MY GOLDEN POND

                                                         

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

SUMMER OF 2020

                                                                                             

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

I DREAMED A DREAM

                                                            

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

MESSAGE AFTER THE FOURTH

                                                     

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

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

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

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

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

HONESTY

                                                         

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

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

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

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

THE LAKE PLACE

                                                          

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

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

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

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

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

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

RIVER OF DOUBT

                                                          

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

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

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

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

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

FOURTH OF JULY

                                                          

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

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

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

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

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

POOR WHITE TRASH

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

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

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

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

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

DAD AND I

                                                           

When I wake up in the morning, I find that’s the best time to stop and think. I’m retired so I have no job to rush out to, no reason to jump out of bed. The topics I think about, run the gamete from friends who are sick, to projects I might be working on, to the good old days. I seldom think about the troubles are country is going through. Those thoughts come later in the day when the newspaper and the media have unleashed their barrage of conflicting opinions e of what’s going right and wrong and who is to blame. They have every right to do that and if it’s unsettling, I don’t have to read or listen but somehow, it’s hard to escape it. No, the mornings are just a time to reminisce and try to have thoughts about things that once made me happy.

So often those thoughts go back decades because I tend to hang onto what made me happy and let go of what made me sad. This morning I thought about a trip I made to my home town decades ago to take my dad fishing. Dad loved to fish and so did I and even though neither of us had ever mastered the sport, we had the basics down and all that involved was a boat, some gear and making time to do it. That last part was the hardest part. Not for dad, who was retired and living by himself but for me who was working two jobs and raising a family. But every so often I would make the trip back to my hometown where dad still lived in a little apartment, leave the wife and kids at her mother’s place and Dad and I would go out to our favorite lake.

We always caught fish but that wasn’t important to this story. What was important, is the fact that dad and I were together in the middle of the lake in an aluminum shell of a boat and no one was around to interrupt us. In fact, as I reflected on it this morning lying in bed, I don’t remember how the fishing was on that particular day, all I remember was, I was with my dad. 

I have a son that I am proud of and I hope that someday he will think of me in the context of the love we had for each other and the good times we had and not the times we disagreed. I have always felt that I wanted my son to be as good of a man as I meant to be in my life. I have always hoped that I would be as good of a father to my son, as my dad was to me. My grandpa told me shortly after our son was born to always remember when you raise your son, you raise your sons, son. Grandpa died shortly after that but I never forgot his wisdom. It was the root of my own character 

Growing up, my father didn’t always have my hand, but he did always have my back. He was always content to let you find your own way in life but yet, he was always looking where you were going and what you were doing. He was never quick to judge, but in the end if you wanted his honest opinion you got it and it was sometimes unflattering. That could be a hard pill to swallow sometimes, because here was this ordinary man, who accomplished nothing that will ever be recorded into the annals of history, that I, by my love for him, had made my hero.

If I could have one wish in life it would be a chance to spend one more hour with those who shaped my life and have gone before me. Just a chance to say the things that never got said, that got lost in the moment and now seem to be so pertinent to me. But I’ll bet if dad and I got that one chance--- we’d just go fishing one more time.   

SUNSHINE BOYS

                                                          

I have written before about a group of elderly men and a couple of ladies who occasionally come by-- and I’m not going to comment on their ages-- who gathered together for coffee and conversation, a few times a week at one of the local cafes. We called ourselves the Sunshine Boys. This has been going on for the better part of twenty years. Over this period of time many of the original people have passed away, or moved on, so the group has evolved and there are just a few of the originals left. Yet, even with some new people, our core values seem to still be the same. Friendship and doing what we can to keep each other happy. When I first started taking part in this, I was one of the younger ones but now that has changed and although I’m not the oldest, I’m getting there. It always been my hope and the hope of the others that the group would remain together, although new blood has not been always easy to find.

During the winter months the group shrunk up because we had a few snowbirds and some who for weather reasons found it hard to attend. So, this spring when I came back from Arizona, I was looking forward to renewing some old relationships and then this Covid- 19 thing came along and the café closed up. Even if it was open, it would be hard to keep the social distancing that would be required. A side problem was most of us, were the ones who were in the group, that had such high mortality rates with the disease. 

So, for a couple of months we all just kind of hunkered down at home not wanting to take risks or stir the pot when it came to socializing. We called each other occasionally but that didn’t begin to take the place of the conversations we had when we were all together. Then the idea came about to meet in a park, weather permitting. So, a couple of weeks back we gathered in the town square park across from the drug store. We each brought a lawn chair and our own drink and made a big circle trying to keep some semblance of social distancing. No hand shaking or hugs and those who wanted to use masks were encouraged to do so and most did.

Were there some risks to this? Of course. But there were risks involved when you went to the doctor or the grocery store or other errands. There were risks when you saw your family or neighbors. So, what were the benefits that outweighed those risks? I think I mentioned them earlier in this article. Friendship and caring for each other. There were people who were with us last year, who were not with us this year and there will be people in the group that met the other day, that might not be here next year. We want to enjoy each other while we can.

I have in my mind a list of all of the people whom I have met over the years in this group. My life has been made so much better because I knew those people. They all brought something to the table in their own way that makes me remember them today. In the end we are all bits and pieces of everyone we ever associated with. Oh yes, there were some not so good ones too but you tend to not remember those, because they had nothing useful for you to keep. But the majority did have something you could use and I for one am so thankful I knew them. So, to Norm, Morrie, Rusty, Darrell, Dick, Gordy, Wally, John, Charlie, and any one I missed that is gone-- as Carol Burnett use to sing. “I’m so glad we had these times together.” I hope the Sunshine boys will carry on.

MOLLY REPORT

It occurred to me that with all of the political talk and talk about the virus and lack of food and medicines, that maybe I would lighten it up with a Molly report. For those who don’t know or are just tuning in, Molly is my dog. Molly turned 8 this January and people who know and love Labradors all say, that’s about the time in their life when they start behaving. No sign of that yet from Molly but one can only hope, can’t they.

Molly is a hunting breed although the only thing I know for sure that she hunts for, is food, mischief and a good place to sleep. That sleep can be on the couch that she is not allowed on, or in my bed with her head on the other pillow staring at me and emitting the breath of a buzzard. Sometimes when she is overcome with emotion, It’s in my lap, in my recliner. She doesn’t get in your lap gracefully but prefers to leap there when you least expect it. Like right through the newspaper and sending both of us over backwards with the recliner on top of us.

Molly had an itching problem and they thought---they the vet—it might be a food allergy. So, I put her on a fish-based food with sweet potatoes. I told you about her bad breath. This dog food when you open the bag smells like Milorganite. For those of you not familiar with it, Milorganite it is a fertilizer that is refined from human waste. It comes from Milwaukee and I am not sure that’s where they get the human waste from but it is the beer capital of the Midwest. The dog food is not that far removed, from the original scent of human waste. Maybe because dogs love to roll in human waste she thinks she is smelling pretty inside and out. I don’t know but she loves the food and by the way, she’s still scratching.

I told you she was a hunting breed and loves to chase squirrels. In eight years, she has never come close to catching one, although she did get a chipmunk. To be fair she was sleeping on the porch and the chipmunk thinking she was a fixture and not a dog tried to run over the top of her and practically ran into her mouth. It was not a good ending for the chipmunk. Her other selected prey is rabbits and in Arizona where I winter there is no shortage of rabbits. So last January, Pat and I took the dogs for a walk on leashes, which by the way she hates and she went after a rabbit that ran behind me, pulling me over backwards onto a rocky trail and breaking my hip. So, when you see me limping along, think of good old Molly. I know I do. 

Molly has a tattoo on her belly. It says “do not resuscitate.” I’m kidding of course. She means the world to me. I am an old man living by himself and lots of old people turn to pets for companionship. They’re not to replace the people that have left your life. They are companionship to you in a world that despite the amount of people in it, can be a lonely place for many of them. I will be 80 next year and Molly 9. We just might cross that rainbow bridge 

together. I look around me at all of the hate and dissension that is in this world. All of the people who seem to get up angry every morning and go to bed angry each night. I sometimes say to myself, “Why can’t we all have the demeaner of a Molly.” Molly gets up every day and says to herself, “Why am I so happy today? “Then she smiles and says, because it’s a big wide beautiful world I live in and today-- I’m going to make the most of it.” How many  people do you know like that?

IT'S LIKE A WAR

                                                           

A while back the President compared our current situation with the pandemic to being at war. I felt at the time he was being a little overly dramatic but then again, maybe he has something there. I have often wondered what it was like in world war II, in London or the German cities, to be a civilian and hear the siren’s going off and wondering if this was the night a bomb found your house with you inside of it. You would hear the concussions all around you and wonder when your number was going to be up. On the upside you would never know what hit you but then maybe it would be a dud and you would just have to patch the hole in the roof.

Today in the midst of this pandemic we sit home trying to stay as far away as we can from everyone. But once or twice a week we sneak out to get some essentials and wonder if this is the day, you pick the loaf of bread that someone sneezed on. If that door handle to the grocery store was dripping with the virus or if when you punched accept on the key pad at the gas pump, there was a COVID- 19 germ just sitting there, waiting to go home with you. You ask yourself did I have my mask on properly?  So many questions for sure.

This weekend I’m going to see my family at my son’s house in the cities. I haven’t seen any of them since last October when I headed down south for the winter. There is a new baby now 2 months old I have never held. Three other great grandkids, now toddlers and moms and dads, my grandkids. But you can only stay away so long. There is no upside here if I get infected. Maybe weeks in the hospital and maybe just the sniffles. And maybe it’s the last chapter but not the way I dreamed about it. Alone.  All in all, it’s up to me to try and protect myself.

I’m not trying to make light of our situation. Too any people have been hurt already for that. Too many still left to be hurt. Food lines like we have never seen before. The richest country in the world and thousands of people going hungry. Yet farmers are euthanizing their livestock, plowing under their crops and dumping their milk, because there is no way to get them, to market. It seems like a bad dream. People are angry, revolting against the authorities, yet not many answers are forth coming. They say it will get worse before it gets better. That It’s not going away anytime soon. What’s going to happen when real desperation sets in? Will it be a few months or will it still be here next year and is the time coming when we just have to get back to business as usual and those who are most vulnerable and get sick become collateral damage and that’s sad if it comes to that-- but the sick may have to take one for the Gipper, because there is no other way. This thing is bigger than all of us right now.

Always in the past this country has found a way. I hope that is our mantra. I hope that at some point politics becomes a moot point. That we will find ways to help each other beyond banging pots and pans out the windows or Navy jets flying salutes overhead and someday when this is all over, we’ll have that more perfect union our forefathers talked about back when this country started and one that we could have had a long time ago but we got off track. It’s going to take some humble pie, far less greed, hate and selfishness and a whole new attitude from a lot of people. Let’s hope and pray for change. 

WAKE UP AMERICA

I had a conversation the other day with a friend about how the Corona-Virus was able to get so far out of control in this country before we got serious about doing something about it. We talked about South Korea, Taiwan, New Zealand and a few other countries that were able to keep it under control and how our response seemed to differ from theirs. Now for sure, the initial response from our leaders had a lot to do with it. From our president calling it a hoax-- something he doesn’t mention any more-- to the typical attitude of our government to be reactive instead of proactive on most problems our country faces. One only needs to Look at our neglected infrastructure for an example. But the most serious thing that seems to impede any logical response to this problem—and a lot of other problems in our country-- there is little discipline in this country for some people to follow the rules we have put in place and not much response from the law to enforce them. It seems it’s almost admirable nowadays to be a rebel. Those countries I did talk about-- that had good success in stopping this pandemic. They have no time for rebels in their society. Laws and rules without any enforcement, are simply advice and here they are treated as such.

When I was a young lad my father told me, it would be a good experience to go in the military. “At least you would learn about discipline” he said, “and from someone besides your parents.” I chose the fire service instead but actually they had that same militaristic approach. Not always popular with everyone, but basically things ran smoothly. Our original constitution was the foundation for a good government. A fair way to run the country and please most of the people. We then over the decades instead of improving on it, litigated it to pieces trying to please everyone who screamed about their rights. Rights that were never meant to be. 

The new norm in politics and politicking at election time, is not to talk about any achievements you might have had, although they are rare today, but instead to chastise your opponent by digging into his or her past and finding any kind of dirt you can, relevant or not. In effect you want to try and make yourself look good by making someone else look bad. How’s that for a prerequisite for an elected office. Really helps us as voters to understand how you as a candidate, are going to help this country doesn’t it?

Someday when the history of our country is written and the story is over, somebody will be able to look back and see what it was that destroyed this great country. At the end of World War II, we were the epitome of what sacrifice and freedom was all about. We had literally saved the world from the oppression of a few bad leaders. The country had come together in a way that had never been seen before. The sacrifices they made were great, and pride ruled the day, not wining and dis- ingenious political rhetoric. This Memorial Day we will once again honor those who sacrificed so much. There will be a lot of politicians out there making speeches on that day and a lot of them should have to ask themselves publicly, was I worth that sacrifice? I used to go to a lot of cowboy movies when I was a kid, and in the end the good guys always won. It’s not been a good time for the good guys anymore. I used to put a lot of faith in the good guys but somehow today---my faith in this government has been shattered. 

IT;S LIKE A WAR.

                                                         

A while back the President compared our current situation with the pandemic to being at war. I felt at the time he was being a little overly dramatic but then again, maybe he has something there. I have often wondered what it was like in world war II, in London or the German cities, to be a civilian and hear the siren’s going off and wondering if this was the night a bomb found your house with you inside of it. You would hear the concussions all around you and wonder when your number was going to be up. On the upside you would never know what hit you but then maybe it would be a dud and you would just have to patch the hole in the roof.

Today in the midst of this pandemic we sit home trying to stay as far away as we can from everyone. But once or twice a week we sneak out to get some essentials and wonder if this is the day, you pick the loaf of bread that someone sneezed on. If that door handle to the grocery store was dripping with the virus or if when you punched accept on the key pad at the gas pump, there was a COVID- 19 germ just sitting there, waiting to go home with you. You ask yourself did I have my mask on properly?  So many questions for sure.

This weekend I’m going to see my family at my son’s house in the cities. I haven’t seen any of them since last October when I headed down south for the winter. There is a new baby now 2 months old I have never held. Three other great grandkids, now toddlers and moms and dads, my grandkids. But you can only stay away so long. There is no upside here if I get infected. Maybe weeks in the hospital and maybe just the sniffles. And maybe it’s the last chapter but not the way I dreamed about it. Alone.  All in all, it’s up to me to try and protect myself.

I’m not trying to make light of our situation. Too any people have been hurt already for that. Too many still left to be hurt. Food lines like we have never seen before. The richest country in the world and thousands of people going hungry. Yet farmers are euthanizing their livestock, plowing under their crops and dumping their milk, because there is no way to get them, to market. It seems like a bad dream. People are angry, revolting against the authorities, yet not many answers are forth coming. They say it will get worse before it gets better. That It’s not going away anytime soon. What’s going to happen when real desperation sets in? Will it be a few months or will it still be here next year and is the time coming when we just have to get back to business as usual and those who are most vulnerable and get sick become collateral damage and that’s sad if it comes to that-- but the sick may have to take one for the Gipper, because there is no other way. This thing is bigger than all of us right now.

Always in the past this country has found a way. I hope that is our mantra. I hope that at some point politics becomes a moot point. That we will find ways to help each other beyond banging pots and pans out the windows or Navy jets flying salutes overhead and someday when this is all over, we’ll have that more perfect union our forefathers talked about back when this country started and one that we could have had a long time ago but we got off track. It’s going to take some humble pie, far less greed, hate and selfishness and a whole new attitude from a lot of people. Let’s hope and pray for change. 

STAPLES

                                                          

                                                

Someone started a face book memory trail of all of the graduates of Staples high School, of which I was one. It’s been so much fun to see the pictures and hear the stories. It’s Ironic that the very school I couldn’t wait to get out of, and the very town I wanted to leave in the rear-view mirror way back then, brings back such precious memories.

I did leave town, not because I wanted too so much, but more because Staples at that time had little opportunity for employment. The railroad was moving out and it wasn’t until a few years later that some other small companies started up in town. I guess I always envied the ones who did make it work in Staples although I had a good life where I did go. But always my thoughts and roots went back to Staples. I think this is inherent to people and where they grow up. “You can take the boy from the country but you can’t take the country from the boy.” Right. 

Call me crazy but somehow, I liked the smell of creosote from the railroad ties. It was later in life that I connected the dots and realized it wasn’t those wooden tie’s I smelled but the scent of my dad’s overhauls from working long hard days in the car shops. In 1959, the year I left there was a siding full of old steam engines relegated to the scrap yard. I remember going over there one night, when I knew my days in Staples were numbered and sitting in one of those big steam engines with my arm out the window, looking down the track like those engineers did as they traveled across the prairie for decades. At the time those engines too were leaving Staples forever and it was so sad. I can still hear those steam whistles when I close my eyes and see the smoke from their stacks. I remember pressing my ear to the track and feeling the vibrations of those huge steel wheels on those endless ribbons of steel track, even though the train was still out of sight. I made one last trip that spring of 59 to the round house where it was always warm on a cold winter night. Saw those behemoth beasts of burden sitting in their stalls warming up for the last time. I climbed the coal docks where you could see over the whole town and sat once more on the polished benches in the depot and thought of all of the trains and people that had stopped over the years. All while listening to the clicking of the telegraph operator.

I have traveled this life’s journey for the better part of eight decades. Lived in numerous towns, and in more than one state. Raised a family with my wife. Had grandkids and great grandkids. Had a career and retired and became a writer. But it seems to me if you could magickly convert memories into something tangible and put them in a box, my Staples box would be the fullest. They are my oldest memories, yet some of the most memorable.

Today we are in the middle of something that could have only been dreamed about back in 1959. Our world is going to change in ways we never thought possible. Hopefully for the better but there are so many unknowns and it is scary. I am thankful for the life I have had and I am thankful it started where it did. “In a lonely shack by the railroad track,” if I can paraphrase from an old song by Gogi Grant.

YESTERDAY, TODAY AND TOMORROW

So today it’s been one month since Pat and I came home from Arizona and went into hiding, sequestered in our own homes. Oh, we’re cheated a few times and met to take our dogs for a walk, or made a grocery run but for the most part we have obeyed the rules. They say absence makes the heart grow founder and I wait for the day when I can be with my family again. I wait for the day Pat and I can walk hand in hand and say our goodbyes with a hug and a kiss not an elbow bump.

I celebrated my 79^th birthday this year and one of my goals was to enjoy this last year in my seventies as a young seventy some-year-old, because looking ahead, at least for me, eighty is a whole new ball game. Then I fell and broke my hip and now my knee on the same leg is failing me, so what was physically normal for me has changed significantly. This with other health problems has dampened my spirits and put things into a whole new perspective. I used to see tomorrows as just a long line of now’s, as it seemed to me that the days flowed unimpeded, one into the other. Now, and here today, I find myself in a reversal, hoping tomorrow will be better than yesterday.

As an author I know how important it is to end your story with a proper finish. It’s usually at a point in your writing when there is no more story to tell. So many times, when I was writing my stories, I didn’t want them to end. Ending them was ending my characters and I felt they had much more to offer than I had put down on paper and I guess maybe that’s where I am now. There is more story in my life to be wrote, I just need to be patient and wait for it.

The New Christie Minstrels, a group in the sixties sang these lyrics from their song, “Today,” 

“I can’t be contented with yesterday’s glories; I can’t live on promises winter to spring. Today is my moment, and now is my story, I’ll laugh and I’ll dance and I’ll sing.” They didn’t live in the past and they didn’t beg for the future they just wanted the here and now. While we are quoting musical lyrics, Merle Haggard sang, “Lord for my sake, teach me to take one day at a time.” Yes, in these days of uncertainty we need to celebrate our yesterdays and never let them die, hope for our tomorrows with all of our hearts but live for today. That being said, now we need to take Merle’s advice and take, one day at a time.

As I lament in my self-imposed exile, feeling sorry for myself, my thoughts go back to my father-in-law who left his family to go fight for his country in World War II. He left behind a toddler son and a pregnant wife. When he finally got home his new born daughter was two and a half years old and his son was five. Think about your children and think about the first two and a half years of their lives and the memories you have of their birth, their first step, their first word, Their baptism and that first birthday party. The day you took the training wheels of your sons’ bike and the day you taught him how to throw a baseball. Then there was the two and a half years his wife had to go it alone, not knowing from one day to the next if he would come back alive or not. Crying in her pillow, in a half empty bed for the man she loved. Yes. My father-in-law missed all of that. It puts our plight right now into perspective doesn’t it.

AN EASTER STORY

                                                            A STORY FOR EASTER

Foreword. I wrote this for Easter but Easter has passed. Thought you would enjoy it anyway.

A few years back, on a trip to Rome with our parish Priest I had the privilege to visit many of the great cathedrals of Rome. As I stood in one of the immense doorways of St Peters Basilica, my breath was taken away, by not only the beauty of that place but the immense size of it. It is a memory that I visit quietly and often in my daily musings. Many of the world’s other great Cathedrals or Basilicas would actually fit inside of it. Many of the princes of the church are interred there, including St Peter himself. It is the heart of the Vatican. It is part of a vast complex of buildings including the Sistine chapel where the great Michelangelo showcased his artistic and architectural skills. In front of it is a vast public square with fountains and obelisks that showcase’s its beauty. It has existed since the sixteenth century and Catholic or not it is something you will never forget.

On the other side of the world back in Minnesota, there was a highway I used to travel in my many trips from my home town to the cities and off to the side of the road you could see a small white country church. It wasn’t made of granite blocks and it wasn’t set in a public square but rather a simple gravel parking lot. It was made of wood frame and white clapboard siding and a few small stain glassed windows. Two simple wooden doors at the top of about five wooden steps led to the inside. On one side of the church was a belfry with a steeple and although I never heard the bells ring, I can hear them in my mind, calling the faithful from the surrounding countryside to worship. Behind the church on a gentle hillside was the final resting place of the hard-working faithful that went there to refresh their faith and their souls. They now lay there in silent repose. I doubt the church is over a hundred years old and I doubt those who designed it and built it, will ever be remembered by more than a few, except their lord.

Two totally different places but yet both built to serve the same purpose. A place to worship our lord. One immense and majestic, the other simple and humble like. The prayers that were uttered in one of them were just as important in the eyes of the lord, as the other. There is something to be said for the magnificence of St Peters Basilica in all of its splendor, but the humbleness and the serenity of that little wooden church seems at times to me at least, to be more in tune with what Jesus asked of all of us. I am sure the lord hears all of the prayers of the faithful, wherever they come from. I make these comparisons, not to extoll one or the other but to showcase them both for what they are. Gods houses.

Its Easter Sunday and both of these places will be eerily quiet this year. Shuttered by a sickness that threatens our very way of life. No bells, no crowds in the square and no cars in the parking lot. We are left, each to our own, to celebrate the resurrection of our lord in our own humble way. They can’t take that away from us.

Happy Easter everybody and may God bless

LONELINESS

Many years ago, on a Christmas Eve, I went to the care center where my father in law was being cared for to pick him up and take him to our house for the holiday. As I wheeled him through the hallways to the entrance, I passed many other residents that weren’t going anywhere for Christmas. They had no place to go, no one to share Christmas with. I tried not to look at their sad faces, and muttered some halfhearted “Merry Christmas” to some of them. Selfishly I just wanted to get out of there.

I have written before about loneliness and not just with the elderly or shut-ins. I have tried to imagine what It must be like to not be needed anymore. This past week I have been home trying to keep my distance from everyone as this virus rages around our country. But in essence, it is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to true loneliness. I have at my disposal phones and computers. Televisions and music players. Book cases full of books and the daily newspaper. Yet I’m lonely.

There is no substitute for human interaction. All those lonely old people, in that rest home so many years ago, wanted nothing more from me then just too sit down and listen to them. A handshake, a hug, share a cup of coffee and just not be ignored. There is nothing that rips at the very essence of my being, more than being isolated from those I Love. Yet for me and most of us there is hope that this thing will run its course and we will once again find that happiness that we can only find in each other, face to face. Maybe this will help us appreciate it-- the way we should have.

We all need to be needed and not just during the most productive parts of our lives but for the rest of our lives. What greater education is there then the wisdom that comes from living a life well served. No one throws a switch and you become stupid when you retire from active life. Yet its hard to be relevant, even when the advice you give is free for the taking. I was blessed with a wonderful grandfather who gave me advice that still lives with me today. I stood with my father in front of his open casket when he passed and Dad said. “I wish I was half the man he was.” Not to sell dad short, he too was a good dad but he was right about grandpa. He’s been gone for fifty some years but his wisdom still resonates with me today. He told me “It’s not so much what you accomplish in life that defines you. It’s what you become along the way.” I am sure there is some of my grandparents in all of those who have lived life well.

Over the years I was blessed to have so many friends in our coffee group. The group is largely gone now. Old age is the poster child for attrition. All of them were special in their own way but some of them just seemed to have lived such interesting lives you could listen to them for hours. My friend Gordy was one of them. He was fifteen years older than me so he had a fifteen-year head start when it came to storytelling. I never tired of listening to Gordy and when he died part of the heart of that group died with him. Somethings are hard to replace. At his funeral there wasn’t an empty seat. I am sure God was saying well done my good and faithful servant. I know it was what I was thinking.  

MUSIC

                                                           

I once saw the results of a poll that had been taken, as to which song was the most popular song, ever sung and recorded in America. The result was Judy Garlands signature song “Over the Rainbow.” As a kid growing up in the fifties, I remember my mother singing that song as she went about her daily chores. I went and watched the movie “Judy,” a while back and it took me back down that yellow brick road and back to that song.

Music is so subjective and we all have our favorites and we all have opinions as to what we like and dislike. I think I loved, “Over the Rainbow,” because the lyrics tell us a story of hope for a better world in a better time and what a ‘Beautiful world’ we live in. In fact, Louie Armstrong sang about that very thing. But In a world of have’s and have nots, hope is all some people have left and here is someone singing about it and in words you can readily understand.

As the years have gone by my music tastes have changed too but there is a point when I can no longer buy into what some call music today. I watched the super bowl half time show and as much as the choreography and dancing was good , the music was hard to judge because I understood little of what was sung. It was more noise then anything. I have gone to dances where the music literally drove me out with its loudness. Where the dancing seemed to be more reminiscent of people in trances. Where you no longer touch your partner, or hold them or talk to them, you just try to avoid some catastrophic collision that would leave you both on the floor.

Enough about that. Sometimes when I am troubled, I ask Alexa to play music from my era and it always cheers me up and sometimes tears me up. For so many of the songs bring back a memory, that was at least for me, from a different time and what I would call a better place. They will be singing “Somewhere over the rainbow” a hundred years from now. Much of today’s music will be forgotten. There are impersonators who are very popular, singing songs from the last half of the last century. I have resisted most of the urgings to get with it and try to find the good in todays music. Maybe I’m stubborn and maybe I’m spoiled and maybe I just know good music when I hear it.

When I was in my thirties and forties my wife and I would go to dances a lot. We too had pressures and a lot of worries and stress in our lives and at least for a few hours we needed to go and get away from it all.  It was the music that was the elixir and when the night was over, we rode home, her snuggled under my arm, just as we did a decade before when we were courting. It was a booster shot from the daily grind and it did us wonders.

I am probably in the last decade of my life but I’m at peace with that. It’s been a wonderful life and so much has happened that made me proud and happy. But when it’s all over, somewhere in that list of credits that will play at the end, will be the music that made me so happy and continues to warm my heart and soul. The pictures of all of those memories that develop in my mind when the music returns, could not be any clearer if they were in 5g and high definition. No, as Nat King Cole sang--- they are just “Unforgettable.”