TPS ON FOOD

                                                           

I watched an hour long show on televisions the other night on nutrition and it seemed to be so ironic, that some of the foods they are now telling you not to eat, were the same ones they were touting as healthy for you ten years ago. They got into trans fats and saturated fats and gluten free and sugar free and when it was all over, if I was to take them seriously, I might just as well have dumped my cupboards out and sat down the floor and sucked on a celery stalk and waited to die. It makes no sense to me to eat greens when the beef that is so full of fat was raised on greens.

 I want to share what I had made for supper yesterday. My homemade bean and ham soup and how bad or good it must be for me. At Christmas we had a ham for supper so I had taken the left over meat and the bone and made homemade bean and ham soup. It has carrots, celery and onions along with the navy beans.  It was my usual recipe, except my friend Al told me to put in a spoon full of baking soda to kill the farts. It doesn’t make it any healthier or tastier; it just makes you more socially accepted the next day. It does nothing for the taste, so feel free to leave it out if you enjoy that sort of thing.  Sorry, no pulling the finger from me today kids.

The beans in my soup are high in fiber, protein and antioxidants whatever that is. So that’s got to be good right. We hate those dang oxidants. My 8^th grade science teacher taught me, that oxidizing was another word for rust. Bad enough the car rusts, we don’t need the old body rusting. The carrots are high in carotenoid’s and my, doesn’t that sound healthy? Even if Bugs Bunny stutters a lot he’s one healthy rabbit and that’s good enough for me. He’s older then most of us. There were onions in the soup and everybody knows onions are just essential to most cooking. Onions have phosphorous, copper and potassium in them and by the way, none of that stuff rusts. Then there was celery. Not sure if celery is a food or not but it was left over and I wanted to get rid of it. Now bean soup needs lots of salt and that’s bad I guess, but people who would eat bean soup without salt would probably be just as delighted with a bowl of snow. Warmed up of course

But-- then there was that dreaded ham, all full of nitrates and carcinogens, fat and salt. Probably double smoked in some dirty old shed using turkey dung for fuel. That hog probably ate slop from grocery store dumpsters and everybody knows that slop was full of cigarette butts and rodent poop, swept off the sidewalk in front of the store. That the guy who lives behind the grocery store dumped his used antifreeze in there along with some dirty diapers. But how can you have ham and bean soup without ham? You can’t. Who knew there was that much flavor from a dumpster? So you win a few, you lose a few.

Now here is another good eating tip. Don’t eat bread with your soup. Bread turns to starch and starch turns to sugar and sugar turns to alcohol. You have a sandwich before bed-- and bingo.—You wake up with a hangover. Who knew?

IT'S A COLD DAY IN CROSSLAKE

                     

It’s a cold day in Crosslake this morning at -22. I walked down to the mailbox and fetched my paper around 7a.m. You could feel the air freezing up the lining of your nose. But beyond that it’s warm in the house, and for the most part, that’s where I intend to stay. Somehow though, I recognize that not everyone is at liberty to just stay in the house—that there are essential services that need attention, and someone is out there doing just that. It’s these people that I write about today.

If you think it’s cold walking 800 feet to fetch your paper, then I take you back sixty years, to a 14-year-old boy that used to deliver the paper every morning. My mother didn’t drive, and my dad was at work. Most likely, the old jalopy my dad drove wouldn’t have started, anyway. I would dress as warm as my clothing would allow, but oftentimes, it meant walking with my back into the wind, my fingers curled into fists inside of the mittens mom had knitted for me. My frozen canvas paper bag banged against my leg with every step. By the time I got home, I would have a red welt on my leg. The scarf over my mouth would become loaded with frozen vapor from my breathing, and I would keep moving it in a circular pattern around my head, looking for a dry spot. I did have a sheepskin coat that was warm, and nothing was warmer than the stocking caps mom made for us. There were times I felt sorry for myself, but then I would think of dad working outside in the railroad yards all day, or mom hanging up wet clothes on outside clotheslines.

It was New Year’s Eve 1965 now, and as firefighters, we were called out to assist another department at a high school that was on fire. It was -31 that night. We had rubber turnout gear that buckled down the front, and steel helmets with cotton liners inside.  We wore leather chopper mitts that were soaked after the first few minutes. The call came in at around midnight, and at daybreak the next morning, the fire was under control. Hoses and engines were frozen in the streets, and Steam Jennies were brought in to thaw the ice and remove them. Ladders were brought back fully extended, too full of ice to operate. You walked around with thirty pounds of ice stuck to your gear. There was a lot of frostbite, but no serious injuries.

I’m sure all of us who grew up and lived in Minnesota have our stories. I have heard the stories of soldiers, in Korea, fighting a war in the ice and snow; mountain climbers in -100 degree wind chills; a relative missing many toes that were lost in a winter walk home from school. I think we have developed a character of survivors here in the northland that much of the nation does not have. As Kelly Clarkson sings, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Most of us older folks have got the stories, but we also have the desire to go where it is warm. No longer tied to a job, we can go out or just stay inside when it’s cold. But here is a shout-out to the lineman who keeps your electricity going, the tow truck driver who crawled under your car to hook a chain, the propane delivery person, public safety, and everyone else ­­­who keeps us safe and moving when it’s bitterly cold.

                       

FRIENDSHIPS

 FRIENDSHIPS

My friend and neighbor, Andrea, sent me a picture the other day that she found in her archives. It was a picture of our two old dogs, Gus and Honey who, like us, were good neighbors. For years they had played together, smelled so many scents, dug so many holes and thought of a world of mischievous things to do. Now, in this picture­­­ with their gray muzzles and arthritic hips, they sat serenely just looking out over the lake like two old matrons. Too tired to play games anymore, and just biding their time.

It was the very lake they had played and frolicked in so many times together. But now it was just the backdrop for a few moments of sitting serenely together. A priceless snapshot, of a moment in time, for sure. They died within a few weeks of each other a few years back. I am sure their lives were made richer by the friendship they enjoyed, the treats they shared, and the love they shared with both of us and each other. Maybe somewhere over that rainbow bridge they have found each other again, if you choose to believe in such a thing. I know Andrea and I do.

I have moved on, as I have had to do many times in my life when I have lost a faithful companion. It hasn’t always been dogs that I lost; sometimes it’s been more significant things, but always, the loss and the sentiments are there. Memories and pictures are such wonderful things to have. My mind is made up of millions of them, and like peeling an onion, I often go back, uncover them and play them over and over again. Yes, the tears come again, but so do the smiles as we find love that is in so many places in our lives. It would be a crying shame, no pun intended, if that shared love, and those fond memories, were left to die from neglect, buried with the objects of our affection.

I think it’s so wonderful, in human nature, that the bonds of love we possess are stretched out, not only to those we should love, meaning each other, but also to God’s creatures that are put here to be our companions. Josh Billing said, “A dog is the only creature on earth that loves you more than they love themselves.” This world would be a far better place, for all of us, if we could find that same unconditional love for each other that dogs give to us. Dogs are many things to many people but they are not hypocrites like man can be. In my moments of sadness I have found it hard to remain sad when a seventy-five pound Labrador crawls into my lap to lick away my tears.

Instead of Gus and Honey in our lives now, for Andrea and me, it’s now Molly and Brutus. The curtain has been reopened and the stage has been reset. For sure they are different doggie personalities, but buddies just the same. Being old myself, I’m not sure who will cry over whose grave this time when the grim reaper comes again. Maybe for me that will be the easy way out, but I’m a realist, so I’ll leave that one to the powers that be. For now, I’m going to take my buddy for a walk or maybe she is taking me—either way, it works for both of us.

                                                                                                Love Mike & Molly

GLOBAL WARMING

Over the years I have been intrigued with the cause and effect of global warming. I have studied carbon footprint and the effects of co2 emissions caused by burning fossil fuels. I have watched with great interest as scientists explain in detail what effect this is going to have on mother earth. But just last week I was made aware of how cows, through their release of methane gas, are contributing to this problem.

As long as we like meat and dairy products, there is little we can do about this—we can’t teach these cows manners.

On my travels around the Untied States I have seen many oil well installations. At night, you can see the flares from these wells as they burn off excess gas that would otherwise be released into the atmosphere. This is the oil companies’ way of not causing harmful gases to pollute our atmosphere. In many cases, the gas is collected, sold, and transported through pipelines to heat our water, homes and to use for cooking. They, in effect, are killing two birds with one stone by extracting oil and capturing the by-products for domestic use. It is not feasible to capture all of it so they burn off the rest.

Back to the cows. I truly believe that necessity is the “mother of invention.” If these ruminants are polluting our earth something must be done about it. I love milk and steak too much to even suggest getting rid of them, but what if there was a way to get rid of the gas. So, I have come up with a methane valve that could be attached to the cow in the appropriate place. This valve would have a detector that would sense the gas and produce a spark that would burn off the gas. Now, to be realistic, I realize that fire in this area has the potential to burn the cow’s tail. So, I have designed a space age heat shield that would protect this appendage from damage. I also realize that from time to time the cow needs to eliminate solid waste so there would be a pressure sensitive spring that would allow the apparatus to swing to the side for this.

Now, being a little bit of a pessimist but more of a realist, and knowing how the American public likes to misuse products meant for other things—wives, this will be labeled for veterinarian use only. It will also be labeled for outdoor use only. We don’t need any barn fires.

I truly believe that the small amount of discomfort this could produce for the cows may teach them to have some manners, and much as we humans try to put a handle on our rude bodily functions, maybe they can control themselves better, too. I’m sure they don’t enjoy what they are doing, but do it out of necessity. I have never heard of a cow asking another cow to “Pull my hoof.” I also think that, on a dark summer night out in the pasture, well, do you remember when you were a kid and you saw the fireflies? It was kind of pretty wasn’t it?

I am not looking for a Noble Peace Prize here; I’m just trying to do my part for global warming. I am looking for investors. Serious inquiries only, to Bovine flatulence.com

THE NEW ME

                                                        

A while back, through the generosity of Pat’s Daughter and son-in-law, we were invited to come to the cities and they would take us to the Guthrie Theater. Now through most of my life I have been kind of a country bumpkin so I was never one to spend a lot of time with the arts. I called them artsy fartsy kinds of people and although that sounds disrespectful, I meant no disrespect. I, in my ignorance, knew nothing of the arts but also in my own stubborn way, ---didn’t care to know either.

For most of my married life, my wife was never that insistent that I expand my horizons and see how the better half lives. Coupled with that was her desire to never spend a lot of money on entertainment. Oh, we went to Disney world and took the grandkids to theme parks. She had coupons. But the trips were far and few between. The highlight of my entertainment life was when the neighbor guy scored two tickets to the 87 World Series and took me along. My wife did not like sports. She couldn’t figure out why they didn’t give all the players a football, so they all had one and would quit fighting over just one. I did see a Neal Diamond concert once with her, obscured somewhat by some pot smokers who were in front of us. At first I was furious about it but I gradually got the giggles and nearly was thrown out singing, “Sweet Caroline.” It won’t have been so bad but Neal was singing “Hello Again” at the time. I did go to a few football games in the Metro Dome with free tickets and my son-in-law. Thank the Good Lord for being born farsighted and not afraid of heights.

Then my life changed and along came Pat. Now she has never complained about my backwards ways but in the end she arranges the entertainment calendar and I always remember my father telling me one thing. “You want to get along-- shut your mouth and go along.” So I think somewhere in her diary she’s been writing that this guy could be a much better catch, if he had a little culture. What do you do if you buy a house and it’s the wrong color? You repaint it. My friends, I am here to tell you, I’m not just being repainted, I’m being remodeled. You got to give her credit, she didn’t have a lot to work with, and she does like football and you got to love that.

So in a few short years, since we have met, I have been to the Chalburg and Tornstrom’s Auditorium. The Franklyn Art Center many times and the Theater at Mystic Lake. I have eaten in the better places around the Brainerd area. I have gone to Rome and saw the sights. I have wiggled my toes in the beaches of Hawaii gone south for the winter and I have loved it. My bucket list has been rewritten and added too many times. I’m on a roll.

Speaking of Bucket Lists. Going to the Guthrie was never on it but now that I have been there and saw “Dickens Christmas Carol,” from center stage and three rows back. Well, I put it on the list during the intermission. Crossed it off when it was over and I’m waiting to go back. I’m feeling good about myself and looking forward to the next adventure my friend can come up with. Life is good.

DECEMBER 26TH

                                                          

It’s the morning after Christmas as I write this; sitting at my desk and gazing out the window. The snow, which started during the night, continues to drift down and it has bleached all of the color out of my little world and now there is only a photonegative resemblance of it in black and white. The wind lifts up little eddies of snow and they swirl around the trees and buildings, looking for someplace bare to settle on. A month ago, in fall, it was the leaves that were trying to cover everything but now fall belongs to the ages and winter is king. Unless someone moves the snow and ice it will be with us until spring. It’s a subtle change but a change never the less. A change I have witnessed for three quarters of a century and never tired of.

There have been many other changes in my life—and especially in this Christmas season. Today there are so many foods for thought to dwell on; my busy mind can hardly digest them all. The house is super quiet with only the click of my keyboard and the soft snoring of Molly lying in front of the stove. Like all dogs she lives in the moment, something I have never mastered. I am a slave to my memories and all day, like the soft snow outside, they have whispered incessantly through the dark recesses of my mind, like Marley’s ghost of Christmas past.

Ten years ago the house would have been alive with grandkids, with wet mittens, snotty noses and rose colored cheeks, just back inside the house from sliding down the hill and out onto the icy lake, now asking for more cookies. Several dogs would all be fighting over the same cardboard box even though the floor is littered with them. All the women would be off to town to gobble up the after Christmas bargains. The men are watching a football game balancing coffee mugs on their knees and telling the kids, “Yes you can have all the cookies you want, just get outside and play and take the dogs with you.” But then the kids all grew up and many moved away and she left me for her heavenly reward and briefly the whole thing fell apart. I wonder if there is a Wal-Mart or a M.O.A in heaven. If so I know where she is today.

For a while I was like a lost child in a department store. I was scared yes, because I’d never been lost like this before. But then something happened and I wiped my tears and sniffed my nose and somewhere out of nowhere she came. She had suffered the same heartbreak, as I, and I didn’t have to try and explain what was missing in my life right now. She knew all to well what we both needed and it was simply-- each other. I guess I never knew-- I never thought, that there could be a new life like this, which could come out of an old life. That so long ago, there had been a first, “I love you” and then sadly a last “I love you” but it wasn’t the end of the, “I love you’s.”

Such a wonderful Christmas this year. Those snot nosed kids now are positioning to have snot nosed kids of their own and so we drove from home to home and shared the love with all of them. We ate, we drank, we worshiped the birth of Christ and yes, Christmas will keep changing for all of us, as will life itself and in the end the love we shared will be what we’ll remember. The holiday is history and there is a lull right now but believe it or not I’m looking forward to next Christmas.

MY FOUR NEW YEARS GOALS

                                               

 What do I want for my friends, family and myself for New Years? And is what I want even possible or am I somewhere in fantasyland just wishing things were different? To me there are so many good things I value in life but yet if I think about them and had to categorize them in some kind of order of importance, where would I draw the lines. First and foremost I need to go back to the prayer of serenity and realize that much that is wrong out there, or at least what I perceive as being wrong, is beyond my control but I need to pay attention to the things that I can change.

I think happiness would be the thing I would aspire to be the most. I guess when you think about it, it’s all-inclusive with things we value in life. Faith, health, wealth, companionship all become a part of it. But then as I dissect it farther I find that it’s not just my happiness that is so important to me, but also the happiness of a large group of people that I know and love. For their happiness is tied to mine. What makes them happy refines and completes my happiness and vice versa. It’s like sugar in a recipe. It’s good all by itself but put it into a desert full of fruits, nuts and delicate creams and it’s the best it can be. That’s what life really is and should be. A living recipe for happiness. Even though we don’t have all the ingredients ourselves, others will chip in if we let them, to make the finished product. My resolution #1 is to try and be happy.

I need to be more of a doer and less of an advisor. But wait, I’m a writer and my forte is to inspire people to bigger and better things with my writings. It’s one of my daily prayers. “Lord, help me find the words to help people be inspired, like I am.” But in his infinite wisdom he is saying to me “That’s all good and proper Mike but show them what you mean by your example.” Even St. Francis prayed “Lord make me an instrument of your peace.” He knew that to be a living example would be the way to go. Do as I do, is always so much better then do as I say. It’s like the directions to accomplish something great, all done up in a video orchestrated by you, instead of a pamphlet that tells you a step by step process. My resolution # 2. Try to change the things you can. Remember every trip starts with a single step.

 I need to see the world through the eyes of my friends and loved ones as well as through my own. We are all so different; we all bring to the table something special. Let’s go back to that happiness thing I talked about. Thing’s that make no sense to me, may make perfect sense to someone else. I’m old but if I lived to be a thousand I could never experience all the things that have make people happy or sad. I only know what I have come in contact with. I need to expand my horizons and be more understanding of those around me. My resolution #3. Be more understanding.

I looked up the meaning of the word resolution. It means to make a firm decision. Resolution #4. Be serious about what you have resolved to do.

                                                                                                                       

                                                                                    HAPPY NEW YEARS ---MIKE

MAGICAL CHRISTMAS

Each year at Christmas, I take this magical journey through time. It’s a trip I have made possible, by being old, blessed with the wisdom of life. A trip I take because I lived through so many Christmas’s, loving, touching and knowing so many people.

So today, I vision a tree decorated only with tinsel and clear class bulbs and from each of them, shines a face that I knew so well when they were here on earth. They all look so happy now, but then that was how they were when I knew them at a different moment and place in time. A time when they were here sharing life with me and it’s how I choose to remember them now. Our lives have always been a picture puzzle of sorts but these were the pieces that completed me and made my world what it was, now helping my picture come to fruition.

There is no special order to the bulbs on my sacred memory tree, they’re all significant to me or they wouldn’t be there. Softly and silently they glow in the somewhat celestial darkness, hiding in the boughs. Illuminated by some unseen mystery power source I believe in, but don’t fully understand. The faces in the bulbs are somewhat blurry when seen in mass but when I approach them and touch them individually with my fingertips, they light up brightly and magically come to life. Then as if I have opened a long forgotten file in my computer and created a path from the tree to my memory, our lives become real again and I remember so many things long since forgotten about them. It’s a quiet meeting of sorts, no talking, just happy thoughts and recollections of a place and a time we shared so many years ago. All of these thoughts seem to flow softly back and forth on some telepathic connection that seems to defy all earthly logic.

There are no tears to cry tonight in this magical moment, just happy peaceful thoughts that seem almost melodious in nature. No pain or worries or grudges and sadness to bring back. It’s as if those things never existed in my past. I find my way moving quietly around the tree, intrepid yes, but softly touching each and every bulb, as if opening and closing tiny doors, one at a time. Our lives’ stories that once existed in harmony together seem for the moment to be bursting at the seams of my memory. There are no hellos or good byes to be said in this moment in time. In fact time is not of any essence to me and doesn’t seem to exist at all. Something tells me that it’s not only my Christmas’s past in these fleeting sacred moments that I am experiencing but a prevue of Christmas’s future for me someday. God willing I will take my place on that tree of life when my turn comes and somebody else will take my place on the outside looking in.

As cliché, as it seems Christmas is a “ways to the means” for so many of us. The means I talk about are peace, love and good will. We weren’t born with it. It’s a learned behavior brought on through our circle of life with those we love. Since the day we learned it, it’s always been there in our lives but it gets buried in the hustle and bustle of everyday life but then along comes Christmas to bring it all back.

CHRISTMAS IN ALEPPO

                                                 

In a bombed out building, in Aleppo Syria, a family of five hunkers down for another day of not knowing if they will see the end of the day or not. They are a Christian family but only in the privacy of their home. They would be killed if the enemy knew their faith. Christmas may be coming soon but for them it’s just another day fighting for survival. There is a mom and three kids and a crippled father badly wounded in the fighting. He lies on a cold damp, cot, shivering and moaning. Infection has taken over his body from his undressed wounds. His wife tries to comfort him but it only adds to her despair for she has no medicine or bandages. The boy, about thirteen, goes out each day to see what he can beg, borrow or steal for food and water. One little girl about six sits in the corner wrapped in rags for warmth trying to keep her toddler brother happy. He cries incessantly because he is so cold, wet and hungry. There is no food, no water, no heat and seemingly no hope.

This Christmas in Minnesota I will gather with my family and loved ones once more. We’ve cut back on the gift giving but only because there is little anyone needs. Our warm homes are brightly decorated and on Christmas Eve we will go worship freely the birth of Christ. Then we will gather for a Christmas feast of roast beef, and all the trimmings. Crawl into our warm beds and sleep, seemingly without a care in the world. After Christmas we will go back to our routines, richer for having spent another Christmas in this great country and looking forward to even better things.

I think of Syria and I can’t fathom how the leader of that country can destroy his own country and its people to stay in power. What is it that he wants, to go to such extremes? What is wrong with the people who supply this mad man with bombs and missiles? What is wrong with the rest of the world that could stop all this suffering tomorrow, with one huge collective effort?

I mentioned that this family in Aleppo was Christian and Christmas is coming. Somewhere in the Bible between Genesis and Revelations there is story of the reason for Christmas and a code of ethics, Jesus brought for all of us to live by. It tells us to care for others and be tolerant of others and love our neighbors and if we do this, the world will be a far better place for all of us. But for that to happen someone has to care and the way things are now-- caring is being called into question.

Back in Aleppo it’s Christmas Eve and the man has died. His wife sits on the floor and sobs into his still warm body. She has no way to even give him a burial service. She gathers her family around her and they all take what they can carry. It’s time to flee their home now. There is no star to guide them like the Shepherd’s had that night so long ago, Just piles of rubble to crawl over and around. If they are lucky they will get to Turkey and maybe-- just maybe, they will get something to eat and drink.

My wish this Christmas is for a realization in this world and this country of what is important and what isn’t. An end to this kind of greed and power struggles that goes on at the expense of so many innocents. -----For peace on earth and good will to all.

FALL THOUGHTS

                                                            

A while back, as I drove home from a trip to Hackensack I saw more and more trees, now looking like skeletal remains of themselves, after shedding their summer foliage. Fall can be a nice time with its cooler temperatures, fewer bugs and all the colors. But its like going to a good movie you waited ages to see and knowing that with each frame the story is being revealed to the point where soon there is no more to tell. You leave the theater happy you were allowed to see and hear the film but sad it had to end. That’s what autumn is-- the ending to another summer-- and yes there will be more, but not for a while and sometimes it’s that “while,” we find so hard to take.

I received a phone call yesterday from a friend, who told me that a mutual friend and neighbor, was going into Hospice care. I know none of us can pick our time to leave and if that were true we simply won’t leave would we? But notice the similarity between leaves and leave and in a twisted sort of way I guess when my time comes, if it could be in the fall, I would think it a most appropriate time to leave. The end of summer and the end of life, at least for me, have something in common. I hear in the back of my mind right now, the lyrics of Nat King Cole when he sang so beautiful-- and just for today, so very fitting. “Those falling leaves drift by the window. Those autumn leaves of red and gold. I see your lips, the summer kisses. The sunburned hands I used to hold. Since you went away the days grow long and soon I’ll hear old winters song.”

Okay, lets lighten it up. There were days when I welcomed fall. The hunt was on for birds and deer. Fresh squash and kitchens sounding off with the pinging of can lids, as the garden went from fresh to canned. Football and kids back in school. You could see through the woods again at a whole new world that you had walked by so many times that summer. The smell of leaves burning in the driveway brought the neighbors out, as is if it was a miniature homecoming event. But then inevitably the days grew shorter and colder and the bird’s left and the animals hunkered down and it was strangely quiet in our little corner of the world. So quiet you could almost hear the snowflakes fall as they blanketed the earth in a covering cloak of white. All the color seemed to go out of the land and suddenly it was just black and white, dark cold. Even the lake was silenced under an icy canopy that enhanced the biting cold ebbing ashore and eeking through our clothing, when the winds blew across it.

I grew up in a house heated by wood. My father cut wood for several months, after work each day and us boys helped. He said it warmed you twice-- once when you cut and hauled it-- and once when you burned it. We had a gravity fed furnace and whatever you burned you smelled. The smell of red oak and birch still bring a sense of warming to me. There was much more family time to be had back then as we were clustered together to stay out of the weather. As siblings we played games and read books. Supper was much more leisurely then summer time because you weren’t all rushing off to go some place. And at night when you climbed those stairs, to that cold bedroom, to crawl under those thick blankets and cuddle with your brothers for warmth--- Well I guess what I’m trying to say is it gave you a whole new appreciation of family and togetherness.

LONELINESS

                                             

“This is for all the lonely people. Thinking that life has passed them by. Don’t give up until you drink from the silver cup and ride that highway in the sky.” Yes, not my words but the words of the songwriters Daniel and Catherine Peek. It says so well what I want to talk about. There is a segment of our population that has always touched my heart and that is the lonely people. Maybe it’s because for a short while, after my wife died, I seemed to be one of them but then in retrospect I’m not sure if I was lonely, as much as I was feeling sorry for myself because in reality my support group was active. The people I really feel sorry for are those who seem to have none.

My father-in-law, in his later years, lived in the Old Soldiers Home in South Minneapolis. At least once a week my wife, or I, would make the trip out there to see him or bring him to our place for a visit. I remember one such trip at Christmas time and as I went into get him I walked by an old man sitting in wheelchair by the entrance. He was crying and I stopped for a moment to ask him if I should go get someone to help him. He said, “There is no one to help me.” I said I was sure I could find someone, that this was a nice place with lots of attendants. He said what he meant was, “It was Christmas and all day families’ had come to take loved ones home for the Holidays,” but he had no one to do that. I was at a loss for words and to this day, I wished I had done, what I didn’t do, and that was not to walk away from him. To make matters worse I remember picking up my father-in-law and going out another door because I was ashamed to go by this man again. When I think about it today, I had options there but they all involved a little work-- I didn’t want to do. I could have talked about him with the staff. Maybe they knew of someone who would have helped him. To be sure I could have asked him to come to Christmas dinner at our house. I could have at the very least taken him to the commissary and bought him a cup of coffee and had a conversation with him. But I didn’t and I regret it. You see I had never really been lonely and didn’t know what he was going through but with his tears he had reached out to me and yet I never took the time to listen.

Last year my brother passed away. Ken was a hopeless alcoholic who lived alone. Hopeless in the fact that he rebuffed any and all attempts to help him. God knows we as his siblings and family tried. I would call him maybe once a week but there would be times when there would be no answer and I knew he was too drunk to talk. Then one day his daughter called from Mesa and said she couldn’t get a hold of him. I told her to call one of his neighbors, that I knew she talked with and have them check on him. She did and Ken was dead. Today the thing that bothers me the most was he died alone, in squalor. Helping Ken was not much of an option because he didn’t want help but no one should have to die alone and that is what bothers me the most.

I’m not a lonely man, even though I live alone. My kids call often and I have Pat and although we both keep our separate households we care a lot for each other. We talk every day and maybe sometimes it’s nothing more then, “what did you had for supper” but it’s a sense of sharing and caring that feels so darn good.

TO MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY

True happiness is a state of mind and must always be preceded by a commitment to good.  We have found out, in our lives, that achieving worldly goods accomplishes little in our efforts to attain true happiness. Some of the richest people I know are the most miserable. I say this because I have found happiness in many places in my life, and it didn’t cost me a penny. I am thankful for that.

I have found happiness in the world our creator gave us. I am amazed each time a flower blooms, or a hummingbird appears, or the sun sets once more over the hills, and across our placid lake. The stars on a cloudless night, a full moon on a forest path, a gentle rain that greens the earth and breathes life back into it. They all speak volumes to me and I am thankful for that.

I am overjoyed with the babies we brought into the world and the babies they have brought into the world. It fulfilled a great purpose in my life. From the time all of them were infants, to seeing them go out into the world on their own, my heart swelled with pride. It is an accomplishment fostered in love and not in money, and my hope, my prayer is that, as my body wanes and dies, a part of me will live on in them and I will be thankful for that.

It amazes me always, the love and commitment of my life bound partner, who spent her life making our lives inseparable. What we accomplished by trial and error, tears and sacrifices, and truly loving and trusting each other could not have been bought at any price. Even though I existed before she knew me, she truly completed me. I see that every day in my family, too, and I am thankful for that.

I think of the people that have come into my life as friends. I did not have, nor have I now, anything to offer them but my friendship and my love for them, but in the end, that was all they really wanted, as do I. Maybe it was their persona that first brought us down that path, but I have found so much good behind that admirable character, that first attracted me, that a lot of it has rubbed off on me and made me a better person. We tend to mold our lives from those around us and we thank God for making good choices. Yes, sometimes we don’t know what we are doing in life, but there are so many wonderful examples out there to emulate. It’s hard to go wrong if you truly care, and we should be thankful for that.

Lastly, I can’t forget my faith in God. All of the good things I’ve talked about are his example, and his way of life. None of it would have existed without him at the very core of my life. When others have failed me and when I have failed myself, as often happened, God was that rock and refuge that was always there for me. He never turned his back on me and all I had to do was ask. I am thankful for that.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.        Mike Holst

THANKSGIVING 20015

                                                

Today as I write this, there is a cold wind whipping up the lake waters. The waves have turned all dark and ugly green, topped with their foamy tentacles reaching out until they come crashing down relentlessly on shore. There’s an ominous feeling of winter in the air today. All of those chores, we lake people go through at the end of the season are done and suddenly were not sure anymore what were going to do to occupy our minds. There was a time this summer when there wasn’t enough minutes in a day to do everything we wanted to do and we had to pick and choose. But wait-- there are a couple of other events taking place this month and next and maybe its time to concentrate on that before the year ends.

Thanksgiving is fast becoming the forgotten holiday. For many of us, first and foremost it’s a four-day weekend, filled with eating, football and family get togethers. I say forgotten because the commercialization of Christmas’s is turning it that way. It seems a month is not enough time to get all of the Holiday shopping done. Anyone who works in the retail industry knows that Thanksgiving is becoming just anther workday for him or her. If they’re lucky they get a couple of hours to enjoy Thanksgiving. Black Friday is so appropriately named because of the shadow of Christmas shopping---not to be confused with the real meaning of Christmas. This looms over Thanksgiving like a dark cloud, striping the holiday weekend of so much of its meaning. Maybe if we weren’t so preoccupied with Christmas we would have time to reflect on what Thanksgiving is all about.

We all know why Thanksgiving was started but do we know why its just not the same as it used to be when it was a trip to grandmas house. I guess unless you’re a farmer the harvest doesn’t really mean as much as a trip to the grocery store to buy the food for Thanksgiving. I guess unless you’re poor or a lonely shut-in you don’t really miss a turkey dinner with all of the trimmings. You eat like that or better many times a year. I guess unless you’re a widower or a widow and remember when the chair next to you at that Thanksgiving table held someone you were so thankful for and her dressing was the best you ever tasted. It was the one-day she took the good china out and how much you miss him or her. I guess when all of the kids and grandkids have grown up and gone their ways and now have a family of their own that now is the time when you realize, what it’s like, to be on the outside looking in.

But if your old enough, you may have something a lot of people don’t have in your memory bank. You have an appreciation for what you have been blessed with over all of these years. You remember Thanksgiving when it was so much more meaningful. You remember people that aren’t here anymore. People who meant so much to you and today, you not only give thanks for what’s on the table and who’s around the table but you give thanks for those who went before you and shared so many Thanksgivings with you, in a kinder gentler time.

To all of you, I hope you have a meaningful Thanksgiving. I hope God blesses all of us with a day we won’t ever forget. But most of all, I hope we realize what it is that makes this country so great and vow to never let it be taken from us.---Mike Holst

LUTEFISK SUPPER

                                               

Every fall, some of my friends and I, travel to Staples to the annual lutefisk supper at Faith Lutheran church. This is an annual festival that has been going on for a long, long, time. How long? I remember it when I was kid and believe me that has been a long, long, time. I go for a couple of reasons, number one being my Brother Huck and his crew, consisting mostly of his sons, have long cooked the fish so its kind of a family affair for me. Number two is, I have a soft spot for that church and although I’m not a member or a Lutheran, I recognize the good they do for the people of that area. Maybe you have noticed, I didn’t say, “I go for the fish.”

Eating Lutefisk, for me reminds me of when I was ten and played house with the little neighbor girls. Those of you who have your mind in the gutter can stop right here, because I said playhouse, not doctor. In our role-playing, the girls would bring out their little tin dishes and make us boys mud pies. We would smack our lips and throw the mud over our shoulders as if it was the best mud pie we ever ate. Now to be sure Lutfisk-- unlike mud-- is edible but it has to be covered with melted butter and salt to bring out the taste.-- Of butter and salt. The fish has no taste. It is akin to a tofu turkey at Thanksgiving time. There is an odor however that you can smell as you approach the church and it does get into your clothing. My dog picked up on it when I came home from the meal and proceeded to rub her shoulder on my pants legs for some time.

To be sure it’s the trimmings that make the meal for me. Lefsa, to me, the Norwegian flat bread, was long a favorite in my parents family and it is for me today. I’m addicted to the stuff. I could eat it everyday. Couple this with sweet potatoes or rutabagas, homemade mashed potatoes and Swedish meatballs, cranberries and homemade pies-- well it don’t get much gooder then that-- ya sure yu betcha. I think the Swedish meatballs were a concession of sorts because I have long considered Lutefisk and Lefsa a Norwegian dish. A lot of jokes have been made about the differences between Swedes and Norwegians but this being a family paper; I will have to keep them to myself.

I want to congratulate the people of Faith Lutheran Church for the fine meal and carrying on the tradition. There were a lot of young people there that night but they were serving the Lutefisk, not eating it. I’m not sure where this tradition will be in twenty years but maybe we will be having Lutefisk Tacos or Norwegian burritos. Served with melted butter and salt of course. But in retrospect I didn’t eat it either when I was young, but here I am eating it now. My dad used to say,” The only thing different between Lutefisk and snot was kids will eat snot.” He always said that while you were dishing up your Lutefisk of course.

To the people of Faith Lutheran I say, “Ser deg nesta ar.” Or see you next year.

Mike Holst

A TRIP TO REMEMBER

A while back, over coffee, I told a story to a friend of mine and now I would like to share it with you. Years ago my wife and I had stopped for the night at a motel in Chamberlain, South Dakota. As I was getting our bags out of the car, there, right next to me in the parking lot, were two men wiping down their Harleys and covering them up for the night. I noticed they had Florida registrations so I remarked, “You’re a long way from home.” One of the men, who looked gaunt and exhausted, said with a tired smile, “We’re only half as far as we once were.”

He went on to tell me that they were on their way back to Florida after riding up to Fairbanks, Alaska. “Wow, what a trip,” I said. He looked at me quietly for a second—I sensed he wasn’t sure if he wanted to carry on the conversation or not—but he finally said, “I am fulfilling a dream.” There were tears in his companion’s eyes who, up to then, had said nothing, just standing there and buttoning up his bike cover. Not knowing where this was going, intrigued, I set my bags down.

“A few months ago,” the man continued, “I was told I had six months to live. One of my dreams had always been to take a trip like this. A week after my diagnoses, I knew it was now or never. I rented two motorcycles, and my friend took off six weeks from his job to go with me, ride shotgun, to make sure I was going to be safe.  I could not have done it without him, and now I’m going home to my family to die.”

I was at a loss for words, but I shook his hand and his friend’s hand, wishing them well. I went up to my room with tears in my eyes. My wife, worried about where I had been, asked what was I doing. “Just talking to some friends,” I said. She looked at me like she didn’t understand, but let it ride, and we went to bed. As I laid there in the dark that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about the man and his friend. As sad as the situation was, there was a victory here, and a profile in courage. He got to live his dream because of a lot of people. His friend, who put his life on hold to go with him, and his family, who unselfishly gave up a lot of the short time they had left together to let him accomplish what he had to do.

I have talked often about this trip throughout life, and the people who have made it so worthwhile by sharing their lives with me. Although I never knew the man’s name, my life was better off for having met him that night. He could have just said nothing when I addressed him, or told me to buzz off. Instead, he chose to share that story with me a complete stranger, and to this day I have wondered why. Was it pride in what he had accomplished, or was it because he just wanted to share the love? I guess I will never know, but if what he told me was true—and I have no reason to believe otherwise—he is long gone from this earth, but his story will live on for as long as I do, anyway. When we left the next morning, the Harleys were gone, but that night will always live on in my mind.

 There comes a time when you have to dare to live your dreams. Life is uncertain, even when you haven’t been given a deadline. Seize the moment.

TODAY

Back in the sixties there was an American folk music group, “The New Christy Minstrels.” One of the songs they sang was called, “Today.” I remember the lyrics to the first verse of that song, and even today they take me back to that time in Minneapolis—a time when I was just going out into the world full of hope—and anticipation for a better life for myself. The words that still resonate with me today are from verse one--“Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine; I’ll taste your strawberries, I’ll drink your sweet wine; a million tomorrows shall all pass away, ‘ere I forget all the joy that is mine today.” At the time, they were meaningless words to some extent, because I hadn’t lived any of those tomorrows. But just as they predicted, they did pass away and now, for the first time, I can feel the subliminal message that was in that verse, way back then, in a way I never felt it before.

There was so much joy in my world back then. I was newly married, and so in love with her and the world. Responsibilities were still few and far between. I had not yet let the world’s problems, or my own problems, press down on me like they do now. In fact, it was like I had stopped the world and gotten off for a while—content to take each day as it came and live the joy that was mine that day. But time marches on, and at some point I got back on the world, and reluctant or not, fell into step. Then with time came babies and homes, jobs and responsibilities, things no one can accurately describe for you. But for the most part life was good, and the happiness that was mine back then continued in a slightly different form, for now that happiness I craved was tinged with accomplishments and pride.

There comes a time in your life when it’s just not your life anymore, but a life you made with someone else, and the children you made. With that comes a new day of parenting and mentoring, and for the first time in your life you fall back to the generations before you to see how that was done because, after all, they raised you and did all right and those kids didn’t come with directions. You get in a never-ending rut of getting up and getting through each day; solving problems and trying to adjust to what’s in and out in life’s journey. Then slowly, the offspring fall out of the nest and test their wings. Whoever coined the phrase “mixed emotions” must have been in this part of life because you want so badly for them to succeed, but you’re still hanging on. You know that their tomorrows are now slip sliding away, too, and they are on a new course you don’t know, and you’re not driving anymore.

So now you enter into the golden years. It’s a new experience that comes without directions or mentors who have since passed on. You’re back to The New Christy Minstrels and “Today,” verse two. “I can’t be contented with yesterday’s glory, I can’t live on promises winter to spring. Today is my moment and now is my glory, I’ll laugh and I’ll cry and I’ll sleep.”