A TORNADO

With the advent of spring and summer, one thinks of storms and bad weather that seem to be more and more of a problem lately. My thought goes back to a time and a place and the first year I was on the Fire Department. To the the deadly tornados that tore through Fridley and Spring Lake Park. Minnesota. It was May 6^th of 1965 and last year was the 55th anniversary of those storms. I was 24 years old, and not only just a rookie on the department, but an impressionable one at that. 

 

There is s saying, “The calm before the storm.” It’s a calm that is filled with fear and trepidation, of not knowing what’s coming. But there is a “calm after the storm too” and it’s one filled with shock and disbelief, of what just took place. Often there is a feeling of hopelessness, confusion and not knowing, what to do next, except to be thankful you survived. When you are called to help and you look out over an entire neighborhood, absolutely flattened by the winds, and see people walking aimlessly on the debris-filled streets because they don’t know where to go, or what to do next, it’s heart wrenching. Your training tells you one thing, your heart tells you another. Even though you came to help, you’re not sure just what to do. You see an old lady sitting on her cement steps with just a basement hole behind her, where her house once stood. Her eyes fixed and wide open and her face expressionless, deep in shock, holding all she has left. Her cat. I wanted to go to her but you can’t because you’re too busy. You hear the gas lines still hissing, and somewhere in the rubble, a phone is ringing. You hear a scream and uncontrollable sobbing, and you know they found another victim. Before the night was over a second tornado would come through—an hour after the first one. There were 5 or 6 tornados in all, with thirteen fatalities and hundreds who were injured.

 

I went home late that night, not knowing what I would find—there were no cell phones in those days. My brand-new home, on the other side of the river, was only on the outskirts of the storm but it had no siding left on it. It had been stripped by the wind and hail, and there were very few shingles left on the roof. The hail had also wrecked my car. My wife was sitting in the kitchen with the kids in the dark, scared and with tears in her eyes. One of the things about being called out in storms is, you often have to abandon your own family. I told her, “Dry those tears, everything will be fixed” I said, “If I could accurately convey to you what I saw and heard this night, we are the lucky ones, honey, believe me.” Over the next thirty years on the Department there would be many more storms and disasters, but nothing like that night. After that, when we would get called to help at storms, my thoughts would always go back to that May 6th night in Fridley. 

 

The people of the cities, back then, were a resilient people. They rebuilt their homes, patched up their wounded, and sadly, buried their dead. A year later you would never know what happened to them that night. Not unless you were in the storm or were called to help. I would be remiss if I didn’t draw attention to every spouse of fire and police who were called to duty that night or through any emergency like that. At the very time we should be home keeping our family’s safe we are gone and they are left to fend for themselves. They are the heroes, who live in our shadows. 

LIFE AS I KNOW IT

                                                           

 

So, it’s the day before we leave Arizona for Minnesota. This is our fifth winter in Maricopa and leaving is bittersweet. We both feel so blessed to be able to enjoy the best of two worlds the way we do. To escape the harshness of the Minnesota winter and the dreaded heat of the Arizona summer. To be able to come home to receding snow banks, ice going out on the lakes and the new beginning of another summer at the lake. To a happy reunion with loved ones, we left behind five months ago and sad good byes to friend’s neighbors and family members we have left here in the southwest. God willing, we will be back. 

 

I turned 80 this spring and it was a watershed moment for me. Up and until this year the numerals never bothered me. When I retired, I was a healthy sixty, a young seventy and then along came eighty and oh my God, I don’t remember anyone in my family reaching ninety and like Robert Frost, “I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.” I looked it up and Frost didn’t make ninety either. So, what does this say? It says quit playing with the numbers and take each day as it comes. It’s not up to you, my friend. Be cautious, be prudent, be cheerful and thankful and in the end, it will be a life well lived.

 

George Burns the comedian, who by the way lived past a hundred, once sang a song called, “I wish I was eighteen again. “Well to be truthful he didn’t sing he chanted but that’s neither here or there and so back to the song. Do I wish I was eighteen again? Well, if I could offer this caveat, maybe. To be eighteen and know what I know now? It might help me not to make the mistakes I did but yet making those mistakes was all part of the experience so with that in mind I have to say no. There are no shortcuts in life. You take it as it comes and you chew it up and either spit it out if it’s too bitter-- or swallow it, digest it and savor it for the rest of your life.

 

I have known so many people who never made eighty but left their mark on this world all the same. They lived each day to the fullest and never took the next day for granted. On the other hand, I have known people who lived well beyond eighty and although I’m not here to judge them, I always felt they had so much more to offer then they did. Those regrets that can comeback to you, are not easy to live with when you can’t go back to change them.

 

My friend Pat likes to chide me for always having a project going. She wants me to take life easy and as well-meaning as that is, it’s not the way I’m wired. I get so much pleasure out of being useful. I once worked for a man who was well into his eighties and I made the mistake of asking him when he was going to retire. “Probably never,” he said. “I have retired many times but always there was something that kept running inside of me that I couldn’t shut off and I would find myself looking for another project. It’s my feeling that when I run out of projects-- I will run out of life. Is that what you want?”

 

So, I’m back for another summer and my heart is full. I know next week I will go walk my dog down the road and cars will stop and old friends will roll down the window and say “Welcome back” and I will say,” It’s good to be back.”

 

 

 

 

LIVING IN A HIGH TECH WORLD

                                  

As a small boy growing up in a small town my world, seemed to be defined by what I heard from those around me. We had no newspaper or television. We had one phone in the house and mom and dad used it exclusively and sparingly. To call the next town 7 miles away was long distance. To say I wasn’t interested in what went on in the world was true to some extent. My world consisted of my friends, family and this beautiful world around me.

 

Every once in awhile you hear about older people who won’t get in the game when it comes to all of the new electronic devices. To many of them they are confusing, expensive and just something else to worry about. As for me I have tried to play the game but must admit I only know the basics and when trouble comes I’m in trouble. The other day I lost my Internet signal and for all practical purposes I was dead in the water. I called my provider and he told me that my problem was my antiquated equipment and I just needed a new router, which he installed. The signal came back but almost immediately left again. Before I called him back to complain I called my son-in-law and explained the problem and he told me something else to try and bingo, things are working again. Sometimes it just takes a village. A younger village.

 

I go to the doctor the other day and there are probably five of us sitting in the waiting room. I’m staring at the television and the others are all on their phones. The nurse came and called one of them and they replied, “just a minute” and they had to finish typing out their message on their phone while the nurse waited patiently. She was still texting as she walked down the hall. Every public meeting whether it’s church or a P.T.A meeting is preceded by the announcement, “Please turn off or silence your phones.” I have seen people during these events, typing on their muted phone. I can only presume someone needed their help terribly. I have stood at the check out lane in the grocery while someone empties their cart and checks out, all the time talking on their phone, which they then turn around and use to pay the bill electronically. Not criticizing, just stating its what it’s all coming too.

 

When I leave for the winter I used to put my Internet on a vacation hold, until my children and grandchildren, who come in the winter for a weekend at the lake, told me they weren’t coming anymore if there was no Internet. So to save my plants they cared for, and not be an ogre, I turned it back on. I have watched kids texting when they are sitting right next to each other. I have family and friends who never call, they only text. They have abbreviations for most of the words so it takes some imagination to decipher them. We have long ago forgotten how to write cursive and next we will forget how to speak. 

 

At some point in our never ending conflicts with the rest of the world, someone is going to figure out that to render us unable to communicate with each other—is the way to defeat us. So we won’t be able to defend our country and let people know what is going on, they only need to fire one shot and take out a satellite and we will be dead in the water with our phones in our hands. No pun intended.