. We are like swimmers who swam out farther then their ability to make it back to shore. It was on our watch that this change happened. It was on our watch that our waters became too polluted to drink and the air unfit to breath. When rules, discipline and morality ceased to exist. We can only be happy for the good life we once had and yet sad for what little we have left our grandchildren.

THE SANCTITY OF LIFE

 

If I asked you what is the most precious thing you have, what would be your answer? Would it be your family or your possessions or your health? I think they are all important but to be fair if you die, so does all three of them with you. Your absence of health and your subsequent death, separates you from everything else and one truth remains self-evident. You can’t take it with you. You can only enjoy it while you’re still alive.

 

Now there are those that say, “Hey what about my faith? That’s important to me. They have a point but your faith is a belief in a life beyond this life and yes you have to earn it but just to simplify things for the sake of argument, what I am talking about is the here and now. 

 

The older I get, and I am about to enter my octogenarian years, the more I realize how precious this thing we call life really is. You see so many friends and family, that are ending their earthly journey and you kind of get the feeling that someone is following you and how long can you stay one step ahead. You have known for years that there are things that can hasten your demise. Smoking, drinking to excess, drugs and other reckless behavior. Your own D.N.A. may say you’re predisposed to certain things and you need to be aware of that. I once talked to a man who was in his mid-forties who told me he was one of five boys in his family. All of them died in their forties from heart disease and although he said, “He was feeling good right now, he wasn’t feeling good about his future.” I couldn’t help but notice the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

 

Now everyday people are taken from us just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. One minute earlier and that wrong-way driver would not have hit them. If they had stayed in the house instead of going outside during that thunderstorm to get the dog, lightning would not have hit them. Bridges have collapsed, trees have fallen on cars and people have been caught in the middle of a shootout. Yes, nothing could have been done about it. But it is still tragic. You can’t quantify life, yet people try.

 

Right now, we are caught up in a great controversy about all of the people that are dying in the pandemic. Some have gone so far as to say it’s just a bunch of old people. It’s almost as if they feel, like in the animal kingdom, were culling the herd. Others point to underlying conditions and say if they weren’t diabetic or hadn’t had lupus they won’t be gone. I say if they hadn’t caught Covid, they wouldn’t be gone either. People lived long and fruitful lives around many chronic diseases. Franklin Roosevelt ran this country for a dozen years and took us through a great world war and all from a wheel chair. Life is always precious. And some of the world’s greatest minds don’t have a body to match.

 

If there was one thing the Fire Service taught me it was the sanctity of life. You can’t categorially put people’s rights to live, with what they have to offer society. As firefighters we fought as hard to save grandma, as we did a teenager. There could be no distinction, they were all people who had a right to live. Sometimes events like this pandemic, make some people show their real colors.

 

 

 

 

 

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS.

                                                 HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS.

 

I remember a day, 60 years ago, when it became apparent to me that it was time to leave my parents home and fend for myself. We lived on the edge of a small town in Central Minnesota and I was going to the big city to make my mark. I remember a day, a few days before it was time to leave, when I went to the woods not far from home one last time. There was a place there by a small stream where I often went to think and I knew I was leaving it behind me. I knew that day, that leaving wasn’t something I wanted to do, it was something I had to do.

 

For me, nature is an aphrodisiac. For many its music, money or drugs and alcohol but for me it’s simply nature and the world around me where I’m in my element. After I moved to Minneapolis for work, I lived in the outskirts of the suburbs. It was a short walk to the woods and a meandering little creek that for the time being was still untouched by the developers. Oh, you had to tune out the traffic noise from the freeways, not that far away, but that wasn’t hard to do. When I wasn’t working, I went there often; found a tree to lean against by the creek and just tuned out everything else. Somehow it was similar to the place I had gone too in my adolescence. Similar yes, but not the same.

 

Then things got more serious with work and a family and I had little time to spare for nature. But the desire to be there in nature never left me. That went on for thirty years. Retirement was slowly becoming a reality and not so much a dream anymore. Then with my wife’s blessing I found a little piece of property on a quiet lake and I thought to myself, “I’m back. Back where I belong. Back up north where I came from and I am so blessed.”

 

It’s been over thirty-five years since we came to Crosslake. A lot has changed for me but not my love of this place. When my wife died nine years ago my first inclination was to move away but that was just the grief talking. Then I heard a voice that said, “You can’t run way from your past.” Yes, you lost the love of your life but don’t lose the reason you came here in the first place.” Then Pat came into my life and along with her came some semblance of sensibility back to me again. At first, I quit thinking about moving away because of her, but as time went on, I realized it wasn’t just her that was keeping me here. It was this place.

 

I love to watch documentaries about this planet and the place we call home. It seems absurd to me that NASA is planning trips to other planets, that they know are barren rock, void of any meaningful way to survive. At the same time, leaving behind the most beautiful place known to the universe. I have traveled a lot over the years and seen a great deal of this great country. Places equally as beautiful as home-- but yet-- not home. because home is where your memories lie. Home is always where your heart is. Pat and I travel south for the winter because of old age and the troubles associated with winter and getting around in the ice and snow. Were always happy to get there but only because we love to be outside and not cooped up. Then comes spring to the northland and we are far more excited to get back here, then when we left. I think we both realize that the day will come when the trip will be too troublesome but that’s alright. If you have to be stuck someplace-- who could ask for a better place then this. 

OLD LOVE

  

Every once in a while, we hear stories of two old people, who once knew each other, finding each other again in the twilight of their lives. Maybe they were classmates or grew up together; maybe they once dated and it didn’t work out. Sometimes, they had married, raised children, and either lost their spouses or had marriages that just never worked out. No matter the circumstances, their paths crossed once more; something from the past rang a tiny bell and an old love that simmered, but never died, comes around again. Like a hot coal that lies unnoticed in the ashes of a bonfire, a spark gets struck once more and love is rekindled. These are the Cinderella stories that often bring a smile to our faces.

 

But all too often that’s not the case, and those same two lonely old single people sit in their homes, not knowing what to do. They’re torn between an old love that no longer exists, or being hurt once, they’re now gun shy. They remember the loved ones they spent so many years together with. They wonder what people will think if they try and turn a page and wring out what little happiness that may still be there in their hearts and souls—if only they could find someone to share their dwindling days with. They’re tired of cooking a special meal and being the only one at the table; tired of planting flowers no one will see; tired of dressing up with no one to impress and nowhere to go. Mostly though, they’re tired of not having anyone to love and care for. From the Movie A Love Story came the quote, “Love is never having to say you’re sorry.” I think back to my life with my wife and if there is one thing that will always bother me, it is the times, I hurt her and never said I was sorry. Apologies are a way of healing. Healing allows you to move on, hopefully wiser for your bad experience. Healing is a lot like a scab on a wound. It takes a while but eventually it falls off and is forgotten.  It’s then that you move on. My wife once bought me a Valentine’s Day card that had a musical device in it that played the theme song from “A Love Story.” I kept it in my night stand and every year on that day I would open it and listen to it again. Then the year after she passed, I opened it and the battery was dead.

 

I like to think of old love as a more perfect love than young love. For many of us, we have so many of life’s memories and lessons to share with someone else. We’re not dead yet, and we still have a few things left on the bucket list. We once knew love in a different time and a different place, and now we recognize it again, rearing its head and beckoning to us. We’re not as foolish and ignorant about the subject as we were back then—when we jumped in with both feet.  In our old age, we’re not being driven by roaring glands and foolish dreams that young love can sometimes have.  So, this time, we put just our toes in the water. We find the pond warm and welcoming. We find it as a place where we learn to laugh and love all over again. We find ourselves so much more patient and conciliatory than we used to be. We realize we’re not starting over. We’re just writing the epilog and maybe, just maybe, if we let it-- it will be the best part of our story.

IT'S GOING TO BE A WHILE

                                                           

I had a friend who referred to herself as sundowner. Often a term that is used for dementia patients who become more nervous, agitated and confused as the day draws to a close. But for those who haven’t been diagnosed with memory problems the term can still apply. My late wife had such fears and sadness at the sunset. She didn’t like the darkness and her mood would darken, right along with the sunset. I haven’t had that experience myself, for I must admit that night time for me, gives me a time to wind down and recoup my energy and relax my mind. I look forward to a quiet evening and a good night rest.

 

There is however something that does alter my mood and cause me anxiety and its not the end of the day or a month. It’s the end of a season. You see I have always been a spring and summer person. Spring, because it’s kind of a reincarnation of mother earth- and summer well, because its summer- and here in Minnesota in the land of all the lakes it doesn’t get any better than that. I’m not going to write about spring, we will save that for actual spring but I am going to talk about the end of summer.

 

Ironically its because the sun shines as much as it hides away that summer happens. So many things that depend on summer weather and soft warm breezes happen because of and in the summer season. Our society to some existent builds its most active schedule around the summer months. Weddings, family get -togethers, vacations at the lake and road trips to name a few. It’s the time when mother nature’s babies are born and raised. Schools are out and leisure living is at its best.

 

Then the days grow short and the leaves change colors. The gardens are empty, the flowers have all gone away. The crops are harvested and the kids go back to school. It gets dark earlier and light later and you find yourself wearing extra layers to ward off the cold. Oh, there are some things that are unique. The colors of the leaves for one and for some, the hunt is on. The bugs are dead and the lawnmowing stops. But it’s all so short lived, for in a matter of weeks a cold wind, rain and a stiff breeze takes all the leaves back down to earth to become a soddened mess. The hunt is over, the screens come down and the windows close and your home goes from a gathering place to a much-needed shelter.

 

There are few select people who find some good in the winter months. Those healthy enough to take the cold and play in the snow or plow the snow. I once did that too. I ice fished and snowmobiled, cross country skied and yes there is a certain amount of monotony that can creep in with 80 degrees and sunny every day but not so much with twenty below and cloudy. We’re Minnesotans we say and we brag about our macho survival skills but in the end when there’s no one looking, we shiver and shake like everyone else and wait for summer. I have told people in Arizona what it’s like in January here and they just shake their heads and say why?  

 

To those who are sundowners the new day dawns within hours and things will be all better again. To those who are summer people. It’s going to be a while.

THOSE FALLING LEAVES

                                               

Today as I write, it’s a beautiful Indian summer day and a few lonely oak leaves float lazily down from their lofty perches, and settle into the many puddles of leaves that are starting to dot my lawn. For me, they are reminiscent of many things in my own life, but none so strong as the fact that they are in their death spiral; their job is done, and now they rest. For the summer months they were vibrant, full of green color, and part of a vast family of leaves that formed the canopies of the trees that shaded my house and rustled quietly in the summer breezes. They had a purpose, a place in nature, and a job to do—but now they are relegated to shriveling up and returning to the very earth they came from, their life cycle complete.

 

Our own lives are somewhat the same, but much more complex, because even when we are gone our accomplishments will live on, and hopefully, we won’t go to our end in someone’s mulch pile. We have this uncanny persona to influence other people who will, in turn, emulate our character, and hopefully, enrich this world and make it a better place. Each year the tree starts with new buds, void of any kind of personality, and they only do what their predecessors have done over and over again, until at last the tree dies and they with it. Each leaf is its own entity and has no dependence on the others. But in our lives, we build on the accomplishments of those who have gone before us, and those who surround us. We don’t have to start from square one, when we begin, because someone else has already done the work for us and left those indelible imprints in our minds and hearts.

 

All the leaves of the trees perform pretty much the same chore for their host, the tree. But our lives are so different, and a cornucopia of different talents, abilities and aspirations, and when we blend them together with others, we have this homogenous result, forming a more perfect union for all of us. I often think, “What would my life have been like without my parents’ influence and their effect on my development…without my beloved wife, who steered me in the right direction and propped me up when I was falling, and then gave me wings to go places I never dreamed of going.” I didn’t want to be like a leaf; I wanted to have some sort of legacy when my life was done, and with her help and the help of others, it has come to fruition, but history will be my judge, not I. 

 

Sometimes at night, when I miss her the most, I think of the words of Nat King Cole who sang so beautifully, “And now the purple dusk of twilight time, steals across the meadows of my heart. High up in the sky the little stars climb, always reminding me that we’re apart.” Music has always been my crutch. I have always felt that it’s such a shame that too many of us die with most of our music still inside of us. “Though I dream in vain. In my heart it will remain. My stardust melody of love’s refrain.”  When I think of her and so many others, I don’t want to cry because it’s over; I want to smile because it happened. 

 

Wow! To think. All of that came from a few leaves drifting by my window. Life is good in Mike’s meandering mind.

  

 

  

WHAT HAS CHANGED

                                              

It is probably early October when you are reading this but it is 9/11/ 2020 as I write it. It was a day 19 years ago when this nation was attacked by radicals that were nothing more than cold blooded, calculated killers. Cowards who neither had the means nor the skills to attack those they hated the most, so instead they killed the innocent, the pawns in the war on terror, to try and strike fear into the hearts of the American people. They failed miserably because if there was one day in the last twenty years when the American people never felt closer to each other-- it was that day. But that closeness never lasted.

 

As a writer I wish I could find the words that describe the depths of grief and loss that came with the people that lost their lives’ that day. The children who lost their mom’s or dad’s. The sons and daughters, friends and neighbors, wives and husbands who never came home that night. I wish I could write descriptive words that would paint you the picture but I can’t because the words to adequately describe that kind of grief, have never been written and I know of no one capable of doing that. The depth, the scope of it all, well it’s unimaginable. 2,135 civilians, 372 non-citizens and 343 New York City firefighters and many more police and paramedics. Then there were many more deaths at the Pentagon and Shanksville to compound the grief.

 

Today a new tower stands where the twin towers stood, a testament to the resilience of the people of that city. The memorial to the fallen there has been visited by millions. The prayers that have been uttered and the tears that have fallen on that hallowed ground probably dwarf any other memorial response in this land. One would hope that this was the day that changed America. But the organization that sponsored that deadly day still exists and is active 19 years later and there seems to be little we can do about it.

 

Yet today, we are in the midst of a pandemic that dwarfs the list of fallen on 9/11 and the death toll is climbing. Still for many their cry is, “Party on.” In California the state is burning and thousands are losing their homes. As of this morning six more storms are winding their way across the Atlantic towards the homeland. Almost every state is in some kind of financial difficulty and the National Debt-- well there is no hope of ever paying it off. The war on drugs is a dismal failure after spending well over a trillion dollars to stop it. People have no jobs. This is just the highlights. I no longer watch the news because I don’t need the daily reminders of how bad things are. I know full well that ignorance doesn’t stop anything. It’s just too painful to see.

 

I meet with my old friends each week to share our thoughts and concerns and although we run the gambit of different political beliefs and different faiths, we have one big thing in common. Our love and concern for each other and our friends and families. Our bodies are filled with arthritic pain and our minds don’t operate the way they used too. We all remember a better time and a better place. We all remember loved ones, who have gone on before us and we accept that and live around the holes in our hearts. Yet, outside of our precious memories we live in the moment because we know the next moment is not guaranteed. We have found some semblance of companionship at this level. At least at this level and in this brief moment, we have driven hate and fear away. Until this world learns to heal and do that, we will all suffer on.

WHAT TO WRITE

 

As a writer I used to sometimes search for topics that I thought would peak the interest of my readers. I would steer away from controversial topics or areas that seemed to be too much opinion and not enough facts but now, we have entered an era when even the facts don’t matter. As for politics, as a centrist myself with friends on both side of the aisle I recognized it was hard to get into those topics without alienating people I cared for and I have in the past found out, that was to often the case. So, it was just best to avoid those subjects. But in today’s world and todays political climate, that doesn’t leave much room for anything else.

 

I used to remember clergy talking about the end times and how the bible said that a time would come when brothers would be pitted against brothers. I am sure in the Bible the word brother was used in the context of more than just your physically related brothers and was meant to include sisters, family, friends and neighbors. I would look at those around me and say to myself could I ever forsake a friendship for the sake of a political issue? We have always disagreed about things and we have always agreed to disagree but the other day I read a piece that called that practice a cop out. That, that approach was no longer acceptable to the party faithful. That the only thing in the middle of the road was yellow lines and dead animals. “Take a stand,” it said or get the hell away from me. That same clergy I talked about at the start of this paragraph would often tell us from the pulpit “That wasn’t right” and that was okay coming from them, because it was called righteous condemnation. Instead we took it and turned it into righteous indignation to sooth our inflated egos.

 

I know it’s close to the election and things are very contentious. I remember a time when elections were held and then it would be three years later before the contentious topics raised their ugly heads again. A day when politicians weren’t running for reelection the day after the election and at least for a short while, they went to work for the people. We could once again talk over the fence about the weather, our health and work, our family’s.

 

I love history and read it often, the good the bad and the ugly. I would sometimes read accounts of dictators who murdered their dissenters and I would say to myself who can do that? Who can kill innocent people? Most of the time I found out it wasn’t the dictators themselves who did the grizzly deeds but people they appointed to do that. Then the question was raised in my mind what drives the people who worked for those dictators to do that? There were so many answers but the one that toped my list was fear. Fear of what would happen to them and their families.  Look around us today and you will find politicians who aren’t talking about what they want to accomplish f they win. They are only talking about what is going to happen to you if they don’t. That’s called fear mongering and it works. I want to say that’s not ethical but what is ethical nowadays.

 

It's Sunday morning and I’m missing my church. I go not so often to ask for favors but to be grateful for the life I have enjoyed. I long ago recognized where goodness came from and it wasn’t from Washington. To those of you who have no faith I ask, “Who are you grateful to?”

SO UNFAIR

 

Many years ago, I went to the funeral of a fallen firefighter from a neighboring city. The response was so overwhelming that the church was filled to overcapacity and they lined up outside on the sidewalks. At the conclusion of the service, the man’s body was hoisted up by his fellow firefighters, and placed on the back of the engine. His last ride. The procession of emergency vehicles that day stretched as far as the eye could see. The funeral was in a northern suburb and the procession made its way south to Fort Snelling for the burial, as the man was also a veteran. It was a cold and blustery winter day but as we made our way down the freeways, on every overpass stood a contingent of firefighters at attention beside their apparatus. This went on for miles upon miles. This man was a young man with kids and a wife and he had everything to live for. I am sure he never dreamt it would end this way.

 

I contrast this with the people who are passing away from the virus and truthfully almost anything else right now. All of them are somebody’s daughter, son, sister, brother, father or mother or simply a good friend. Silently and almost unceremoniously they are committed to the earth, nearly alone. Their lives ending with little fanfare. They will never receive the public recognition they deserved, for a life well lived and all of those who knew them will never get to say a proper goodbye. Most of them too, I am sure, never dreamt it would end this way. They-- in the words of the poet Robert Frost, “Had promises to keep and miles to go before they sleep.” Their family’s want to scream stop. Do you know who this was? Do you know what he/she accomplished in their life? Do you really understand what they meant to us who are left behind to mourn?

 

 I am no stranger to death. We, as firefighters always tried to show as much dignity as we could when we were called to those scenes. Now, today, bodies are being lifted into refrigerated trucks by a forklift until they can be processed. Instead of a name they have become a number. Goodbyes seem to have been relegated only to the hearts of those close to them. Friends and neighbors are left forgotten. They will soon slip into anonymity and their stories will never be told. I don’t think many of us ever dreamed that there would be a time like this in our country. A time when death became so common place, there was little time left to deal with it or dwell on it.

 

As tragic as the death of that young firefighter was so many years ago, he was given that hero’s funeral he deserved. It doesn’t soften deaths sting or make death any easier but he will long be remembered for not only the way he lived but also for the way he died. So many of the deaths today of victims of the pandemic are not being remembered for the way they lived but more so only for the way they died and that is tragic.

 

I hope that someday when this is all over, that an annual day of recognition will be set aside for all the victims of the pandemic and they will have their day in the sun. That not only will the roll be called up yonder, but it will also be called right here on Mother Earth. Lest we forget and may all the victims rest in peace.

WHERE WE ARE WITH IT.

  

 

I mowed the grass this morning and there they were, the first telltale signs of the impending fall. Several dead leaves laid on the lawn and they weren’t from storm damage. It’s only the third week of the month of August I thought to myself and here we are mired in the dog days of what many believe is the last full month of summer. There have been other signs of the end of summer like acorns in the driveway and the ripened choke cherries. Sumac getting red. Except for the tomatoes, most of the garden is done and at night it’s now dark at eight thirty. But these are seasonal things I have grown to except and respect. There is nothing on Gods green earth we can do to alter that. When I was a young man summers just came and went and I never thought much of it. But, as I have now become a tired old senior citizen, I realize that those summer hiatuses I love are limited and I need to make the most of each and every one. 

 

This year though, the pandemic came along and the best laid plans went out the window. The lists of do’s and don’ts I had learned, had far more don’ts then dos. My somewhat carefully structured life became confused and unhinged. Change come’s hard at my age. Some of it may be stubbornness because of what I had enjoyed and had been enjoying was tried and true but part of it is, I just didn’t have the time or desire to try new ways to live my life. I had never thought what would it be like to not hug my family and friends. Worship the way, I had for fifty years. I wanted to shop in the stores without masks and temperature checks. I wanted to have company and laugh around the campfire. Yes, it was a whole new world. There seemed to be so much confusion in the world and yet so many different opinions of how to act and even out right mutiny from some. Seemingly there was no one in charge. Every state, every county and city had their own program. It seemed to me to be a recipe for disaster.

 

When you think about it, eventually out of these disasters and calamities that we didn’t expect, come those whose words sooth the masses. Right or wrong these leaders try to gather the best minds and the best information and pass it on to the population. Their only agenda is to ease the suffering. Criticism seems to be in short supply for those who try their best to rectifie a situation and are honest about it, no matter the outcome. Prudent people realize that all of the answers aren’t always there and there may not even be one. But when you do take a wrong path the best route forward is to take a step back and then never giving up, go forward again. But when you refuse to admit you were wrong and continue on the same wrong course it would seem that at some point the truth catches up with the wrong doings and then things are a whole lot worse for everyone. So even though the summer I so revered, became compromised by a pandemic and the politics it spawned, I need to hold out hope for a better one next year. A hope that a lesson will be learned from the mess that was made. That we will hold dear the memories of those who were lost and resolve to be better prepared for the next time this happens-- as it will. These aren’t really changes. Those choices have always been with us. We have always had rights and wrongs and politics. As Thomas Pain said, “These are the times that try mans souls.” I really believe he meant these are the times that test man’s souls, to make better choices between right and wrong.

MY GOLDEN POND

                                                         

 

It was many years ago. 1981 to be exact, when Katherine Hepburn and Henry Fonda made a movie called, “On Golden Pond.” I was intrigued by the movie for a couple of reasons. Number one was Norman Thayer, alias Henry Fonda who played a part I loved so much. That of a cantankerous old man, living with a conciliatory wife on a small lake in the wilderness. For some reason I wanted to be that way when I got old and maybe I have. I always got a kick out of grumpy old men like Walter Mattheu or maybe a Red Foreman or Archie Bunker. Maybe it was because my father was often that way. He was the king of the one-liners and those one-word answers, which when it involved me was often just a “no.” He wasn’t that mean but he would threaten a little whoop ass if things came to that. At least you knew where you stood with him and I never challenged him. My step Mother was that conciliatory woman who rarely let her feathers get ruffled. Yeah, those two, they played those parts to a tee.

 

But what intrigued me the most in that movie was that old log cabin and that little lake they called their ‘Golden Pond.’ Three years later, after the movie came out, my wife and I found such a place and it wasn’t a log cabin it was a trailer house and it wasn’t a pond but a small lake. Never the less, the idea had been hatched and I made a sign that said “Our Golden Pond” and hung it right outside the back door. Today there is a modern home in its place but sometimes I wish for that old trailer back. It was just a simpler life then I have now. As I look around me tonight, I can feel her presence in the house she designed and from the mailbox out by the road, to the lakeshore out front, it seems to me like I’m on almost hallowed ground.

 

My neighbor lady, likes to sit out on top of her boat house at night with her camera and wait for the exact moment the sun has set just enough to be gone, but still shining enough to be at the right angle to color those clouds in crimson and yellow hues that enhance their beauty. They in turn seem to reflect that picture right back off the surface of the water like some eerie oil painting that only a Michelangelo could do justice too. Along with all this comes the mirrored images of the bluffs across the lake, also reflecting off the water in the waning light. This is for me so indicative of my own diminishing life cycle, that I can’t help but take it personally sometimes. Throw in the cry of a loon and the soft kiss of the water on the sandy shore line and you have peacefulness personified, right here on my own Golden Pond. 

 

I have through the generosity of my friend and his luxurious pontoon, spent hours on the chain of lakes just drifting by the homes that ring them. I often wondered what it would be like if we could stop at the ends of their docks and meet people and say tell me about your life here. Your kids, your grandkids and great grandkids and maybe your parents or grandparents that settled here, back when the shorelines were dotted with simple cabins and not that many mansions. It was a time when the evening silence was not punctuated with the roar of wave runners and speed boats but just flickering campfires, reflected in the bright wet eyes of children roasting the perfect smores. The old people sitting with their coffee cups, trapped in their Adirondack chairs holding hands and feeling like I do tonight. Here on my Golden Pond.    

 

SUMMER OF 2020

                                                                                             

 

It seems like only yesterday that I turned into my driveway, the culmination of an eighteen-hundred-mile journey from Arizona, where we had spent the winter. Now back home in Minnesota, the pandemic was on and I knew that things were going to be different. I guess I never thought it would be this different. I am part of that segment of the population that has had to respect the safeguards that have been put in place because of health issues and I’ve tried but it isn’t easy. But it wasn’t just the pandemic proving to be different this summer. There was racial turmoil, riots and a bitter election that was pitting us against each other. In many cases what was simply a disagreement before, was no longer just simmering heat under the surface; someone’s turned the burners up.

 

There were so many things that I used to enjoy at the lake come summer. Grandkids and family get togethers. Suppers out with my friends and our families at one of the many restaurants. Even hugs and tender moments, all put on hold. There was church and all of the activities that went with it. Fishing with my son and grandsons. Yes, what had once been unbridled fun, was now fun with an asterisk. The virus was always, seemingly, just lurking around the corner.

 

It’s August 2, 2020 and every other word seems to be Covid 19. What was once In New York and then Florida, Texas, Arizona and California moved. We had for a while largely been spared here in God’s country. But then the dam broke and now the clock is closer to midnight. Reports of friends dying with it and business being closed down. I am sure there will be an epilogue to this story. Just not sure when or where or how.

 

There have been good and bad stories. People volunteering by the thousands not only their time but often their money. Doing what they could to make things better for the less fortunate. Then there were the dissenters. Someone was stepping on their precious rights they said but in reality, it was just a matter of playing follow the leader with their party of choice. After all they couldn’t be a hypocrite. Their tone softened as the causality count rose and the leadership morphed into admitting that caution was a better choice. But a lot of damage and heartache had already been done.

 

Then there were the people that wouldn’t give up their social life. “Close the churches if you have to but not the bars.” One whole summer of not saddling up to the bar was a bridge to far for them. They were strong and they were tough and the virus was no match for them and for the most part maybe they were right but I said for the most part and not all were strong enough. Even if they survived, they had compromised their health to the point, of never being the same and unwittingly they took some of the most vulnerable down with them.

 

But that’s life isn’t it. There are those who live their lives as if everyone’s lives are just as important as theirs. Then there are those who live their lives as if theirs is the only one that matters. Who is who? I’ll let you be the judge of that.

 

 

I DREAMED A DREAM

                                                            

I have always been a dreamer of sorts and for me there has always been two kinds of dreams. Conscious ones and unconscious ones. The ones that come at night, although involuntary, can be scary or unnerving but sometimes if you remember them when you awake, there can be a hidden message in them. Often, it’s something your mind won’t let you forget. As a former first responder, I have a lot of them. We talk a lot about not being able to remember but for me not being able to forget, can be just as big of a problem. However not all nighttime dreams are scary dreams and some of them can be beneficial and happy. In the popular song I dreamed a dream. the lyrics say, “There was a time when men were kind, when their voices were soft and their words inviting.” That’s the kind of dreams a lot of us long for now, because it’s something that seems to be in short supply today. But our dreams are telling us that even though its in short supply now, it once existed in our lives. Your mind is like a computer. It didn’t just dream that stuff up on its own. It once knew it because it was there and you downloaded it.

 

But it’s the daytime dreams that seem to be the most productive ones because we seem to have more control over them. Often, they can be a visionary path to fulfilling your wildest aspirations. Every invention, every work of art, every piece of music, started as someone’s day dream. The longest bridge, the tallest building and the lengthiest tunnel all started in the dark recesses of someone’s mind. That something, that got its start, as maybe only a whimsical dream and then became a serious idea and then finally a reality was made possible by someone who had the idea to dream about it and live that dream. Don’t be afraid to be a little capricious my friends. A teacher once told me to always dream big. “You can always whittle them down if they become unmanageable” he said.

 

So, I ask you if we could sit down and dream about a better world for all of us today what would it look like. What do we need to get rid of and what would we need to get better at? Let’s start with the things the things to get rid of first. Greed and selfishness come to mind and it’s not just money I’m talking about. It’s when someone else’s likes and dislikes become trashed just because you think you know better. We simply have no right to tear someone else’s dreams apart because they don’t align with ours. It’s the height of selfishness. I think often about the dreams that have been silenced by bigots in charge, who refused to see it any other way but theirs. The nicest people I have met in my life were most often the quiet doers who went about their way, undeterred by those who tried their best to squash their dreams. I think how much bigger and better their dreams and the world would have been if they had been left alone. What we need to keep in our lives first and foremost is love and understanding. Greed and selfishness beget anger and an evil uncompromising attitude. Love and understanding begets empathy and a path to working through our biggest problems.

 

Back to the song I dreamed a dream and the words of the songwriter. “There was time when love was blind and the world was a song. And the song was exciting. There was a time---. Then it all went wrong.

MESSAGE AFTER THE FOURTH

                                                     

When the flu pandemic hit in 1918 there was no waiting it out for a vaccine and no miracle drugs to fight it. You either got it or you didn’t and you either survived it or you didn’t. People however recognized they were being infected from other people and did what they could to avoid getting it and that included, wearing a mask and being quarantined.

Most of the deaths in America occurred in the second of three waves of the disease when people let down their guard down at the end of the first wave and they weren’t quarantined. There was a war going on and our troops carried the disease to other cities in Europe. It then mutated and they brought it back home. There were lessons for us now to be learned from this pandemic, about spreading disease, but apparently either that was too far in the past to bother reading about it or we already know about the lessons and just chose to do our own thing. Those today who refuse to participate in wearing masks, washing hands and distancing themselves from others, are throwing the rest of us under the bus and they don’t care. Their social lives and their image come first. That’s the reality of living in this country right now. 

I am a realist. I deal with the truth and not some pie in the sky hope or rumors that seem to spring up everywhere. I get my information from the writings of scientists and medical people who are in the know and although I’m not always sure the media spins the unvarnished truth, that’s who I have to rely on for getting that information, so it’s not infallible. At any rate I have much more faith in the media then I do in our own government. I have listened to people from both parties and they have politicized this epidemic to fit their campaigns. They don’t care about the truth unless it benefits the party.

If there is one flaw about the United States and its style of governing that sticks out, it is the over confidence that we will overcome whatever befalls us. In the past that has largely been true and it has led to a burying of the truth and a reluctance to talk about or even acknowledge where we went wrong. It comes at us most often in a unrepentive smugness that says we got away with another one. This time however it is a multiprong attack on our way of life that may be tough to recover from. The pandemic has caused us great concern beyond the illness that accompanies it. It has stifled the economy, alienated us from other world countries and caused political turmoil here and around the world. All of this at a time when racial and health care problems that have been kicked down the road for way to long, have boiled to the surface. Couple this with a huge void of leadership from the Whitehouse and we have a perfect storm.

There are counties that so far have weathered the pandemic storm. Their people, far more cooperative then ours, did what was asked of them and it paid off. But that way of life is a bridge to far for our greedy self-centered way of life, so now we suffer. We can let this be the beginning of the end of our country or we can wake up and recognize our failings. It won’t be cured by the present administration or even a new one. It will be cured when we the people resolve to take our country back and do what is right for each other and for our country. Now I ask you to power up your devices and listen to Kate Smiths rendition, of “God Bless America.”

HONESTY

                                                         

Of all of the virtues we can posses, the one that leads my list, is honesty. It is also the one I think has suffered the most in today’s modern world and I have often wondered what went so terribly wrong. When did it become acceptable to out and out lie, and even if you got caught, to never apologize or make amends? I once talked to the spouse of a politician and I told her the thing that was most distasteful for me in today’s political world was the dishonesty that seems to prevail and especially at election time. She seemed to be offended and told me her husband was not dishonest. I believed her, but thought how difficult it must be for him to have to work and associate with so many that are not honest. I hope it never changes him. I really do.

We will never clean up politics until we get this important value back-- and yes--it does go far beyond politics. It’s become a new way of life for far to many people in society. For you see the loss of honesty, means the loss of trust and without trust we cannot coexist or work together. Think of Bernie Madoff, Tom Petters, and Denny Hecker to name a few. Think of the lawyers who said their clients did nothing wrong and the egg they should have had on their face after their client confessed anyway. But there is no shame in this world anymore, It’s just business as usual. We have laws to punish the guilty when they are caught, but we don’t seem to have a moral code anymore that discourages it from happening in the first place, or happening again. We seem to not be appalled by their actions and just go on with our lives. We seem to be a world of aiders and abettors.

My father never had anything that could be called materialistic. He never accomplished anything that will go down in history. He was born and died a poor man financially, but a rich man in honesty and integrity and that was his legacy. In my world he stood head and shoulders above the men I mentioned above. He once sent me a small plaque that talked about our family name and I’m not going to quote it, except for the last few lines. It went something like this. “It was clean the day you took it and a worthy name to bear. When he got from his father there was no dishonor there. So make sure you guard it wisely, for after all is said and done. You’ll be glad the name is spotless, when you give it to your son.” He didn’t just give me his name he gave me a fervent wish from him to keep it clean. I have since given it to my son. I hope he keeps it clean and passes it on.

I have members in my fathers family that broke that trust with dad. I can only hope they are ashamed and clean up their act. It’s never to late for that. I have on the other hand so many friends and family that are honest and forthright. I trust them impeccably and give thanks for their friendship and love. I hope their example is the one we all learn and carry on.

THE LAKE PLACE

                                                          

I guess the cabin seed was always in my mind. I was an up-north boy at heart, living in the big city with a huge void in my life. “We don’t need two places to take of,” she said but always my whining got to her and finally we went to look at property. It was 1984 and the two oldest kids were in college. The youngest was fifteen. Somehow the name Crosslake was fixated in my mind so that’s where we went to look. It became apparent to me in a hurry, that we weren’t the only one’s looking and cheap property, was not a synonym for a lake place near Crosslake.

We settled for one of the smaller lakes off the beaten path and then one day the relator called and said something had just come on the market so we rushed up north. It was a house trailer on a nice lot and the look she gave me was---"I don’t think so.” I had brought my ice auger as it was February and one of her mandates was it had to have sand out front. I drilled and then reached down into the icy water and pulled up a handful of sand. We signed on the dotted line.

A month or so later we came and signed the final papers and got the keys. I was going to be funny and carry her over the threshold but I didn’t have to lift her up as she jumped into my arms when an army of mice scurried out, from under the furniture. We both slept in the car that night. The next day we burned most of the furniture, patched every hole we could find and drove the critters out. But she had quit fighting me, it was now, for her-- a challenge.

Long story short, we used the trailer seasonally for a few years and then made plans for a house. I sent her to the house planer and said, “You plan it.” I wanted nothing to do with it, my love was outside the doors. And she did and she loved it and so did I. It took five years to finish it as we were on a pay as you go plan. Five years of every weekend, vacation and holiday working on the house. Then we retired and moved in. Just in time for the grandkids.

I think the next ten years were the happiest ones of my life. Christmases, Thanksgiving, 4^th of July’s and Memorial days with the grandkids. Deer hunting across the road and snowmobiling. Then the grandkids got older and found new friends and got in sports and the visits became less and less. We bought a motor home and traveled in the winter. Then one day, eleven years after we moved in, she got sick and died and nothing was ever the same again. I spent some time in a self-imposed pity party and then one day I found a new love. We have traveled and gone places I never dreamed of going and are having so much fun together. We share a home in the winter in Arizona but in the summer we both go back to our own lake homes. I’m sure her story before meeting me, is much like mine.

My neighbors grew old and moved away. My new neighbors are wonderful people but my kids are ten years older than they are. Because of the virus this year I am kind of sequestered. My health is okay but it wouldn’t take much to turn it around. This afternoon I sat on the deck and listened to the neighbor kids playing in the water. I love the sound of kids having fun. The speed boats and the wave runners. But somehow my mind keeps drifting back to a time and a place when it was my own grandkids laughing and playing on the shoreline. A time that has come and sadly gone. A time that today, makes me go into my office and write things this.

RIVER OF DOUBT

                                                          

I just finished reading a book called, “THE RIVER OF DOUBT.” The story took place in the jungles of the Amazon, when an expedition led by Theodore Roosevelt, a former President of the United States, tried to navigate the river from close to its source, to where it emptied into the Amazon. No one had ever done it before so there were no maps and to be truthful, they had no idea how long the journey was going to be. It was 1914 so once they had set their canoes adrift, they were no more communications with anyone and no chance of rescue. Their water crafts were crudely made dugout canoes. Malaria and dysentery were widespread amongst the crew of twenty some. It wasn’t a matter of if you were going to get sick but how bad you were going to get sick. The jungle Indians who lived along the river would most likely kill you if they saw you. The heat, humidity and constant rain made conditions deplorable. In short, they had no directions and no chance of help if things got bad,

I have often thought about life’s journey in the context of a meandering river. We have little idea where we are going and what we are going to meet along the way. Like Roosevelt and his men, once we set foot on the journey there is no going back, no do-overs. We don’t know what is ahead and we have to make a lot of it up as we go. We do have one advantage and that is the good examples that have been put out there for us to learn by. That is if we want to listen to them. This journey has been taken before by countless millions of people and they have told their stories time and again. We also have the advantage of a huge support group that will share that knowledge again and again, in case we weren’t paying attention. The longer time goes on the more information is available. In short, we have a multitude of directions.

Great cooks have recipes that they refer to in their cooking. Oh, they may tweak things as they go along but for the most part, they don’t want to ruin what has already been acclaimed to be, good and to the satisfaction of their followers. Change, for the sake of change is not the way they operate. They simply follow the directions that have been time tested true and accepted and reap the accolades.

It makes one wonder, as everyday we set about destroying the world we live in, why is there this rush to get rid of this place. Everyday plant and animal species that called the earth home disappear forever. Yes, because we are here, and in the numbers we are, some of this will happen no matter what we do. But much of it could be slowed down or prevented by mitigating the sources. That same jungle that Roosevelt traveled through is fast disappearing and with it the indigenous tribes that lived there. Within a few decades it probably won’t be fit for any human life to live in anyway.

We have a government that is driven by money. They spend billions in donations to get elected and then they spend billions in return to repay the favors. It matters little who it is or what they stand for. It’s the nature of the game and the only ones who can change it are the people who participate in it. It is a recipe for disaster.

FOURTH OF JULY

                                                          

Well it’s the 4^th of July once more and although the celebrations will be subdued this year, because of the virus, the 4th still is here and must be noted, There are times this year when I feel estranged from my friends and family because of the pandemic but always the loneliness that comes with it pales in comparison to the forced separations our veterans faced as they went off to keep our nation secure. Many of those who participated in World war II, Korea and Vietnam endured separations that stretched on for years. Their kids grew up without them, their spouses suffered great hardships of going it alone. So today we say a collective thank you to all of our veterans for their service and their families for their sacrifices.

What seems so egregious to me is the unappreciative way, we take all of the things, these people fought for, for granted. As a kid growing up there was a patriotic fervor in our society that had so much pride engrained in it. Our 4^thof July celebrations were the highlight of the summer. But as the years have gone by and our governments leaders have used the military for ill gain instead of what it was intended for, that pride has crumbled. Many of you that traveled for the holiday passed the shuttered Legion and V.F.W clubs that no one wanted to support anymore. Left to face the scorn for these military actions are not the Politicians who initiated them but those they sent into harm’s way, for all of the wrong reasons.  Yet, we need to honor these brave people for their loyalty and courage, in spite of their leaders’ mistakes. They did what they were asked to do.

A while back I wrote about the sacrifice our armed forces have made and I asked this rhetorical question to our political leaders. “Were you worthy of that sacrifice?” Many of our leaders did serve themselves but then they came back and got caught up in the politics that rules this country, and it tends to desecrate their service. To them I say, “Your laurels only go so far.” It’s a shame when you let your true colors obliterate your past service. That’s one thing about setting the bar that high with your service, you need to live on or above that bar for the rest of your life and in the end, you will be rewarded by a greater power.

My father -in-law was a proud veteran who spilled his blood on the beaches of Okinawa and then came home to his family and lived his life proud of what he had accomplished. He was a good citizen and a hardworking man, a good father and husband. If I could go sit on the grass over his grave today in the National Cemetery, I would have tears. Not just tears for his loss, but tears for the sacrifices he made, that are being squandered by selfish people that never knew or cared about those sacrifices or him. They care only for politics money and power.

It’s a shame to have to write like this but you can only ignore the elephant in the room so long. That the pandemic has rained on our parade yes, but the pandemic will go away-- but the sins of the past initiated by our leaders in this govenment will not go away. To those of you who served so honorably I salute you my friends. For those who have been laid to rest may you rest in peace assured of a job well done. For those still struggling may you never be forgotten.

POOR WHITE TRASH

I have wanted to write about this for some time but never have I felt it to be more relevant then right now. The controversy over racial disparity in this country is at a boiling point and in a small way I thought I once knew how people of color feel right now, except I’m not black, so really, I don’t know how they feel-- but I do feel something. Their pain. I grew up in a small town in poverty so I knew what it was like to see people look down their noses at you. To be snubbed and left out. But yet when you think about it, I was only a new suit of clothes from fitting in. I didn’t have to change the color of my skin to be excepted

After I graduated from high school I moved to North Minneapolis. I had a decent job so I was able to buy that new suit of clothes. No one knew my past so the prejudices went away. I became one of the white middle class and moved to the suburbs. It was that easy. I wasn’t a champion for civil rights, don’t get me wrong. Live and let live was my mantra. I figured if the poor blacks didn’t like the way they were living they could do the same things as I had done. How little I knew about prejudices that were far more, than what a person had to wear.

A lot of things besides the color of their skin has beset communities of color. Drugs and a lack of a good education probably lead the list. So, you say, “No one made them make those bad choices.” When I was a poor kid growing up-- had the opportunity came along for me to get out of poverty by peddling drugs-- I am not so sure I wouldn’t have. It was a different time and different place. The town I grew up in was a railroad town and as a kid I used to go to the depot and watch the trains come in. The porters and conductors were mostly people of color. It was my first introduction to black people, although I never spoke to them. I did notice, none of them ever drove the train. 

About twelve years ago my wife and I took a trip to Biloxi Mississippi for a vacation. As we traveled the whole state from north to south, I was astonished to see the poverty that existed. Sure, we had poverty in Minnesota too, but ours was just neighborhoods, not miles upon miles of it. Biloxi was a resort town on the gulf. Kind of a gambling mecca and many of the poor blacks that lived in those rundown shacks worked in the casinos and hotels. A few years later hurricane Katrina was to devastate that area. I never felt sorry for the wrecked casinos and their rich owners. Just the loss of jobs and homes for the poor people that worked there. The newspaper accounts never talked much about the people who lost their jobs. Just the loss to the state treasuries who had lost their cash cows. 

Yes, there needs to be change. Change in the hearts and minds of everybody. Change in the police and here’s where the hackles go up. Change in the black communities too. Look at your kids and say “I want better for all of you.” Then tell them how important it is to stay in school and get a good education. Without that education, poverty will still exist and with that poverty will come that sense of hopelessness you have had to endure for centuries. Don’t let them keep you down. Without a good education no one can help you. With a good education you can control your own destiny and I for one will cheer you on.