LITTLE LEAGUE

Sometimes, with the advent of summer, my thoughts turn to baseball. Not myself playing baseball—even though I did—but more so for the dozen years that I coached Little League baseball in the city where we lived. I was in my early thirties, with a young boy of my own playing, but that wasn’t the only reason I coached, I truly loved the game. In all actuality, my son would have been treated more fairly with someone who wasn’t his dad. As is all too often the case, I was harder on him than the others.

Coaching was much easier back in those days. All the boys were on a learning curve when it came to the basics of the game, but in the end, we played to win and that was okay. We learned to be good winners, and oh yes, we were good losers, too. If you didn’t practice with the team, you didn’t play with the team, and the parents were fine with that. If the boys were goofing off, they got reprimanded and the parents were okay with that, too. It was a Monday through Thursday thing so the boys could be with their families on the weekends.

We never had an issue with girls wanting to be part of the team. There was a great softball program for the girls and they loved it. My daughters played in it for years. Although I did have an assistant, sometimes I was alone with the boys, or he was. We never had to worry about suspicious parents thinking we could be abusive to their boys. They trusted us, and we respected that trust so much. I never had parents calling me and asking, “Why their boy was or wasn’t playing?” We all knew the rules and we followed them. No angry dads telling me how to coach the game; no moms yelling at me for disciplining their child; nobody calling the family lawyer on us, but sadly, that has all changed.

I have always felt that sports are such a character builder in young people as they are growing up. You learn to interact and function with others and to be a team. Later in life, those same kids, when they go out into the business end of world, will find out how important that is. You learn to be gracious winners, knowing that winning that game wasn’t just important to you—it was important to those kids on the other team to taste victory, also. When the tables were turned and you lost, you learned to be good losers and learn from your mistakes. Winning and losing—again—a huge part of life.

Here is the crux of my story. A few years ago, late in the evening, I received a call from a man who identified himself as one of the kids who played ball for me for many years. Keep in mind, that was thirty some years ago. This man had just left his son’s little league game and on the way home, he said, he started thinking about our team way back then. So he told his son about our team, and the fun we had. After he got home, he said he couldn’t stop thinking about it, so he picked up the phone and called me, just to say thanks. I teared up after I hung up the phone. Tears of pride for a seemingly obscure accomplishment in a day gone by. Before you accuse me of getting all sanctimonious on you, I want you to know my story isn’t unique; it’s done every day in this world, by dads and moms everywhere. I just want them to know how important it is in the lives of those kids—who will never forget you.

JUNE

                                                        

 How well I remember the first days of June back when I was a budding teenager. School was out, and yes it was a happy day indeed. That elusive summer vacation I had day-dreamed about while staring out the classroom window, was now a delicious reality. When it finally came I was like a newborn calf, freed from the pen, and out to the summer pastures for the first time, and it was time to kick up my heels. There was no limit to what I was going to accomplish that summer and my mind was a virtual cornucopia of events that I had thought about since spring had sprung. Like Louie sang in his song, “I saw skies of blue and clouds of white, the bright blessed days and the dark sacred nights.” It truly was a wonderful world.

I never made elaborate plans; I just went with the flow from swimming holes to baseball diamonds, from homemade rafts down the river, to days of just kicking a can down a dusty road with a blade of grass hanging from the corner of my mouth, and my dog by my side. Rainy days were tragic wasted days, as there were no inside activities in my plans. But then as sure as the clock slowly ticks forward and our lives spin hopelessly onward, that magical month of June that sets the stage for all of summer, evaporated and was gone. There would be no recouping the days; I could only wait for time to let it roll around once more. Always, I had the realization in the back of my mind that soon the days of my youth would not be infinite, and all to soon June would be just another warm summer month that I would be destined to work away someplace just to survive.

But then came retirement and every day was a day off, and I was obsessed with recapturing my carefree youth once more, but that was then, and now is now, and I found that nothing is the same anymore. My imagination does not let me live in that care free world I was in back then-- just remember it. All to soon the last days of June will come around, and I will have no idea what I did with the first days of the month. My life still seems to be on that same fast track, when I really want it to be on the slow track, but I don’t know how to get there or even if I can. I remember an old song sung by Waylon Jennings called “Stop the world and let me off.” Maybe that would be the answer huh? Just let me be frozen in time for a while on a warm June day, lying on my back on a lush green lawn, while overhead white puffy clouds drift across an endless blue sky.

Celia Thaxter said,  “It will be eternal summer in the grateful heart.” How well I remember when I first fell in love in summer. My heart was so full to overflowing back then-- that just another drop of love and adventure would have made it spill over. Every day was a new and exciting chapter for me. But you can’t stop the world from tilting and spinning and all to soon the days grow shorter. All to soon summer ends, like your childhood and your innocent’s. It’s not one summer that defines you, however, but the sum total of all of your summers that will complete you and write your story. So you persevere, waiting for the next summer to roll around. Life does have its encores’--- you just have to keep applauding. 

FIFTY FIVE YEARS AGO

                                              

I remember that day as if it was yesterday but in all actuality it was fifty-five years ago. I had spent the night before, packing my meager possessions in a cardboard box because I didn’t own any luggage. Graduation had come and gone and no longer was I a part of that group of young people and that school that we had spent so many years at. In a way I wasn’t even any longer part of the family that raised me. Oh, I could come and visit but someone else would now have my spot at the table. My father had told me it was time to leave and grow up. Fleeting memories of the school sports events, the high school dances and days in those busy classrooms together.  It was all a confusing memory, flashing in my head like strobe lights, on and off. We were like young birds leaving the nest, going in four different directions, destined for whatever was waiting for us in that scary world out there. The evening before this early morning, I had walked back over to the school one last time and looked at the darkened classrooms and peeked through the chained doors. The empty hallways gave off an eerie aura that gave me a chill. Yes, it was time to say goodbye.

I left my parent’s house the next morning sneaking out early so as not to have to say any tearful goodbyes to my parents and siblings. I walked down the dirt driveway from our house heading for the bus station full of mixed feelings. Optimism for my life ahead and sadness for leaving the only way of life I had ever known. I heard a noise and turning around I saw my stepmother standing on the top step holding her housecoat tight to her bosom in the early morning cold. “Don’t forget us”, she said, a sob choking her voice. For a second I wanted to run back and hug her but I knew I would cry and I didn’t want that. I was a young man now and it was time to grow up and just say goodbye. I waved and blew her a kiss and continued walking away.

So much has happened since then. Falling in love and taking a wife and being blessed with three children. Forty some years of working and bringing home the bacon, three houses and countless friends and neighbors. I remember watching our children grow up and then them going out into the world, much the same way I did and praying softly that God would help them find their way, much as I had. Then at last turning to her and saying, “Now it’s our turn my love.”

Ten wonderful years together, at the lake place we had built, shoulder to shoulder, fulfilling another dream we shared, A place where everyday was Saturday and those kids we had pinned our hopes on, would come with those wonderful grandkids we couldn’t get enough of.  In the words of the song maker. “We had joy we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.” So many great days on the lake fishing and playing--- but then gradually it all changed. The grandkids too grew up and took partners and had busy lives of their own. Our kids were going so many different ways with careers and their families and from time to time we would steal a few hours together but the frequency seemed to ebb and flow, less and less each year. Then it came time for her to leave me and life, as I knew it came crashing down.

I have tried to rejuvenate my life.  I met a very special lady and we sneak in as much happiness as old friends can and do. We enjoy a few giggles and travels together and were making a new story, however, neither one of us can or will forget our pasts.

THE CLASS OF FIFTY- NINE

             

Sometime this August, God willing, I will attend my 55^th class reunion. On that spring day in 1959, ninety-one of my classmates and myself, cut our ties to the school that had been ours for twelve long years. We set our eyes and ambitions on carving out a niche for ourselves in this land we all call home. I am sure many of us had great expectations for our lives ahead but others—for the moment at least—just wanted to survive, content to live from day to day and from foot to mouth. Some of us had already grown our wings, and others were still waiting for them to grow.

 Not many years after graduation I heard John Lennon sing, “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope some day you’ll join us and the world will be as one.” What John was singing was his hope that we could find it in our hearts to live in peace in this world. I think, that if any of my dreams could have come true, that would have been the one I wanted the most.  As youngsters, we were born, and had grown up, in a world that experienced the worst war the world had ever known. The war to end all wars, it was called. Yet, I remember practicing in the fifties, ten years later, hiding under our desks in the event of a nuclear holocaust. It hasn’t gotten any better since then, what with the wars and unrest in Korea, Vietnam and the Middle East. Knowing what I know now about mankind, greed and power, it never will. I hope and pray you can change that for your own sake.

As I look over the last fifty-five years of my own life, I sometimes think of Frank Sinatra’s song “My Way,” when he crooned, “Regrets, I’ve had a few but then again, too few to mention.” The way I, personally, have always felt, about regrets in my life, brings back another old saying, and that is, “Where ever you go—there you are and most likely that’s where you deserve to be.” Yes, we did control our own destiny, didn’t we? Outside of the constant world problems we seemed to have so little control over, the fickle finger of fate did reach out and touch us all, over the years, in many ways. For the most part, we lost the generation that spawned us. Spouses, classmates, and even some of our own children are gone, but yet, here we are today, still carrying on. If life has taught us anything along the way, it’s that it may be a victory of sorts to still be here, but sometimes, as a survivor, a lonely one.

So we look back at over a half a century of living, and we say, “What was it we accomplished?” I’ll try to answer my own question. The goals we had after graduation aren’t different than the goals this year’s class of graduates has. College, jobs, marriage, and families—you might say, the building blocks of our society. The thing we never realized back then was to what extent we controlled our own destiny, for in the long run, you have to take what life gives you. You either make something good of it, or let it be an anchor around your neck, dragging you down every day and every step of the way. You need to take those dreams you have had all of your life, and at least try turning them into reality, because the other side of the coin is—when you stop dreaming, my friend, you stop living. For me, at least, my part in a productive society is fading fast and we need to pass the torch. To the next generation in charge, I only hope you will look back at what went wrong and learn from our mistakes. The lessons are free, for you see; we have already paid the price.

MOM'S AND STEPMOMS

                                                             

So Mother’s day has come and gone--- at least as far as the calendar is concerned. It troubles me that so many of us have to wait for that day, to tell their mom’s how special they are to us. It troubles me that success in life, as a woman, is becoming more and more every day, contingent on what else they do in life and not the fact that first and foremost they were, or are a mother. They almost have to apologize if that’s all they want out of life. I want to reiterate here that my definition of motherhood is not just giving birth to a child but it includes the nurturing Mom’s give to their children as they progress to adulthood. I also know a lot of Mom’s have to work and I fully recognize how difficult it must be to play both roles.

When I was four my mother left my father, my brother and myself. For a couple of years an aunt raised me and my brother lived with family friends, as my dad was working for his country. My dad did remarry after the war and I had a wonderful stepmother. She saw to it I was fed and clothed and went to Sunday school. She was never cross with me or demeaning to me or compared me to my step brothers and sisters, I didn’t even find out she wasn’t my mother until much later in my young life. Yes I owe her a huge thanks but through no fault of her own, it wasn’t the same although she deserves an A-plus in heaven for the effort

It wasn’t until I married when I saw how a real mother acts. I used to see my wife rocking our children to sleep and reading them bedtime stories. Telling them how proud she was when they did well and correcting them when that was necessary. Sitting up all night with them when they were sick and taking them shopping for cool clothes for school. Always making sure they were clean and fed. It was something I hadn’t seen before in our house, when I was a kid anyway. I’m not here to chastise my stepmother. As I grew older I often thought how difficult it must have been, to raise someone else’s kids. But all the same I was never hugged or told that I was loved. No one came to my ballgames and if I was bad no one seemed to care about that either. If I missed supper, no one would make an effort to get me something to eat or even cared where I was. I was pretty much on my own. My dad worked night and day to make a living and I’m not using that as a reason to excuse him. The day I married he broke down and cried. The first time that I ever saw him cry and he told me he was sorry for the life he had given me.

Growing up I wasn’t blind to the world around me and I saw how real Mom’s treated their kids and it hurt to know that wasn’t in the cards for me. I guess today that’s why I know how important Mom’s are in our lives. When my wife died I felt so bad for my kids because they had lost a loving mother. I lost my partner too but I have managed to heal that separation and remain happy. I hope Pat is too. My kids just can’t go get another Mother. To all of the good mom’s out there, I want to salute you and tell you maybe your kids don’t appreciate all you do for them now-- but believe me there will come a day when they will. To all of the step mom’s out there today. God bless you and give you the strength to take over where the real mom’s left off. It’s got to be one of the toughest jobs in the world. Just do your best to love them and they will never forget you for that. To my stepmom-- I did love you.

FAMILY TIES----COUNTRY TIES

There is amongst my family of eight siblings, blessings that few people get to enjoy. It’s the fact that some of us are now approaching our middle seventies and we’re all still alive and relatively healthy. But that’s only one of the blessings. The other is all of the grandkids and great grandkids that have come along from these unions are for the most part, good people making their way in this world. My grandfather had a saying. “He said remember Mike, when you raise your son, you raise your sons, son.” I think at least for my family, the proof is in the pudding and I’m not trying to be self-serving here. Remember that grand father I mentioned. That’s where it all started for me and that’s where the credit is due.

Another blessing comes in the fact that we as siblings still all love and respect each other and when one of us has problems we rally around each other and try to help, despite the fact that in many ways we have chosen far different paths in life. We don’t often get hung up on the details though, because in the end, no matter what happens-- she is my sister and he is my brother and we don’t let things like that unravel us. My dad was a big believer in the good book. The one that says, “You are your brothers keeper” “Judge not lest you be judged.”

Last month I listened to a news story where a father killed his son because he wouldn’t pay for cable television. I can’t fathom what brings anyone to the point to kill their own flesh and blood. The news this morning has a high school boy plotting to start another school massacre and right here in old Minnesota nice. You need other examples--- they’re a dime a dozen and they come along everyday. In most cases these are young people who grew up left to there own means. Kids are like electricity. They take the path of least resistant’s and the results are often shocking.

There is a vigilante attitude growing in this country. People are fed up with all of the rules and regulations and they are starting to fear their government. They don’t trust that they or their families will be safe anymore. They can’t understand how we can’t keep drugs or illegal aliens from coming into the country but yet profess to keep terrorists out. They can’t understand how we can go on telling the rest of the world how to live and yet the rest of the world hates us for it. We incarcerate more people then any other country in the world but yet people are still buying guns to defend their families and homes. Something is terribly wrong.

I am not sure we can recover some sense of normalcy in this country anymore. I think the pendulum has swung to far. I think our problems are insurmountable both fiscally and morally. Our government seems to be infected with the same greed and corruption that is tearing our society apart so we have the blind leading the blind. This is how revolutions get started, when the people have had enough. Maybe we need another big war to bring us back together. It worked sixty years ago. But then after all of the bloodshed and smoke went away, we took that hard earned victory, that had made us loved and respected by most of the world and peed it away. No, another war would be a bad idea. Just another band-aid on a huge, huge, wound. 

FLOWING RIVER

In my younger days, when I was living back in Staples, Minnesota, I would often travel north of town a few miles, to the Crow Wing River. This river, at least in those days, was one of the most peaceful and cleanest rivers in the state. I would go out to this remote spot that I loved so much, and just sit on the riverbank in the summer sun and watch the river flow by. There was something serene and peaceful about it, and it always put me in a pensive mood. “Kind of like watching paint dry?” you say. Not if you go there and let it work its magic.

Life, to me, has always seemed like a continuous flowing river. You get one chance to enjoy it. Then, it goes around the bend and there’s no getting it back. There is little you can do to slow its flow, or alter its course. You can only enjoy the moment, make good decisions and go for it. Like the river, you have no idea what is coming along next. It might be something wonderful that you had never thought of before. Then again, it might just dry up and leave you with nothing but mud and rocks to look at. It might even send a wall of water that causes you to momentarily scramble out of the way, but life has taught me that these things are temporary. You deal with them, and then you can go back and sit on the bank once more, and dream. For every trouble that comes your way, there will often be opportunities to set it all right.

We need not dwell on our regrets, but still keep our eyes fixed on the upstream part of life, because life past is just that. But there are lessons to be learned if we pay attention. Yesterday is history, and tomorrow is a mystery, and it is that mystery we pin our hopes on. There are times you want to just slip in, and go with the flow, because it seems so easy, so comfortable to do right now. But something tells you to be cautious, and make a good decision, because once you accept the status quo, it’s hard to go back to your dreams. Swimming upstream, against the current, is very tiring and you may never get back to that spot where you were. All of those opportunities yet to come, that you couldn’t wait for, will now be behind you, and they will spend the rest of your life chasing you far downstream, most likely never catching you. I like to look at the faces of our young people as they graduate and go out into life, but always, I wonder when the seriousness will set in for them. For most of us, that time comes when we have offspring, and we realize the ramifications that will come if we continue to degrade our earth, our values and our way of life. We know that by the time they start to think, like we are now thinking, it may be too late and we won’t be here to say, “I told you so.” On the other hand, it’s hard to be advice-givers when we have made such a mess of things already. It’s hard to say “I told you so,” when we were so much a part of the problem. I know that, someday, mankind will succeed in eliminating themselves because, for some strange reason, we seem destined to do that. Soon after we are gone, the earth will replenish itself, because Mother Nature is far more resilient than we are. For now, she is just putting up with us and our antics.

I THINK IT'S HERE

I say, “I think it’s here,” because life in Minnesota has taught me that you can never be sure when spring has really arrived. But something happened the other day that brought me hope. Many of us have taken a long journey, to some far-off destination we yearn to go to, and have experienced that feeling of relief that comes when we finally get out of the car, or off the plane, and know we are at our journey’s end. It’s as if we have endured something on that trip that had to be done before the real fun begins. We “paid our dues,” you might say, and that’s where that part of my analogy ends.

Here is where the other half starts. Yesterday morning when I got out of bed, and went to the patio doors to check the weather, as I often do, there it was—the ice was gone! Our lake was back, and to top it off, swimming right in front of my house were our loons. All thoughts of that long journey, through last winter’s brutal encasement of snow and ice, were gone from my mind. The dark nights of winter staring at the television, and listening to the wind blow outside the house, were history. We have finally turned the corner.

There lives in many of us an older person, with an aversion from work. We’re retired now, and punching the old clock is a distant memory, but there is such a thing as a labor of love for others and me, and it comes in spring. Each flowerbed I uncover brings little surprises because there they are again, poking their little heads above the earth, searching for the sunlight that is their lifeblood. The dead leaves have been raked and blown away, and just in time the rains come, and that drab brown grass magically finds its chloroform and green is the new color. The rhubarb seems to grow an inch a day and the buds are swelling on the maple and aspen trees. The earth is having a rebirth, and this is a time for celebration.

There is no analogy, however, between my life and the seasons, as is often portrayed. The earth passes from one season to another until the cycle is complete, and then it simply starts over. This reincarnation is second nature to Mother Nature, for you see, she’s been at it a long, long time. But just because it’s October in my waning life—and that might be a generous assumption—it doesn’t damper the feelings I have for spring. I might be old and wrinkled, but I love new things and spring has an abundance of them. God willing, I will get to see them grow up once more here in Mother Nature’s own backyard.

It’s been a few days now since I started this essay. It feels good to walk upright again, and not having to shuffle my feet from one patch of ice to another. I’ve pulled my head up out of my coat collar, and stretched my neck back out. Took the truck out of four wheel drive, and put the plow away. The rakes and shovels are out of the shed, and so is the ibuprofen bottle. I keep thinking that there are more spots hurting than last year, but what the heck, if they’re hurting, then they must still have some life left in them, right? All of us need “a purpose in life” to be able to get up and go on each day. Spring gives us that purpose, and you know what? Summers on its heels, and like they say back where I come from, “It don’t get no gooder than that.”

FEELINGS

                                                           

I was reading some birthday greetings, from my family, off my phone a while back and out loud to a friend that was with me. My voice started to crack as I read them and my friend said, “Don’t cry.” I stopped reading them out loud and finished reading them to myself. At first I was somewhat ashamed that I had lost my composure that easily but later I thought “no, you know what? I’ll cry if I want to.” As well meaning as my friends comment was, I didn’t want to suppress those emotions. I spent too much of my life doing just that. Maybe what my friend meant was simply, “don’t cry here” and maybe my friend was just saying get a grip on yourself. I guess I’ll never know but what I do know is someday, someplace, I’ll be made proud again-- and I’ll cry again.

As I think over my life and all of the trials and tribulations I have been through, proud times, happy times and sad times, patriotic times and days of utter chaos, I often think maybe I didn’t cry enough in the past. There was a time in my life when I suppressed every notion of crying and a time when I felt it wasn’t a manly thing to do. It was a time when I viewed it as a weakness and indicative of someone who was not in control of themselves. It was a time when I felt that only women cried and men swore instead. Now with the wisdom of age on my side, I know better. Charles Dickenson said in Great Expectations: “Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears. For they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth-- overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried than before---more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.”

Old age brings us some big changes in our lives and I’m not just talking about physically but emotionally as well. Just as our bodies become frailer and fail us and are harder to control, so it is with our good emotions like happiness, pride, love and yes even sadness. They seem to lay just under the surface sometimes and it doesn’t take a lot of effort to bring them to the surface. At the same time those bad emotions that cursed us for so long like anger, envy and jealously and got us in so much trouble in life’s past seem to temper and soften and not get in the way so often anymore. With sad crying however there comes a time when you want to weep and be comforted because you’re tired of always trying to be strong. Carl Sandburg said, “Life is like an onion. You peel it off one layer at a time and yes—sometimes you weep,”

Those tears I spoke of at the start of this essay were tears of pride and love. Happy tears you earned the right to shed because you loved somebody and they just loved you back. But tears of sadness are all to often shed today. Sadness because we lost someone we loved to sickness or death. Sadness because were frustrated with family problems or financial problems. Sadness over a world that seems so far out of sync with our values and beliefs and we feel so powerless to do anything about it. Yes, it’s so ironic that the tears come easy when we are babes and just entering the world and then here they come again at the other end of life when we are old and growing closer to the end. 

WOLVES VERSES HUMANS

When I wrote my first book, “A Long Way Back,” I included a Timber wolf in the story. I wanted the wolf to be a help to the people in the story, not a hindrance or a danger, and I think I achieved that. In order that my story would be as factual as possible, I studied wolves for some time. I wanted to know more about their habits, their family life and how they live. What I found out has caused me to draw some comparisons between their family structure, and those of human beings.

Wolves are very family-oriented. They live in packs or families because, in a lot of ways, they are dependent on each other. Wolves will hunt and then bring back food to their pups, who are not yet able to hunt. There is, however, no free lunch forever, and no living in Mom and Dad’s basement. At some point, the pups are banished from the pack, and they learn to hunt on their own or they starve. It’s called, “growing up” in our society. Wolves will fight to the death to protect their families and homeland, and that can include fighting wolves from other packs, much as we protect our kids from those who wish to harm them. The natural mortality rate is high for wolves.

They have been depicted as natural born killers, and yes, if they are allowed to live close to livestock they will take an easy kill. Programs are in place to trap predatory wolves that do this, and to reimburse the ranchers. They are little, if any, threat to people, and they will do all they can to avoid confrontation with us. They kill only what they eat and they don’t waste any of it; compared to humans who throw away a lot of what they eat. In short, they hunt to eat and not for sport. Wolves are very good at communicating with each other. When you hear wolves howling, you don’t need to be afraid—they aren’t talking to you—they’re talking to each other.

As I said, the family structure of a wolf pack resembles human families except that most male wolves, that father the young, stick around and help out with raising them. Percentage-wise—far more than humans do. Why am I saying all this? Because we could take lessons from these animals on family living. After all, aren’t we the head of the food chain?

The wolf’s worst enemy is man. He doesn’t hunt just for food, he often hunts for sport, for the chance to hang a pelt on his wall and brag to his friends about the wolf he killed. They’re not good to eat. When you kill one, you disrupt the pack, perhaps causing many more to starve to death. Wolves do kill deer, which man does hunt and eat. But man has other ways to feed himself, and wolves do not. Wolves and deer have lived together in the same areas forever. Nature has a way of balancing this out. When food is scarce they move elsewhere—somewhat like when humans lose their jobs and there is no more employment in the area, but you are intent on working, so you look in other areas.

There are many species of wildlife, on this beautiful earth, that have vanished. Almost always because of man, who played a big part in it. Tigers, elephants, rhinos,  birds, and even fish and mammals in the seas, are all threatened—they are  being killed by mankind’s ego to assert his dominance. In most cases, he only asserted his ignorance.

FATHERLY ADVICE

                                               

Just for this week, I am going to turn this column into an advice column for newly married men. At least those who are in it for the first time. Now I know many of you have fathers, grandfathers or fathers-in law’s you could talk to about matters concerning the fair sex but believe me if they are still married it would be some watered down advice you would get --if any from them. They are not allowed to speak freely about such things and I’ll tell you why later in this little ditty.

Lesson one. They know when you’re lying. You might think it’s between you and the lord but you’re wrong. All women have some kind of clairvoyant abilities. I know it sucks but like the pothole in the road, if you know its there and you avoid it, you might not get hurt. Case in point. My wife went to some church function and my one-year-old daughter made a mess in her pants. As a fireman I have bagged up dead bodies from airplane crashes but the thought of a poopy diaper still gags me to this day. I knew my wife would be home in an hour so I did the only thing I could do. Open a window and spray some air freshener. When she returned I exclaimed the minute she came in the door, “I don’t know what’s wrong with this child but I just changed her pants and I guess she wasn’t done or something,” and handed her the baby. She promptly handed her back to me and said. “Shame on you, Change that kids pants or it will be the last pair of girls pants you’ll ever take off anyone in this house.”---Ouch. Now go back to the last line of the first paragraph. Now you know.

Lesson two. Just shut up and eat it, whatever it is she made and especially if it was one of her mothers recipes. Case in point.  She once made me an old family recipe of German milk toast.  I refused to eat it telling her I was lactose intolerant. “Have you not heard about that?” I asked. “Yes Mike we’ve all heard it-- and about it,” she said “and it has nothing to do with lactose unless beer has milk in it.” She suckered the kids into thinking it was the greatest thing since cotton candy and I ate it for thirty years. The comment I made to her about  “Germany losing the war and sucking on frozen milk toast on the Russian front” was not at all helpful either.

Lesson three. Do not under any circumstances utter the words “Woman’s work.” when you are asked to help out around the house. There are not enough adjectives in the English language for me to explain the consequences of that. You might just as well call her mother, a lady of the evening, as say those words. They are poisonous words and I would give you another case in point to prove it but it’s too painful to talk about and Medicare doesn’t cover the therapy I would probably need. Excuse me; I have to change the subject.

 I’m short on room so I’m just going to throw some no-no’s out there, so take them for what they’re worth. The neighbor lady does not look good, no matter what she wears or for that matter doesn’t wear. And don’t ever tell you’re wife she looks good when its obvious she doesn’t. That’s not reverse psychology, that just stupid. To sum it up son. Life ain’t fair. The fair is where you go to get your pig judged. So just get used to it. 

A SACRED LAND

Recently, I was blessed with the opportunity to go to Hawaii. Before you get defensive, and tell me that you’re not interested in listening to another vacation story from some lucky stiff who was able to escape some of the winter cold for a warmer climate, I want to say, this is not about that. I am sure many of you have been there, and many of you have it on your bucket list. No, this is about the way the Hawaiian people feel about their state, and how they differ from us on the mainland.

Now, on the island that I was on, there seemed to be an absence of the toys we see around our neck of the woods in the summer time. No Wave Runners or other personal watercraft; or speedboats whipping around the harbors. No four-wheelers tearing up the ditches or going across country on well-worn trails. No one harassing the wildlife. In fact, most Hawaiians hold wildlife in reverence. We traveled quite extensively around the country while we were there, and I never saw a dealer for any of those crafts; just a lot of people paddling out in the surf, or using sails to propel them on their boards, or snorkeling in the shallows, and enjoying the coral and fish. I went to an aquarium and was told they don’t capture or imprison whales, porpoises, dolphins, seals or sea lions. It is their feeling that these mammals suffer too much in captivity. Even many of the fish are only kept for a short time, and then released back into the ocean. Always, it comes back to what is good for the animals and good for the land.

Each day I walk the road by my house with my dog, and pick up the garbage that gets thrown out the car windows by people who don’t have any respect for our part of the country. Plastic bottles, glass, cans, Styrofoam and cardboard drink containers, a lot of plastic bags, and food containers. I saw little of this in Hawaii, and my gut tells me—what little there is, is thrown out by the tourists who are used to doing this back home. Once, while walking down my road, I found hundreds of prescription anxiety capsules that had been discarded along the roadside, and couldn’t help but feel the harm that would come to every bird or animal that tried to ingest the colorful capsules.

We, like the Hawaiians, are blessed with a beautiful part of the earth. The difference lies in the attitude that exists towards taking care of it. I sometimes dream about what this country was like when the only inhabitants were the Native Americans. This land must have looked to them, much like Hawaii looked to the Polynesians. Maybe the big difference I am talking about is the Polynesians never lost control of the Hawaiian Islands and still yield great influence there. As I said before, we too live in a special place but one sad day, if we keep our attitude about trying to keep everyone happy with trails and playgrounds for machines that put more pressure on nature then nature can readily fix, the outcome is not going to be pretty. I know I’m preaching to the choir with a lot of you, and to those of you who feel like I do about preserving this country for future generations, well God bless. We need to be like the Hawaiians and say no sometimes.

A LEARNING CHAPTER FROM MY LIFE

He was like my shadow for fourteen years. From the time I first picked him up and felt his soft puppy fur on my cheek, smelled his sweet puppy’s breath and his silky tongue on my face, I knew there was a connection. When I walked, he walked beside me, and when I sat, he sat beside me. When he was out of line and needed correcting, a simple “No” would stop him in his tracks. Ashamed of himself, he would lower his eyes and come and sit close to me, seeking redemption.

It wasn’t that he didn’t act like a normal dog, he often did. He chased squirrels and dug holes. He brought dead things home to me, and peed where he wanted to. But when it was just he and I together, then he was all business. He understood that was our time and that it was important. For fourteen years we walked together, down that lonely country road that winds around the lake. At first, he was so full of energy exploring every nook and cranny but, as the years went by, he became more content to just walk with me. Then, as the arthritis took its toll on his hips, he would walk behind me and I slowed the pace so he could keep up. No matter how badly it hurt him, though, he always wanted to go.

We would have our little talks; and he would cock his head, raise his ears, and look at me as if he understood each and every word I was saying. Oh, there were some key words that he never missed—you could sneak the words “treat” or “walk” in the middle of reciting “Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address,” and he would hear it. But I think it was mostly the tone of my voice he was locking in on. If I went to town, he went with me in the truck, always sitting high and proud in the seat, watching out the windshield for critters and such. The only thing he didn’t understand was why he had to get in the back seat, when she was with me. I had to tip the mirror up so I didn’t have to see him glaring at the back of my head.

The day I found out she was going to die, and I sat in the back porch crying, he came and put his paws and chin in my lap. He didn’t understand why I was so sad, but he knew it was serious, and he knew it was time to be close. He liked the front seat—but not this way. It’s going on three years now since she left me and two and a half since he breathed his last, curled up at my feet. Life has changed so much for me.

My new pup, Molly, has some big paws to fill. She is still a “work in progress,” but she’s learning. She’s not as subservient as Gus was yet, but she’ll come around. As for me, I’ve moved on, too, and someone else is brightening my life now. Neither she nor Molly is meant to replace anyone. You just add chapters to life’s story—you don’t delete. Our lives, like a good book, are made up of so many chapters. Some long, some short, some good and some bad, but in the end they will tell the story of our life, and all of the characters that have played their part. It’s up to us, however, to keep writing that story or it will end unfinished, and you will die a prisoner of your own captivity. How lucky I am in my story, because I have found out, through living, that life doesn’t always give you second chances, and in the end, it will matter little how we died. But it will matter, a lot, how we lived.

WHAT A LONG WINTER CAN DO TO YOU.

                                    

So today it’s the 17^th of March and month five of a winter that never quits. The forecast tonight is for six to eight inches of snow. There was time in life, when I would have retreated to the fruit cellar with a bottle of Jim Beam and said “I’ll be out when I hear robins singing.” But this year something snapped in side of me and I’m saying to old Mother Nature. “Bring it on old gal. I’ve got the plow pointed out the garage door, so give us your best shot. No more of those weenie three inches that just irritate us and make it all slippery and snotty. Let’s set a big record for the eighteenth of March. I got no place to put the crap but I don’t care anymore. My truck has been in four-wheel drive for three months and I’ve been walking like a drunken penguin since November but I’m not backing down. The voices are telling me not too and for once, I’m listening to the voices.”

With all due respect to my father, who scoffed at today’s weather and claimed that when he was kid, the leading edge of the last glacier was just north of Emily and they used to go up there and gather night crawlers pushed up by the ice. He talked about the year, when on the fishing opener he fished of an ice flow in Gull lake with his old three horse Johnson clamped on the back edge with a couple of C clamps and two boards. That was the year the polar vortex ran all the way down to Aruba and it was July twenty-fifth before they planted the garden. That was the year the tallest trees in the woods looked like they all had a crew cut because the deer ate the tops off flush with the twenty-foot snowpack. He had to add six feet of stovepipe to the discharge on his snow blower, just to get it over the tops of the drifts.

Yes Dad, if you’re looking down at me, Have a little pride in me because your war stories are going to look like Grimm’s fairy tales when this one is over. Heck, lets make it a challenge. Tonight I’m shutting off the heat and wearing my Sorrels’ and snowsuit to bed. I got a pot of corn beef and cabbage simmering on the stove and I added a quart of peppermint schnapps, just to fortify it. I gassed my snow blower and 4 wheeler up with Sonoco racing fuel. I blanked out the weather channel on the television. Radar? I don’t need no dumb radar. The voices are telling me what’s going to happen and those weather guys are full of it. They don’t have a clue, never did-- never will. Liars all of them. They lie worse then the politicians at election time.

Oh, this is going to be so much fun tomorrow. I got the giggles right now. Oh Lord this is better than the Super Bowl.  The dog is half under the bed looking at me. Stupid mutt if she only knew what’s coming. Note to self. If there is reincarnation don’t come back as no dumb dog. What a dull life. No voices to talk to. Just eat and poop and mark the snow banks. Stupid paws without thumbs that can’t handle a snow shovel or hold a cup of grog while looking out the window at the storm. Boring. To all of the snowbirds that ran away last fall. You’re no better than the soldier that deserts his unit in the heat of battle. What are you going to tell your grandkids? How many margaritas you drank while you were getting all pruney in the pool? I gota go now. Need to rest before the battle. Can’t have any distractions because the voices don’t like that. Got to be on top of my game tomorrow. Shhh.

MY PERFECT WORLD

                                                

My friend wrote me the other day. The subject was a preplanned, more perfect city that was being purposed for parts of Aitkin and Cass County. Money was at one time appropriated to study the concept, both from private and government sources, but it really never got off the ground. The biggest reason appears to be that the people, who already lived there, where it was planed, didn’t want it. I guess if I had been living there, I would have been on their side of the aisle.

I think the concept of the perfect city has been brought up many times in many places. I believe that the city of Jonathan, out in the western suburbs of Minneapolis was mentioned in those circles. Not sure what happened there but apparently it never became that much.

One of the biggest problems to me when you say “perfect City” is –define perfect. Talk to 100 people and you will get 100 different answers. How do you work that out with out making some people compromise on their ideas and if you do compromise, then your idea of perfect, becomes not so perfect anymore. I took it a step farther and asked myself what would my perfect city look like?

Well to start with it wouldn’t be a city because I lived in a city for many years and never liked the closeness, the noise, the hustle and bustle of busy people doing what they had to do to survive. To be fair they were good people just like you and I so it was nothing personal with the people. It was just the way we had to live that bugged me. In my perfect place to live I would be able to enjoy the great outdoors right outside my own back door. I could sit on my dock on a cloudless night and see stars you never saw in the city at night. I could breath air that didn’t smell and taste like someone else had already exhaled it. I could hear all of the creatures of my surrounding area, as they went about their business without hearing other mechanical devices, like my neighbors air-conditioned or a wailing fire truck or some kid doing a burn-out with his fast car. I could hear the breeze rustling through the trees or the rippling of the water on the beach and the only interference would be my own breathing. I do have a little redneck streak in me and I own a dog, a gun and a pickup truck that seem to go with the territory, so there you go my friends.

Life will never be perfect where ever you live but I’m thinking I have done the best with what I had to work with. I know this because for all practical purposes I’m happy and happiness is usually a sign that you have made some good choices in life. Oh-- there have been some bumps for sure. I lost the love of my life a couple of years ago but you know what-- I think I found someone else to share my life with. My health is pretty good and I have so many nice friends. Who could ask for anything more? I have a strong faith in my God and a great place to worship him.

I wonder if those people who wanted to create that perfect city knew about where I live. I sincerely doubt it because if they did they wouldn’t have been looking for a different place. Guess I for one am glad they never came over here.

KEEPING UP WITH TECHNOLOGY

                                    

So us old fogies’ like me are trying hard to survive in this teach savvy world. I have found that if you don’t have some degree of participation you might just as well be a deaf mute and go live behind the garage. Beside’s this computer I am typing on, I now have a smart phone and a smart television set, which is pretty good for a dumb man. My grandson calls me the other day and somehow he changes the ring tone on my phone, from his phone, from my usual barking dog signal to a Gestapo style siren. Not knowing what was going on I rushed outside, to go hide in the top of the garage, when suddenly his voice sounded out of my pocket and he identified himself. Not funny Michael.

I was flying back from Mesa a while back and the plane cabin looked like the control room at an N.F.L. game with laptops, I pads and smart phones everywhere. The guy next to me was watching some movie about an airplane crash and the kid on the other side of me was playing some game, where he broke out in gales of laughter about every thirty seconds because he was killing people. Not to be outdone I got out my phone and turned on my music consisting of “Somewhere over the rainbow” without earphones.” Have you ever had one hundred and fifty people stare at you at the same time? “ The pilot actually increased the throttle and banked the plane and the flight attendant gave me the old finger across the throat signal. Fussy people.

I once told my granddaughter what it was like growing up without all of these electronic conveniences. We had one phone in the house and we had to ask our parents if we could use it and the answer was always no. My granddaughter told me she would have simply died rather then live like that. I told her I thought about that but didn’t know how to end it. She told me there was an app for that and gave me the address of a website in case I ever wanted to download it. Relax I didn’t.

I now have many new words in my vocabulary like Hulu and it’s not the hoop. Pandora and it’s not the box and Amazon and it’s not the river. I can skyp, twitter, tweet, and meet you on face book, LinkedIn or e-mail. I Google more than I gargle and my browser is my best friend. Whoops almost got in trouble there. Second best friend. Sorry dear.

So I have upgraded my electronic network and in the spring I will have a garage sale. I have a very nice eight-track player with the best of Elvis tapes. I have two cassette players with several cartridges, including the best of John Phillip Sousa. A tape movie player, see I’ve even forgot what they call them any more, with a box of movies, including Lassie Come Home. Two thirty-five millimeter cameras-- one still has seven pictures on the roll that is in it-- and two black and white television sets and a flip open cell phone with a dial inside of it that’s great for those seniors who don’t want to change and a pong game still in the box. For the time being I’m hanging on to Donkey Kong and Frogger. Any one want to play?

WHATS IN A PICTURE

                                                

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

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

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

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