I had finished working a solid day of talking -- four high school basketball games. So when I headed home after stopping for a burger and a couple of drinks, I thought nothing of the fact that I felt a little tired and a little sore.
Turned out there was more than fatigue involved.
A lot more.
Within an hour of getting home, I was en route to St. Joe's Hospital. My wife had called paramedics I told her I was "feeling very uncomfortable."
Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled into an ER ward. A doctor quickly looked at me and said I had suffered an "incident."
I was feeling better and wanted to go home but knew this wasn't going to happen. In a short order, I underwent a battery of tests and suddenly found myself in Room 4012 with little idea how I got there.
If your head is whirling trying to digest all this, imagine how I felt.
From there, things got more complicated. There were EKGs and blood tests. Needles were placed at various strategic angles. Every couple hours, a nurse took my blood pressure and wrote the results down with a grave face. I am no expert on these things but 165 over 109 works better as a stock quote than your blood pressure figure.
A severe looking doctor named Schuchard came in to tell me I had two basic choices: take a stress test and possible find out what the hell was wrong with me or undergo an angiogram and find out for sure. I liked the first idea because I might get out of the hospital in one day. However, my wife and my sister-in-law (who suffered a heart attack a decade ago) quietly joined the doctor in suggesting to take the other route.
Turned out to be the best idea of the year.
The angiogram showed a 95 percent blockage in one artery and 75 percent in another. The severe-looking doctor performed his magic, inserted two new stents and, 36 hours after this adventure started, I was headed back home.
A day later, it still seems a bit surreal. But it makes a fellow grateful to be able to welcome in the new year in a couple of hours.
I have some new suggestions about diet, a bevy of medications and some simple rules I must follow. If I take care of those items, the new year (which starts 150 minutes from now as I type this) should be a good one.
Accordingly, I have this wish for everyone for 2010: may it be quieter and more peaceful for you than this week has been.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Quiet holidays are okay, too
It was a very different Christmas this year. Lynne, Pete and I spent Christmas Eve and over half of Christmas Day at her sister Kathy's house in the northern suburbs.
There was no massive tearing apart of gifts. Instead, at the suggestion of sister Shari, we went outside, sitting and standing around an excellent fire ... as a heavy snowstorm swirled around us.
It was surreal in a way -- having quiet, adult-like conversations outside at 7 p.m. In another way, however, it was wonderfully peaceful and pleasant. The drinks flowed as freely as desired. Kathy is an amazingly good chef who concocted a meal the likes of which I could only imagine seeing at the Ritz in New York City.
There we sat for hours discussing serious (and not so serious) topics and laughing over past foibles.
We went to bed when we wanted to and got up when we were awake. There was some terrific coffee and, later, a stupendous breakfast consisting of an egg dish, hungarian bacon and half a Cinnabon and more conversation.
In reflecting upon the 24 hours, it was probably the quietest Christmas holiday I have ever experienced.
It was also one of the best ever - adults enjoying each other's company and conversation. It seemed exactly the tonic all of us after a hectic (and, at times, traumatic) year. As a kid, I would never have imagined spending such a day. As an adult, I cherished every moment of it.
So my hope for you this holiday season is you find whatever it is you think you need the most of. The holiday we spent isn't for everybody. But it fit our needs perfectly ... even if most of us didn't know it in advance.
Next year at this time, I may find myself on a beach in the Bahamas, a casino in Las Vegas or perhaps in front of that fire again at Kathy's house. I won't know that for some time.
Christmas 2009 was a reminder that it is a holiday where one must end up with something that makes you happy. When I was 10, that would have been a baseball glove or maybe a train set. At 56, it was simply being with people I love and cherish dearly. All in all, it was one of the better Christmas gifts I have ever received.
There was no massive tearing apart of gifts. Instead, at the suggestion of sister Shari, we went outside, sitting and standing around an excellent fire ... as a heavy snowstorm swirled around us.
It was surreal in a way -- having quiet, adult-like conversations outside at 7 p.m. In another way, however, it was wonderfully peaceful and pleasant. The drinks flowed as freely as desired. Kathy is an amazingly good chef who concocted a meal the likes of which I could only imagine seeing at the Ritz in New York City.
There we sat for hours discussing serious (and not so serious) topics and laughing over past foibles.
We went to bed when we wanted to and got up when we were awake. There was some terrific coffee and, later, a stupendous breakfast consisting of an egg dish, hungarian bacon and half a Cinnabon and more conversation.
In reflecting upon the 24 hours, it was probably the quietest Christmas holiday I have ever experienced.
It was also one of the best ever - adults enjoying each other's company and conversation. It seemed exactly the tonic all of us after a hectic (and, at times, traumatic) year. As a kid, I would never have imagined spending such a day. As an adult, I cherished every moment of it.
So my hope for you this holiday season is you find whatever it is you think you need the most of. The holiday we spent isn't for everybody. But it fit our needs perfectly ... even if most of us didn't know it in advance.
Next year at this time, I may find myself on a beach in the Bahamas, a casino in Las Vegas or perhaps in front of that fire again at Kathy's house. I won't know that for some time.
Christmas 2009 was a reminder that it is a holiday where one must end up with something that makes you happy. When I was 10, that would have been a baseball glove or maybe a train set. At 56, it was simply being with people I love and cherish dearly. All in all, it was one of the better Christmas gifts I have ever received.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Farewell to a St. Paul landmark
Although we all knew the end was near, it was still a sad piece of news. Such is the way it is when the news comes that an old friend is gone.
I cannot count the hours the spent at Lendways, an oasis among the battleground that is the Frogtown area of St. Paul. But I can say for certain that just about every one of them were joyful ones
Although it was hardly known for this sort of thing, I met both my wife and ex-wife there. They were among the legions of folks who came in for simple but good food and simple but good drinks.
It was a place where folks like Calvin Griffith, the ex-owner of the Minnesota Twins, could come in with friends and have dinner without being disturbed. I remember walking in one night and seeing the man at the round table near the back. People walked by, waved hello at the man who brought major baseball to Minnesota and went on their way. Can you imagine that happening anywhere else in the country?
Calvin knew the owner of the place, the loquacious Ignatius Theisen. Iggy was an old friend of Jim Rantz, the Twins' longtime farm director who still works for the team to this day. Partially as a result of that friendship, a bevy of media types used to come in for hours of uninterrupted socialization.
For years, Lendways was next to a strip club. The dancers thought nothing of coming in to get meals to go before they would be due up for their number. The regulars thought nothing of it, either and never bothered them.
Later, when the morals police took over the area, the strip club became a police station. Such was the respect for the way Iggy and his son David ran the place that the cops often caught people who shouldn't be behind the wheel and returned them to the bar. The warning would always be the same. "I know where your car is and I better not see you behind the wheel for 24 hours. Now call somebody and get a ride home," the cop would say. If nobody was at home, a person who was sober was designated the driver for the miscreant. Kevin Kelly, a longtime bartender there, or David would assure the driver his drink would be waiting for him when he came back.
It probably couldn't happen today. And I am fairly sure MADD would not approve. But nobody got hurt.
When the Capitol was in session, Lendways became the local answer to Switzerland. Many a political deal was crafted in the back room over lunch. Some lawmakers stayed in the small apartments over the bar during the session. It was understood they could come and go without being harassed over the day's activities down the street.
Again, that is something that could probably not happen today. And I often wonder if we are the better for that fact.
This was one of the very sports bars around town, running busses out to the old Met Stadium and then to the Metrodome for Twins and Vikings' games. For years, Iggy always took Sundays off. Then a few of his regulars suggested it would be a good idea to have a place the boys could go to watch a Vikings' game. Sharon Kelly, a longtime worker there, offered to run the bar. Fairly soon, the Sunday afternoon business began to boom. It was never advertised but it didn't have to be. Good news often travels fast.
Like all good things, however, it had to come to an end. Iggy saw the trend in the area and figured the time had come to get out. Five years ago, he decided it was time to pull the plug. The place's last official night at a bar was a gala affair. My best memory of it is coming out of the bar into the parking lot to see my wife and ex-wife engaged in pleasant conversation. As I approached with drinks for both of them, I heard one say to the other, "Oh, I hate it when he does that." To this day, I have never found out what "that" was. It was one of the many secrets told in the old place.
Lendways gave way to a rib restaurant that was only open a day or two a week. I am told the ribs were quite good. But I could never bring myself to go in there. It just wouldn't have seemed right.
Then the word came the city wanted the land for itself. The cop shop closed a while back. The rib place closed down a month ago. Several of us drove by a few times shaking our heads in dismay. None of us who spent time there wanted to see the final blows fall. We had lost our place years ago.
The regulars have long split up, found new homes and made new friends. But every now and then, a story comes up and somebody would say, "Remember the time at Lendways ..."
A bulldozer can't take away that memory.
I cannot count the hours the spent at Lendways, an oasis among the battleground that is the Frogtown area of St. Paul. But I can say for certain that just about every one of them were joyful ones
Although it was hardly known for this sort of thing, I met both my wife and ex-wife there. They were among the legions of folks who came in for simple but good food and simple but good drinks.
It was a place where folks like Calvin Griffith, the ex-owner of the Minnesota Twins, could come in with friends and have dinner without being disturbed. I remember walking in one night and seeing the man at the round table near the back. People walked by, waved hello at the man who brought major baseball to Minnesota and went on their way. Can you imagine that happening anywhere else in the country?
Calvin knew the owner of the place, the loquacious Ignatius Theisen. Iggy was an old friend of Jim Rantz, the Twins' longtime farm director who still works for the team to this day. Partially as a result of that friendship, a bevy of media types used to come in for hours of uninterrupted socialization.
For years, Lendways was next to a strip club. The dancers thought nothing of coming in to get meals to go before they would be due up for their number. The regulars thought nothing of it, either and never bothered them.
Later, when the morals police took over the area, the strip club became a police station. Such was the respect for the way Iggy and his son David ran the place that the cops often caught people who shouldn't be behind the wheel and returned them to the bar. The warning would always be the same. "I know where your car is and I better not see you behind the wheel for 24 hours. Now call somebody and get a ride home," the cop would say. If nobody was at home, a person who was sober was designated the driver for the miscreant. Kevin Kelly, a longtime bartender there, or David would assure the driver his drink would be waiting for him when he came back.
It probably couldn't happen today. And I am fairly sure MADD would not approve. But nobody got hurt.
When the Capitol was in session, Lendways became the local answer to Switzerland. Many a political deal was crafted in the back room over lunch. Some lawmakers stayed in the small apartments over the bar during the session. It was understood they could come and go without being harassed over the day's activities down the street.
Again, that is something that could probably not happen today. And I often wonder if we are the better for that fact.
This was one of the very sports bars around town, running busses out to the old Met Stadium and then to the Metrodome for Twins and Vikings' games. For years, Iggy always took Sundays off. Then a few of his regulars suggested it would be a good idea to have a place the boys could go to watch a Vikings' game. Sharon Kelly, a longtime worker there, offered to run the bar. Fairly soon, the Sunday afternoon business began to boom. It was never advertised but it didn't have to be. Good news often travels fast.
Like all good things, however, it had to come to an end. Iggy saw the trend in the area and figured the time had come to get out. Five years ago, he decided it was time to pull the plug. The place's last official night at a bar was a gala affair. My best memory of it is coming out of the bar into the parking lot to see my wife and ex-wife engaged in pleasant conversation. As I approached with drinks for both of them, I heard one say to the other, "Oh, I hate it when he does that." To this day, I have never found out what "that" was. It was one of the many secrets told in the old place.
Lendways gave way to a rib restaurant that was only open a day or two a week. I am told the ribs were quite good. But I could never bring myself to go in there. It just wouldn't have seemed right.
Then the word came the city wanted the land for itself. The cop shop closed a while back. The rib place closed down a month ago. Several of us drove by a few times shaking our heads in dismay. None of us who spent time there wanted to see the final blows fall. We had lost our place years ago.
The regulars have long split up, found new homes and made new friends. But every now and then, a story comes up and somebody would say, "Remember the time at Lendways ..."
A bulldozer can't take away that memory.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Gene Barry will always be cool!
There was an item in the paper today that Gene Barry passed away at ago 90. For those who don't remember, he was Bat Masterson and, later Amos Burke in the series "Burke's Law." There never was anybody cooler or more suave than those two characters. The article said he suffered from Alzheimer's in later years. If so, I am glad thje last picture I saw of him was over a decade ago.
I understand we all go some day. And if we live to age 90, our looks are going to undergo a serious change. But it pains me to think of somebody that sharp not being able to keep up with the world anymore.
So I will comfort myself that, in his heyday, Gene Barry was about the coolest cat around. One hopes he rode in through the front gates in a fancy stagecoach or a limo. He should come into his next gig the way he did in the past.
I understand we all go some day. And if we live to age 90, our looks are going to undergo a serious change. But it pains me to think of somebody that sharp not being able to keep up with the world anymore.
So I will comfort myself that, in his heyday, Gene Barry was about the coolest cat around. One hopes he rode in through the front gates in a fancy stagecoach or a limo. He should come into his next gig the way he did in the past.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Victory at last
Sometimes, it is the little triumphs that matter most. Along that lines, I am proud to announce that I have completed my first-ever puzzle without any help. Okay, it was the smaller of the two that run in our local newspaper. (And I am sure it is the easier one.)
And I am aware that Monday's puzzle is usually the easiest one of the week. But I have probably tried my hand at a thousand of these with no previous success. It took some serious memory work (I finally remembered that Winnie the Pooh's buddy was Piglet not Piggly) but, as the Detroit Lions would note, a win is a win.
My only regret is that it is only noon - a bit too early to open the Grand Marnier for a celebration.
And I am aware that Monday's puzzle is usually the easiest one of the week. But I have probably tried my hand at a thousand of these with no previous success. It took some serious memory work (I finally remembered that Winnie the Pooh's buddy was Piglet not Piggly) but, as the Detroit Lions would note, a win is a win.
My only regret is that it is only noon - a bit too early to open the Grand Marnier for a celebration.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Something to be truly thankful for
In many ways, this turned out to be one of the best of the 56 Thanksgivings I have been around for. The turkey on the grill experiment worked out fine. I learned a few things for future consumption and a couple little parts of the bird got singed too much. My cutting of the turkey left a lot to be desired. But it was very tasty turkey.
My wife made her killer fruit salad and contributed a pea dish from a recipe she had seen in a newspaper as well as supervising all the other nifty side dishes that go with a Thanksgiving meal. Our friend Steph came up with some yummy potatoes and a nifty stuffing dish with a nice kick to it. Our friend Sharon came with yams - something I had never had before. Our friend James brought some wonderful wine.
Steph invited one of the assistant basketball coaches at Hamline, a fellow I didn't know very well before today. Chris proved to be a delightful fellow, pitching right in to help with the turkey and even broadened his horizons a bit by having the ultimate in ginger ale, Vernors.
But what made this such a special day was the general feeling of good will that persisted all day in the house. People, including some who didn't know each other very well until today, got together for good food, repast, conversation and left with doggy bags of food for the next several days. For one afternoon, there were no arguments over about how stupid this politician is for his or her view on an issue. People spent the time smiling and listening to each other's stories - even if they didn't always understand the subjects.
At night, one of my favorite feel-good movies "Love Actually" was on. Finally (at about 11 p.m.), Pete, the Happy Dog (who had a good day, too - lots of attention and a turkey treat at dinner) and I took a late night stroll on a wonderfully crisp night -- the type where the air feels sharp ... and wonderful.
There are plenty of days to point fingers, scream about perceived injustices and yell at people. Thankfully, today was not one of them.
But here is what I will always remember about Thanksgiving 2009 on Cottage Avenue: at the end of the day, six people parted in a happy, contented state.
When is the last time you could say that?
My wife made her killer fruit salad and contributed a pea dish from a recipe she had seen in a newspaper as well as supervising all the other nifty side dishes that go with a Thanksgiving meal. Our friend Steph came up with some yummy potatoes and a nifty stuffing dish with a nice kick to it. Our friend Sharon came with yams - something I had never had before. Our friend James brought some wonderful wine.
Steph invited one of the assistant basketball coaches at Hamline, a fellow I didn't know very well before today. Chris proved to be a delightful fellow, pitching right in to help with the turkey and even broadened his horizons a bit by having the ultimate in ginger ale, Vernors.
But what made this such a special day was the general feeling of good will that persisted all day in the house. People, including some who didn't know each other very well until today, got together for good food, repast, conversation and left with doggy bags of food for the next several days. For one afternoon, there were no arguments over about how stupid this politician is for his or her view on an issue. People spent the time smiling and listening to each other's stories - even if they didn't always understand the subjects.
At night, one of my favorite feel-good movies "Love Actually" was on. Finally (at about 11 p.m.), Pete, the Happy Dog (who had a good day, too - lots of attention and a turkey treat at dinner) and I took a late night stroll on a wonderfully crisp night -- the type where the air feels sharp ... and wonderful.
There are plenty of days to point fingers, scream about perceived injustices and yell at people. Thankfully, today was not one of them.
But here is what I will always remember about Thanksgiving 2009 on Cottage Avenue: at the end of the day, six people parted in a happy, contented state.
When is the last time you could say that?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Embarking on a new adventure
If you happen to be in the Como Park area of St. Paul next Thursday and see smoke billowing in an unusual fashion, don't be dismayed. It might mean a great experiment didn't work out so well.
After years of being the guest, I am taking my first crack at cooking a turkey for Thanksgiving. There will be only 3 or 4 of us present but that doesn't matter. It's the idea that counts, right?
Everything I have read says cooking a turkey is the easiest thing in the world. You simply clean out the crap inside it, wash it, pat it dry, place it in a pan (so the drippings will be there for gravy) and put it on the grill.
Four hours or so later, you take it off, carve it up into edible portions and gobble down to your heart's (and stomach's) content.
Sounds easy, doesn't it?
But I have had a few misadventures over the years with what was supposed to be easy food projects. My ex-wife can tell you about one with a grill (smaller than the one we will use next week) that nearly set part of Farrington Ave. on fire. There was an adventure with Easter Eggs one year that didn't work out so well for her sons. On another occasion, my 12-year old niece (now an ex-niece) politely had to instruct me how to make mashed potatoes.
Amazingly, I still get along wonderfully (at least, I think I do) with all of these people.
I admit to being excited about taking on this challenge. I ordered the bird from our favorite butcher the other day. We're making a list of the other important implements needed (meat thermometer that works, a little rack for the pan, etc.)
There should be plenty of leftovers, a critical part of the Thanksgiving feast. My wife and our friend Steph are consulting on the other parts of the menu (dressing, bread, etc.) There will be dressing, salad, bread, and pies.
Just in case the weather is too crappy to even walk to the grill -- a journey of roughly 20 steps -- (In Minnesota, this is very possible.), the oven will be on standby status. It should be a grand feast and a memorable day. (It would be even more memorable if the Detroit Lions beat up on the Green Bay Packers but that is out of my control.)
Just in case, I made one other stop after visiting the butcher the other day. I purchased a bottle of Chianti and added offerings of Paul Newman's Cabernet Sauvignon, Bella Sera's Pinot Noir and Archery Summit Pinot Noir from the Willamette Valley area of Oregon.
One can never have enough backup plans.
After years of being the guest, I am taking my first crack at cooking a turkey for Thanksgiving. There will be only 3 or 4 of us present but that doesn't matter. It's the idea that counts, right?
Everything I have read says cooking a turkey is the easiest thing in the world. You simply clean out the crap inside it, wash it, pat it dry, place it in a pan (so the drippings will be there for gravy) and put it on the grill.
Four hours or so later, you take it off, carve it up into edible portions and gobble down to your heart's (and stomach's) content.
Sounds easy, doesn't it?
But I have had a few misadventures over the years with what was supposed to be easy food projects. My ex-wife can tell you about one with a grill (smaller than the one we will use next week) that nearly set part of Farrington Ave. on fire. There was an adventure with Easter Eggs one year that didn't work out so well for her sons. On another occasion, my 12-year old niece (now an ex-niece) politely had to instruct me how to make mashed potatoes.
Amazingly, I still get along wonderfully (at least, I think I do) with all of these people.
I admit to being excited about taking on this challenge. I ordered the bird from our favorite butcher the other day. We're making a list of the other important implements needed (meat thermometer that works, a little rack for the pan, etc.)
There should be plenty of leftovers, a critical part of the Thanksgiving feast. My wife and our friend Steph are consulting on the other parts of the menu (dressing, bread, etc.) There will be dressing, salad, bread, and pies.
Just in case the weather is too crappy to even walk to the grill -- a journey of roughly 20 steps -- (In Minnesota, this is very possible.), the oven will be on standby status. It should be a grand feast and a memorable day. (It would be even more memorable if the Detroit Lions beat up on the Green Bay Packers but that is out of my control.)
Just in case, I made one other stop after visiting the butcher the other day. I purchased a bottle of Chianti and added offerings of Paul Newman's Cabernet Sauvignon, Bella Sera's Pinot Noir and Archery Summit Pinot Noir from the Willamette Valley area of Oregon.
One can never have enough backup plans.
Monday, November 9, 2009
11 is a significant number, after all
According to a website I ran across, the proper gift for a 11th wedding anniversary is ... steel?
Didn't sound very romantic to me.
My wife and I celebrated our 11th anniversary last Saturday in a slightly more traditional way. We had dinner at a local steak house we like and then met a close friend for a couple of drinks.
11 is an odd number in more ways than one.
Outside of a craps table (and football coaches), it doesn't mean much to most people. It doesn't stand for much else. But it does seem to me a milestone of sorts. It means you are now well into the second decade - a threshold that a lot of relationships don't reach. As in all such relationships, we have had our ups and downs. But when you march into a second decade, it tells me that we trust and love each other to such an extent that we can allow for disagreements to occur without becoming unbalanced. That, too, isn't very romantic. But it is something to be proud of.
I have always felt they got it kinda backwards in "Love Story," Love means wanting to say "I'm sorry" when you really feel that way. After 11 years, I still want to say that to Lynne.
Happy Anniversary, dear. Looking forward to the next 11 years as well.
Didn't sound very romantic to me.
My wife and I celebrated our 11th anniversary last Saturday in a slightly more traditional way. We had dinner at a local steak house we like and then met a close friend for a couple of drinks.
11 is an odd number in more ways than one.
Outside of a craps table (and football coaches), it doesn't mean much to most people. It doesn't stand for much else. But it does seem to me a milestone of sorts. It means you are now well into the second decade - a threshold that a lot of relationships don't reach. As in all such relationships, we have had our ups and downs. But when you march into a second decade, it tells me that we trust and love each other to such an extent that we can allow for disagreements to occur without becoming unbalanced. That, too, isn't very romantic. But it is something to be proud of.
I have always felt they got it kinda backwards in "Love Story," Love means wanting to say "I'm sorry" when you really feel that way. After 11 years, I still want to say that to Lynne.
Happy Anniversary, dear. Looking forward to the next 11 years as well.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
What the Yankees' win really meant
Sigh.
The baseball season is over. The team that played the best ball down the stretch and in the playoffs -- the New York Yankees -- won the World Series last night. That is as it should be but it hurts nonetheless.
Next to the closing of Conny's Creamy Cone down the street, this was the saddest night of the year because it means baseball is over. The good news is spring training is only a little over three months away and hope does spring eternal.
I have no problem with the Yankees themselves winning the title. They are an admirable group of veterans who may not get another chance. It is not a popular notion in my part of the world but Derek Jeter would be a perfectly good MVP choice. Every day, he made all the plays he should have (and a few he had no business making)and hit like a sonofagun. My suspicion is Minnesota's Joe Mauer, who missed a month but still won the batting title and was a superb defensive catcher all year, will win it.
But if Jeter does win, it is not a miscarriage of justice. (Now if CC Sabathia sneaks in as the Cy Young winner ahead of Kansas City's Zack Greinke, that would be a travesty of justice. But I digress.)
No, the problem with New York's win is a little more basic. It is very clear that the commissioner - along with his broadcast partners Fox, ESPN and TBS, had a vested interest and openly rooted for New York to succeed. The reason is the oldest one in the world - money. New York is still the financial epicenter of the country. A Yankee post-season appearance gets bigger ratings. Bigger ratings mean more money for everybody. When you are getting paid $17 million a year (as is Bud Selig's current per annum salary), you best be producing some big bucks for somebody.
So I am sure there were sighs of a different sort -- the relief type -- when US Steel won the World Series last night. The local comptrollers at MLB and the networks can get out the calculators and get to work.
I won't go as far as to suggest the conspiracy went down to the level of the umpires. However, it was an astonishing coincidence that NY got several breaks from obviously incorrect calls in the postseason.
What Mr. Selig and the network boys forget every year is the country cares more about good baseball than the actual teams playing it. In 1991, Atlanta and Minnesota -- hardly major TV markets produced boffo ratings because the games were wonderful. It is not necessary the Yankees, Red Sox or a LA team playing to have good, interesting baseball. But when those teams are not on the air, you can tell the networks are basically bored and only doing the games because they have to. If given their druthers, the network execs and MLB give me the impression they would rather be at '21' having a martini.
Major League Baseball was so disinterested in the playoff game for the AL Central title between Detroit and Minnesota that they refused to schedule it for prime time and assigned a home plate umpire who shouldn't be working in Little League. Turned out to be a hellacious 12-inning game that ended up going into prime time anyway. Served them right.
Granted, the above rant is not particularly fair to the Yankees or their fans. Regardless of the fact the Yankee roster's combined income could help reduce the national debt, they won the games they had to. For that, they deserve all the congrats and the city should celebrate accordingly.
But it would serve the commissioner and the networks well to remember the fans in Kansas City, Pittsburgh, Minnesota, Cincinnati, Seattle and San Francisco are just as rabid about winning and root just as hard for their teams as do the denizens who come to Yankee Stadium.
They do so knowing in advance their chances of post-season success are slim. But the beauty of baseball is hope does spring eternal and perhaps next year will be better. And if they get to the post-season, the commissioner and the networks have to show up ... even if they end up wearing snowsuits because the final games are played in November.
The baseball season is over. The team that played the best ball down the stretch and in the playoffs -- the New York Yankees -- won the World Series last night. That is as it should be but it hurts nonetheless.
Next to the closing of Conny's Creamy Cone down the street, this was the saddest night of the year because it means baseball is over. The good news is spring training is only a little over three months away and hope does spring eternal.
I have no problem with the Yankees themselves winning the title. They are an admirable group of veterans who may not get another chance. It is not a popular notion in my part of the world but Derek Jeter would be a perfectly good MVP choice. Every day, he made all the plays he should have (and a few he had no business making)and hit like a sonofagun. My suspicion is Minnesota's Joe Mauer, who missed a month but still won the batting title and was a superb defensive catcher all year, will win it.
But if Jeter does win, it is not a miscarriage of justice. (Now if CC Sabathia sneaks in as the Cy Young winner ahead of Kansas City's Zack Greinke, that would be a travesty of justice. But I digress.)
No, the problem with New York's win is a little more basic. It is very clear that the commissioner - along with his broadcast partners Fox, ESPN and TBS, had a vested interest and openly rooted for New York to succeed. The reason is the oldest one in the world - money. New York is still the financial epicenter of the country. A Yankee post-season appearance gets bigger ratings. Bigger ratings mean more money for everybody. When you are getting paid $17 million a year (as is Bud Selig's current per annum salary), you best be producing some big bucks for somebody.
So I am sure there were sighs of a different sort -- the relief type -- when US Steel won the World Series last night. The local comptrollers at MLB and the networks can get out the calculators and get to work.
I won't go as far as to suggest the conspiracy went down to the level of the umpires. However, it was an astonishing coincidence that NY got several breaks from obviously incorrect calls in the postseason.
What Mr. Selig and the network boys forget every year is the country cares more about good baseball than the actual teams playing it. In 1991, Atlanta and Minnesota -- hardly major TV markets produced boffo ratings because the games were wonderful. It is not necessary the Yankees, Red Sox or a LA team playing to have good, interesting baseball. But when those teams are not on the air, you can tell the networks are basically bored and only doing the games because they have to. If given their druthers, the network execs and MLB give me the impression they would rather be at '21' having a martini.
Major League Baseball was so disinterested in the playoff game for the AL Central title between Detroit and Minnesota that they refused to schedule it for prime time and assigned a home plate umpire who shouldn't be working in Little League. Turned out to be a hellacious 12-inning game that ended up going into prime time anyway. Served them right.
Granted, the above rant is not particularly fair to the Yankees or their fans. Regardless of the fact the Yankee roster's combined income could help reduce the national debt, they won the games they had to. For that, they deserve all the congrats and the city should celebrate accordingly.
But it would serve the commissioner and the networks well to remember the fans in Kansas City, Pittsburgh, Minnesota, Cincinnati, Seattle and San Francisco are just as rabid about winning and root just as hard for their teams as do the denizens who come to Yankee Stadium.
They do so knowing in advance their chances of post-season success are slim. But the beauty of baseball is hope does spring eternal and perhaps next year will be better. And if they get to the post-season, the commissioner and the networks have to show up ... even if they end up wearing snowsuits because the final games are played in November.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
An enjoyable duty
Today is Election Day. In St. Paul, we have a mildly competitive mayor's race, a School Board race (those are always interesting - people fighting madly for a job that pays $11,000 a year but has enormous power over kids' education) and a referendum about IRV - a voting procedure where you list your top three picks in the order you prefer them.
It's a not a full plate but it's more than enough to get your attention.
I enjoy voting and see it as more than just an offshoot of living in a free country. It's a duty - an enjoyable one - but a duty nonetheless.
The Senate race we had in Minnesota a year ago proves the value of each vote. Al Franken ended up winning by a razor-thin margin. If 313 people in Minnesota had said "To hell with it, my vote doesn't matter", Norm Coleman would still be a senator here. That's 313 people in a state with an estimated population of 5,167,101. According to my calculator, that's a percentage of .0000605.
Pretty slim margin, I'd say.
I understand that today's politics can wear a person out. There are only so many ads you can watch before you want to upchuck. But an active democracy demands participation. So it is incumbent to make some time to get to your polling place. If you don't do so, any arguments you make about the people you could have voted out lack steam. Unlike what some of the TV talkies try to tell us, we always have a chance to have our say in this country. Today is that day.
I remember taking my dear late mother-in-law Colleen to her polling place one voting Tuesday. It was snowing and blowing as only it can here. The building she was voting was barely visible from the street. But she was damned and determined to cast her ballot and called to make sure I was coming at the appointed time. She was, as Hubert Humphrey used to say, pleased as punch to cast her vote.
If she was still alive today, I know she would have cast her vote for whatever was on the ballot in Falcon Heights - even if it was only a race for a seat on The Sewer Board.
That kind of determination and pride is really what this country was founded on. It's up to us to keep the spirit going.
It's a not a full plate but it's more than enough to get your attention.
I enjoy voting and see it as more than just an offshoot of living in a free country. It's a duty - an enjoyable one - but a duty nonetheless.
The Senate race we had in Minnesota a year ago proves the value of each vote. Al Franken ended up winning by a razor-thin margin. If 313 people in Minnesota had said "To hell with it, my vote doesn't matter", Norm Coleman would still be a senator here. That's 313 people in a state with an estimated population of 5,167,101. According to my calculator, that's a percentage of .0000605.
Pretty slim margin, I'd say.
I understand that today's politics can wear a person out. There are only so many ads you can watch before you want to upchuck. But an active democracy demands participation. So it is incumbent to make some time to get to your polling place. If you don't do so, any arguments you make about the people you could have voted out lack steam. Unlike what some of the TV talkies try to tell us, we always have a chance to have our say in this country. Today is that day.
I remember taking my dear late mother-in-law Colleen to her polling place one voting Tuesday. It was snowing and blowing as only it can here. The building she was voting was barely visible from the street. But she was damned and determined to cast her ballot and called to make sure I was coming at the appointed time. She was, as Hubert Humphrey used to say, pleased as punch to cast her vote.
If she was still alive today, I know she would have cast her vote for whatever was on the ballot in Falcon Heights - even if it was only a race for a seat on The Sewer Board.
That kind of determination and pride is really what this country was founded on. It's up to us to keep the spirit going.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
A very unhappy anniversary
Today is the 20-year anniversary of something that still haunts us in Minnesota ... including the millions of people who never met Jacob Wetterling.
20 years ago tonight, Jacob, 11 years old at the time, was abducted outside a store in St. Joseph, about 80 miles north of the Twin Cities. There has never been any real tangible clues as to what happened. The two kids who were with him at the time were allowed to escape. It has haunted them to this day.
Jacob's parents have remained rock solid. They are still holding out hope that some way, somehow, Jacob will walk through their front door. I met Patty, his mother, a year after it happened. She is an amazingly strong woman.
Jacob is out there somewhere. There are god knows how many more like him. Tonight, one hopes we can curtail some of the political fire in this country and take a second to think of the Wetterlings and the many other families living through this nightmare.
20 years ago tonight, Jacob, 11 years old at the time, was abducted outside a store in St. Joseph, about 80 miles north of the Twin Cities. There has never been any real tangible clues as to what happened. The two kids who were with him at the time were allowed to escape. It has haunted them to this day.
Jacob's parents have remained rock solid. They are still holding out hope that some way, somehow, Jacob will walk through their front door. I met Patty, his mother, a year after it happened. She is an amazingly strong woman.
Jacob is out there somewhere. There are god knows how many more like him. Tonight, one hopes we can curtail some of the political fire in this country and take a second to think of the Wetterlings and the many other families living through this nightmare.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
The ol' home town strikes out again
I have a longtime friend who is a diehard Boston Red Sox fan. Even though his team has now won two World Series titles after a long drought, there is still one man who is a villain of the peace. He has been so for three decades and he will be so long after he is gone from this mortal coil.
New Englanders know him simply as Bucky bleeping Dent, the weak-hitting shortstop who hit a home run to give the Yankees a victory in a one-game playoff at Fenway Park in 1978.
There is a new villain in Detroit this morning - Alexi bleeping Casilla. The backup infielder singled home the winning run in the 12th inning last night to lift the Twins past the Tigers, 6-5, in a terrific game that decided the AL Central title.
Never mind the fact the Twins now have to face the Evil Empire Yankees in New York less than 24 hours later. You take 'em where you can get 'em.
Tom Hanks was right. There is no crying in baseball. As a guy who is writing a Twins book that will be out next spring, I am overjoyed there is an extra chapter that can be added. It's a great story - the team and the ballpark that refuses to go away.
I have a friend (a former colleague) who works for the Tigers in marketing and I know his heart is broken today. Oh, he will go to work and start thinking about marking plans for the winter and the 2010 season. But he is also a fan. Like all fans, he will find himself wondering how it was that home plate umpire Randy Marsh missed the obvious hit-by-pitch call in the top of the 12th inning that would have given the Tigers the lead. But since he works in the game, he will merely grit his teeth and move on.
I am also a Detroiter at heart. I hear the snide jokes about my hometown all the time. Most of them are old but they still hurt. Even though I haven't lived there for 40 years, I am still a native who knows Detroit is a better city than it is given credit for. I know it is a good baseball town - one that is hurting badly today.
But there is no way around facts. And today's fact is, despite a terrific run, the Tigers fell on their face at the worst possible moment. In high school and college ball, you can pat them on the back and say, "Good try. Get 'em next time."
In pro sports, you don't get that option. You either win or you don't. So it is that my poor home town will have all winter with the haunting memory of Alexi bleeping Casilla.
There is only one thought that gives them hope today - spring training is just four months away.
New Englanders know him simply as Bucky bleeping Dent, the weak-hitting shortstop who hit a home run to give the Yankees a victory in a one-game playoff at Fenway Park in 1978.
There is a new villain in Detroit this morning - Alexi bleeping Casilla. The backup infielder singled home the winning run in the 12th inning last night to lift the Twins past the Tigers, 6-5, in a terrific game that decided the AL Central title.
Never mind the fact the Twins now have to face the Evil Empire Yankees in New York less than 24 hours later. You take 'em where you can get 'em.
Tom Hanks was right. There is no crying in baseball. As a guy who is writing a Twins book that will be out next spring, I am overjoyed there is an extra chapter that can be added. It's a great story - the team and the ballpark that refuses to go away.
I have a friend (a former colleague) who works for the Tigers in marketing and I know his heart is broken today. Oh, he will go to work and start thinking about marking plans for the winter and the 2010 season. But he is also a fan. Like all fans, he will find himself wondering how it was that home plate umpire Randy Marsh missed the obvious hit-by-pitch call in the top of the 12th inning that would have given the Tigers the lead. But since he works in the game, he will merely grit his teeth and move on.
I am also a Detroiter at heart. I hear the snide jokes about my hometown all the time. Most of them are old but they still hurt. Even though I haven't lived there for 40 years, I am still a native who knows Detroit is a better city than it is given credit for. I know it is a good baseball town - one that is hurting badly today.
But there is no way around facts. And today's fact is, despite a terrific run, the Tigers fell on their face at the worst possible moment. In high school and college ball, you can pat them on the back and say, "Good try. Get 'em next time."
In pro sports, you don't get that option. You either win or you don't. So it is that my poor home town will have all winter with the haunting memory of Alexi bleeping Casilla.
There is only one thought that gives them hope today - spring training is just four months away.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
"Jersey Boys" worth a visit
When I was a wee lad, I used to go with my mother for her visits to the Fisher Theater in Detroit. She loved plays and, since I was the youngest (and least likely to object to such things), I was usually assigned the job of being her escort. It turned out to be great duty. We would usually have a good dinner followed by an ice cream sundae. I remember seeing Pearl Bailey and Cab Calloway, two extraordinary talents, in "Hello, Dolly" and Richard Kiley do his great turn in "Man Of La Mancha."
There is nothing like live theater. I don't get to see it very often any more. But my wife and I did go last night to see "Jersey Boys", the story about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, here in Las Vegas. It was a treat to witness and I cannot recommend it enough.
The music is contagiously fun. If you are of my age bracket, you will damn near every one of the 34 songs played word for word. The stories behind some of those songs were tales I didn't know. Now the songs make more sense (and, with it, some sadness as well) than ever before. The language is a bit rough at times but my eastern buddies say that that is the f------ way Jersey people talk.
The actors in this crew are all fairly anonymous (at least to me) but it didn't matter. They sang and danced their hearts out for two hours. About a year ago, I heard Valli in concert. After hearing this show, it is a little harder to tell who sounds better -- the guy who played him here (Travis Cloer) or the old guy himself.
It is worth the effort to find out.
There is nothing like live theater. I don't get to see it very often any more. But my wife and I did go last night to see "Jersey Boys", the story about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, here in Las Vegas. It was a treat to witness and I cannot recommend it enough.
The music is contagiously fun. If you are of my age bracket, you will damn near every one of the 34 songs played word for word. The stories behind some of those songs were tales I didn't know. Now the songs make more sense (and, with it, some sadness as well) than ever before. The language is a bit rough at times but my eastern buddies say that that is the f------ way Jersey people talk.
The actors in this crew are all fairly anonymous (at least to me) but it didn't matter. They sang and danced their hearts out for two hours. About a year ago, I heard Valli in concert. After hearing this show, it is a little harder to tell who sounds better -- the guy who played him here (Travis Cloer) or the old guy himself.
It is worth the effort to find out.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Once a hero, always a hero
When I was a little boy, I wanted to be Ernie Harwell. I thought he had the greatest job in the world. For four decades, he was the radio (and occasionally) TV voice of the Detroit Tigers. Many of those teams weren't very good. But it didn't matter. He got to be there every night, telling us about the "man from Ishpeming" who was taking home a foul ball tonight. When Ernie told you "he stood there like the house by the side of the road", you knew the batter had just taken strike three.
He had a wonderful southern twang to his voice. It was warm and personal. I once heard an interview in which he described his technique. "My father was an invalid who loved to listen to baseball games," he said. "When I started out, I pretended I was talking to him and telling him the story of the game."
Catching him do spring training games was always a treat. His sunny voice told you the cold winter was basically over. (He used to start the first spring training game with The Song of Solomon that refers to just that thing.)
One Sunday afternoon, we were coming back from a trip to Mackinac Island. It's a long drive and my mother, wishing to get some harmony in the car, flipped on the radio to the baseball game. With pit stops to let young boys go out and do what young boys need to do, it was about a seven-hour jaunt. As it turned out, we had Harwell (and, I think, George Kell) for company all the way.
The game lasted seven hours (22 innings) and ended as we were going up Patton Avenue to our house.
Harwell is 91 years old now. He retired from the booth in 2002 but has been back for occasional work here and there. I happened to catch him do an inning when the Tigers were in the World Series a few years ago. He sounded almost the same as he did 40 years ago.
Remarkable.
Recently, it was revealed he has terminal cancer. What would most of us if given such a jolt? Let's hope we don't find out.
Harwell didn't seem too fazed by the whole thing, He seems to be facing the inevitable conclusion the way he told us about the Tigers - with a little humor and a lot of practicality, referring to his cancer as "a new adventure." Oddly, this was basically the way he described things when the late Bo Schembechler, who had been hired as the president of the Tigers, ran him out of the broadcast booth in the early 90s. (That unwise decision was quickly reversed. He was back a year later.)
In the Bible, we are told that all life is basically circular - from ashes to ashes. Harwell, a devoutly religious guy, seems to have taken this adage to heart. What else could he do?
So it is that, at age 56, I find myself (for a radically different reason) wanting to be Ernie Harwell.
Again.
He had a wonderful southern twang to his voice. It was warm and personal. I once heard an interview in which he described his technique. "My father was an invalid who loved to listen to baseball games," he said. "When I started out, I pretended I was talking to him and telling him the story of the game."
Catching him do spring training games was always a treat. His sunny voice told you the cold winter was basically over. (He used to start the first spring training game with The Song of Solomon that refers to just that thing.)
One Sunday afternoon, we were coming back from a trip to Mackinac Island. It's a long drive and my mother, wishing to get some harmony in the car, flipped on the radio to the baseball game. With pit stops to let young boys go out and do what young boys need to do, it was about a seven-hour jaunt. As it turned out, we had Harwell (and, I think, George Kell) for company all the way.
The game lasted seven hours (22 innings) and ended as we were going up Patton Avenue to our house.
Harwell is 91 years old now. He retired from the booth in 2002 but has been back for occasional work here and there. I happened to catch him do an inning when the Tigers were in the World Series a few years ago. He sounded almost the same as he did 40 years ago.
Remarkable.
Recently, it was revealed he has terminal cancer. What would most of us if given such a jolt? Let's hope we don't find out.
Harwell didn't seem too fazed by the whole thing, He seems to be facing the inevitable conclusion the way he told us about the Tigers - with a little humor and a lot of practicality, referring to his cancer as "a new adventure." Oddly, this was basically the way he described things when the late Bo Schembechler, who had been hired as the president of the Tigers, ran him out of the broadcast booth in the early 90s. (That unwise decision was quickly reversed. He was back a year later.)
In the Bible, we are told that all life is basically circular - from ashes to ashes. Harwell, a devoutly religious guy, seems to have taken this adage to heart. What else could he do?
So it is that, at age 56, I find myself (for a radically different reason) wanting to be Ernie Harwell.
Again.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
A fair way to spend a day
The Minnesota State Fair is one of the most unique events in the entire country. Just about every state has a fair of some way, shape or form. But people come from all over to this extravaganza. What makes this fun is not just the carnies ... who are basically no different than anywhere else in the country.
It's the odd combo of foods (even beer on a stick) and people-watching, a sport that is still very strong in our little part of the world.
Yesterday, I did an eight-hour shift in a small tent selling beer, pop, burgers, etc. It was for a group that uses the proceeds to benefit playgrounds in St. Paul. And, like a lot of volunteer experiences, I got more out of it than the people I served.
When you stand on the same corner for nearly eight hours and watch the world go by, you tend to see things in a different light. You see the same people pass by two or three times with their kids. When they go by the first time, the adults seem full of energy. By the third pass, most of them are dragging a bit while the kids continue to skip at a merry pace.
Business was steady at our little tent. We had folks who said they had been coming to this spot for 30 years, young couples on first or second dates and people who were just hungry and knew a good deal when they saw one (2 bucks a hamburger, a quarter more for cheese.)
One of my favorites was a big guy who wanted a Triple Hamburger. "A triple?", I asked. (We had Doubles on the boatrd but no Triples listed.)
"They did it for me here yesterday," he said by way of explanation. "They just charged me 50 more cents."
"Who am I to argue with history?", I replied. "A triple it is."
The woman cooking gave me a funny look as I wrote this order down but merely smiled.
So did the gentleman as he ate it deliberately with great enjoyment.
There were a surprising amount of moms who stopped for ... er ... refreshment while pushing baby carts. My favorite was a young woman about age 30 who had a baby in a stroller and another young 'un clinging to her leg.
"What's your largest size beer?" she asked. When informed it was 20 ounces, she asked "Is that it?" But she gladly bought two of them and said she would be back later when she found "him."
Apparently, she did find "him" because she returned alone an hour later for a refill. This beer was drank slowly and seem to be cherished with the fervor of a jeweler looking at the Hope Diamond. "Is it okay if I just sit here for a while?" she asked. "Take all the time you need," I responded. I think she was stationary for 15 minutes.
There was another couple who looked to be in their early 60s who wandered by.
"What can I do for you?", I asked.
Before the male half of this happy pair could utter a sound, the female half jumped in. "We'll have a large Pepsi," she said. This option seemed to disappoint the male half of the party considerably. But he merely sighed and, upon a non-verbal command, handed over the dollar and a half as they went on their merry way.
And so it went nearly all day. Only one person got upset at how a beer was poured and insisted on a do-over. Women who were 30 years old and were asked for their ID anyway did so with a grateful smile. Young guys who recently entered the legal age (one of them was only a month past his 21st birthday) didn't object to being carded. A couple of folks had Passports instead of Driver Licenses for ID. I was a bit quizzical the first time I saw this. "I left it at his house," the young woman said, nodding to her escort. He grinned knowingly.
After watching weeks of allegedly angry people on TV yelling about health care, the damn Democrats, the damn Republicans, the damn Yankees, etc., it was refreshing to see happy (or at least not unhappy) faces again.
I love going to the fair, strolling the Midway, seeing some new exhibits and eating anything from Tom Thumb Donuts to Sweet Martha's Cookies along the way. After spending a day somewhat on the inside, I have a new and healthy respect for the folks who work it for 10 days. I am not sure I am made of strong enough stuff to do that. But an eight-hour shift there does wonders for the soul. It was nice to see people smiling again.
It's the odd combo of foods (even beer on a stick) and people-watching, a sport that is still very strong in our little part of the world.
Yesterday, I did an eight-hour shift in a small tent selling beer, pop, burgers, etc. It was for a group that uses the proceeds to benefit playgrounds in St. Paul. And, like a lot of volunteer experiences, I got more out of it than the people I served.
When you stand on the same corner for nearly eight hours and watch the world go by, you tend to see things in a different light. You see the same people pass by two or three times with their kids. When they go by the first time, the adults seem full of energy. By the third pass, most of them are dragging a bit while the kids continue to skip at a merry pace.
Business was steady at our little tent. We had folks who said they had been coming to this spot for 30 years, young couples on first or second dates and people who were just hungry and knew a good deal when they saw one (2 bucks a hamburger, a quarter more for cheese.)
One of my favorites was a big guy who wanted a Triple Hamburger. "A triple?", I asked. (We had Doubles on the boatrd but no Triples listed.)
"They did it for me here yesterday," he said by way of explanation. "They just charged me 50 more cents."
"Who am I to argue with history?", I replied. "A triple it is."
The woman cooking gave me a funny look as I wrote this order down but merely smiled.
So did the gentleman as he ate it deliberately with great enjoyment.
There were a surprising amount of moms who stopped for ... er ... refreshment while pushing baby carts. My favorite was a young woman about age 30 who had a baby in a stroller and another young 'un clinging to her leg.
"What's your largest size beer?" she asked. When informed it was 20 ounces, she asked "Is that it?" But she gladly bought two of them and said she would be back later when she found "him."
Apparently, she did find "him" because she returned alone an hour later for a refill. This beer was drank slowly and seem to be cherished with the fervor of a jeweler looking at the Hope Diamond. "Is it okay if I just sit here for a while?" she asked. "Take all the time you need," I responded. I think she was stationary for 15 minutes.
There was another couple who looked to be in their early 60s who wandered by.
"What can I do for you?", I asked.
Before the male half of this happy pair could utter a sound, the female half jumped in. "We'll have a large Pepsi," she said. This option seemed to disappoint the male half of the party considerably. But he merely sighed and, upon a non-verbal command, handed over the dollar and a half as they went on their merry way.
And so it went nearly all day. Only one person got upset at how a beer was poured and insisted on a do-over. Women who were 30 years old and were asked for their ID anyway did so with a grateful smile. Young guys who recently entered the legal age (one of them was only a month past his 21st birthday) didn't object to being carded. A couple of folks had Passports instead of Driver Licenses for ID. I was a bit quizzical the first time I saw this. "I left it at his house," the young woman said, nodding to her escort. He grinned knowingly.
After watching weeks of allegedly angry people on TV yelling about health care, the damn Democrats, the damn Republicans, the damn Yankees, etc., it was refreshing to see happy (or at least not unhappy) faces again.
I love going to the fair, strolling the Midway, seeing some new exhibits and eating anything from Tom Thumb Donuts to Sweet Martha's Cookies along the way. After spending a day somewhat on the inside, I have a new and healthy respect for the folks who work it for 10 days. I am not sure I am made of strong enough stuff to do that. But an eight-hour shift there does wonders for the soul. It was nice to see people smiling again.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Nirvana is a wonderful place
It was a weekend to get away from the rat race. And what better place to do so than in one of Minnesota's little havens of heaven? My brother Frank and his wife Peggy live in Lanesboro, a tiny town of 800 people a couple hours south of the Twin Cities. My brother Paul and his wife Pam happened to be at a seminar of sorts in nearby Rochester so it was the perfect time for a mini-family reunion.
But Lanesboro is more than that. Whether it is hanging out at the market in town, going to yard sales (where I bought a book on hunting and the outdoors authored by former president Grover Cleveland, attending a terrific play at the Commonweal Theater or just sitting on the porch, there is a serenity here that is much needed.
I am not sure I could live in a town like Lanesboro full time. But I know my soul feels better every time I visit and I am always reluctant to leave.
I understand a bit better what Kevin Costner talked about in "Fields of Dreams" about heaven in Iowa. We all need this every now and then.
But Lanesboro is more than that. Whether it is hanging out at the market in town, going to yard sales (where I bought a book on hunting and the outdoors authored by former president Grover Cleveland, attending a terrific play at the Commonweal Theater or just sitting on the porch, there is a serenity here that is much needed.
I am not sure I could live in a town like Lanesboro full time. But I know my soul feels better every time I visit and I am always reluctant to leave.
I understand a bit better what Kevin Costner talked about in "Fields of Dreams" about heaven in Iowa. We all need this every now and then.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
One for the ages
As I write this, Tom Watson, at age 59, is leading the British Open Golf tournament. Tiger Woods, a mere 26 years younger, didn't make the cut.
I heard some ESPN guys yesterday bemoaning this fact because it didn't fit the pattern most people thought would happen.
One of the biggest problems we have in athletics today is many people go into events with a pre-set idea of what will happen. When the predicted result goes askew, they are aghast and ask why. In some ways, ESPN has been the worst thing to ever happen to athletics because it does a lot of predicting and not nearly as much anticipating.
The idea of playing a game (or a sport) is everybody starts at zero and then you see what happens. My mother-in-law, at age 80, was still a very formidable Scrabble player. That may not be the same thing as golf but it is the same concept.
The sooner we go back to simply showing up and playing or watching to see what happens, the better off we will be.
In the meantime, go Tom Watson. Good golf, whether it is played by a talented 33-year old or a crafty 59-year old, is still fun to watch.
I heard some ESPN guys yesterday bemoaning this fact because it didn't fit the pattern most people thought would happen.
One of the biggest problems we have in athletics today is many people go into events with a pre-set idea of what will happen. When the predicted result goes askew, they are aghast and ask why. In some ways, ESPN has been the worst thing to ever happen to athletics because it does a lot of predicting and not nearly as much anticipating.
The idea of playing a game (or a sport) is everybody starts at zero and then you see what happens. My mother-in-law, at age 80, was still a very formidable Scrabble player. That may not be the same thing as golf but it is the same concept.
The sooner we go back to simply showing up and playing or watching to see what happens, the better off we will be.
In the meantime, go Tom Watson. Good golf, whether it is played by a talented 33-year old or a crafty 59-year old, is still fun to watch.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Where did we get so much stuff?
There is a young woman down the street who is going on a trip to Tanzania with her church in a month. She put out a flyer saying she was looking to make some money doing whatever tasks somebody needed done. We put her to work today with a massive job - cleaning out the garage.
We don't quite know how this happened but our garage is not a haven for cars. It is a haven for everything else from old records to birdseed to actual tools to empty boxes. There are war zones that are less cluttered.
We are deeply grateful to her for tacking this job. We do this every year -- clean and sweep the garage out and then placing things back nice and neatly. In about two weeks, it returns to looking like a war zone.
My question today is simple: how in the world did we get so much stuff? And are we the only people who go through this routine every year?
We don't quite know how this happened but our garage is not a haven for cars. It is a haven for everything else from old records to birdseed to actual tools to empty boxes. There are war zones that are less cluttered.
We are deeply grateful to her for tacking this job. We do this every year -- clean and sweep the garage out and then placing things back nice and neatly. In about two weeks, it returns to looking like a war zone.
My question today is simple: how in the world did we get so much stuff? And are we the only people who go through this routine every year?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Bewitched, bothered, bewildered and befuddled about Bejeweled
There is a game on Facebook called Bejeweled Blitz. In a nutshell, it involves moving characters around so you can get at least three running consecutively in any direction. When you do that, they dissolved and a new list of items go onto the screen.
It is a frustrating and ... very addictive game. I had seen this evil invention on the internet before but had forgotten about it until it was called to my attention recently.
I became a quick convert. The Facebook game is a timed one - you have a minute to get these things in line. If you can morph four or five in line, you get more points. After several tries, I have managed to get up to 65,000 points. This sounds good but two friends of mine are well over 100,000. Either they have smaller, more nimble fingers are simply a helluva smarter than I am. (I choose to believe the first idea.)
What is really maddening about this game is I tend to see combos a second too late. I move a green gob into position for a three spot and then notice that if I had moved it the other way, I would have gotten a four or five spotter. Arrggh.
These games are supposed to bring you relaxation. In a way, I suppose they do. But what happens is you find yourself suddenly being very competitive because a young friend of yours has 116,000 points and you "only" have 65,000. I don't like playing golf for a buck a round and I find myself playing this game by the hour just to improve my score to get ahead of somebody ... for no money. That says something about me. The problem is I don't exactly know if it is a good something.
It is a frustrating and ... very addictive game. I had seen this evil invention on the internet before but had forgotten about it until it was called to my attention recently.
I became a quick convert. The Facebook game is a timed one - you have a minute to get these things in line. If you can morph four or five in line, you get more points. After several tries, I have managed to get up to 65,000 points. This sounds good but two friends of mine are well over 100,000. Either they have smaller, more nimble fingers are simply a helluva smarter than I am. (I choose to believe the first idea.)
What is really maddening about this game is I tend to see combos a second too late. I move a green gob into position for a three spot and then notice that if I had moved it the other way, I would have gotten a four or five spotter. Arrggh.
These games are supposed to bring you relaxation. In a way, I suppose they do. But what happens is you find yourself suddenly being very competitive because a young friend of yours has 116,000 points and you "only" have 65,000. I don't like playing golf for a buck a round and I find myself playing this game by the hour just to improve my score to get ahead of somebody ... for no money. That says something about me. The problem is I don't exactly know if it is a good something.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Happy Birthday, Happy Dog!
This may seem weird to some people. But we celebrated the Happy Dog's seventh birthday this week. He got an ice cream treat @ the greatest ice cream place in town, Conny's and also got a bath and a haircut.
I think he apprciated it ... even if he didn't exactly know the reason why.
Dogs are often our friends. They cheer us up when we are down and they support us almost all the time. So why not celebrate their big day?
I think he apprciated it ... even if he didn't exactly know the reason why.
Dogs are often our friends. They cheer us up when we are down and they support us almost all the time. So why not celebrate their big day?
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
All hail the surgeon ... I mean the repairman
Granted, it was not hot by the standards of, say, Las Vegas, where it is over 100 degrees on a daily basis this time of year.
But it was damned muggy the other night here. My wife and I spent a restless night with the windows open hoping to get any kind of breeze going. Eventually, morning came and I was on the phone as soon as possible asking the company that put in our air conditioner last year to get the hell over here and fix it. It had gone out the night before and we couldn't possibly be expected to live in two nights of 70 degree agony.
I was told a guy would come between 1 and 5 p.m. Usually that means they arrive at 4:59 but this time, Jerry showed up at 1:30. He was a big fellow and Pete, the Happy Dog who had turned sour because of no air conditioning, was suspicious of him for a long time. But Jerry won him over and was soon allowed to proceed to cooling down everybody.
It turned out now to be as easy as it sounded. We bought the air conditioning unit a year ago and had hardly used it. I figured it was a freon problem or some such thing. The guy would fill up what was needed and be gone in 20 minutes.
Didn't happen that way. Instead, I could hear him doing a lot of sighing and puzzled grunts as he worked downstairs. In time, he came up to report that a motor of some sort was no longer working in the furnace area. Naturally, this was an item that was probably not covered under warranty. But he would call and check and give me a price. Jerry spent some time in the truck, came back with a small box and headed back downstairs.
More sighs and puzzled grunts were heard. 20 minutes later, he came upstairs again.
"I have good news and bad news for you," he said. "The good news is the motor I told you about is covered under warranty so you won't have to pay $410 for it. The bad news is the end motor also isn't working and that is not covered under warranty. That will cost $465 and I am not sure I even have one in my truck. I haven't replaced one of those in a few months."
Back to the truck he went. 15 minutes later, he emerged with another box. By now, he had entered and left the house so many times that Pete didn't even get up to check him out. The thermostat in the dining room read 80 degrees and the dog wasn't going anywhere any more. It was too damn hot outside and it was too damn hot inside.
Jerry returned to the basement. 10 minutes later, I heard the most wondrous noise - a purring sound that resembled a large cat that had drank a bowl of milk. Pete's ears perked up. The noise went off for a few minutes and then returned.
Fairly soon, Jerry came upstairs to report the happy news the end motor was working just fine. The operation was a success and the doctor seems pleased with the result. I looked at the thermostat. It was down to 79 degrees already. Cooler heads were about to prevail again.
This whole performance only took about two hours overall. But it seemed like an eternity.
We are a country that likes our comfort. I am not a big air conditioner guy when you are a little hot, your spouse is hot and your dog is hot, not having the machine available for your use when needed is damn near an emergency.
Jerry didn't look like the kind of doctor you see on TV. But he performed a surgery that, in its own way, had as much value as many operations you hear about. The results are really noticeable today. It is 90 degrees outside and a nice 73 inside. And I hope Jerry makes somebody else (and their dog) equally happy today.
But it was damned muggy the other night here. My wife and I spent a restless night with the windows open hoping to get any kind of breeze going. Eventually, morning came and I was on the phone as soon as possible asking the company that put in our air conditioner last year to get the hell over here and fix it. It had gone out the night before and we couldn't possibly be expected to live in two nights of 70 degree agony.
I was told a guy would come between 1 and 5 p.m. Usually that means they arrive at 4:59 but this time, Jerry showed up at 1:30. He was a big fellow and Pete, the Happy Dog who had turned sour because of no air conditioning, was suspicious of him for a long time. But Jerry won him over and was soon allowed to proceed to cooling down everybody.
It turned out now to be as easy as it sounded. We bought the air conditioning unit a year ago and had hardly used it. I figured it was a freon problem or some such thing. The guy would fill up what was needed and be gone in 20 minutes.
Didn't happen that way. Instead, I could hear him doing a lot of sighing and puzzled grunts as he worked downstairs. In time, he came up to report that a motor of some sort was no longer working in the furnace area. Naturally, this was an item that was probably not covered under warranty. But he would call and check and give me a price. Jerry spent some time in the truck, came back with a small box and headed back downstairs.
More sighs and puzzled grunts were heard. 20 minutes later, he came upstairs again.
"I have good news and bad news for you," he said. "The good news is the motor I told you about is covered under warranty so you won't have to pay $410 for it. The bad news is the end motor also isn't working and that is not covered under warranty. That will cost $465 and I am not sure I even have one in my truck. I haven't replaced one of those in a few months."
Back to the truck he went. 15 minutes later, he emerged with another box. By now, he had entered and left the house so many times that Pete didn't even get up to check him out. The thermostat in the dining room read 80 degrees and the dog wasn't going anywhere any more. It was too damn hot outside and it was too damn hot inside.
Jerry returned to the basement. 10 minutes later, I heard the most wondrous noise - a purring sound that resembled a large cat that had drank a bowl of milk. Pete's ears perked up. The noise went off for a few minutes and then returned.
Fairly soon, Jerry came upstairs to report the happy news the end motor was working just fine. The operation was a success and the doctor seems pleased with the result. I looked at the thermostat. It was down to 79 degrees already. Cooler heads were about to prevail again.
This whole performance only took about two hours overall. But it seemed like an eternity.
We are a country that likes our comfort. I am not a big air conditioner guy when you are a little hot, your spouse is hot and your dog is hot, not having the machine available for your use when needed is damn near an emergency.
Jerry didn't look like the kind of doctor you see on TV. But he performed a surgery that, in its own way, had as much value as many operations you hear about. The results are really noticeable today. It is 90 degrees outside and a nice 73 inside. And I hope Jerry makes somebody else (and their dog) equally happy today.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Farewell to a grand lady
My wife's mother passed away Sunday. She was that rarest of souls - a person who didn't publicly judge people - and managed to keep a great perspective on just about everything.
Colleen was a person of great surprises. For example, she was an avid, hardnosed Scrabble player. My track record against her was roughly the same as the Detroit Lions against the Minnesota Vikings.
After her husband George died, she quietly went out and took classes to get her driver's license. Her kids had no idea until one day she announced she needed a ride to go take her road test. She didn't drive a lot but liked the fact she could.
We took her to a baseball game at the Metrodome one night and she startled my wife (and, I admit, myself) by keeping a perfect, neat scorecard. We knew she was a good fan but never saw this coming.
She had some strong political opinions but generally settled for everybody else battling it out publicly. But she felt strongly about voting and took pride in knowing all the issues before making a decision.
In the end, she was ready to go. The quality of life she once knew had diminished and she was sick of hospitals. As her body wore down, however, her strong heart kept firing to the end. I used to kid her that I knew where kids got their stubbornness gene from.
As Robert Sherwood once noted, dying is easy. All of us will achieve that. Living, however, is the trick. Colleen Larkin had a great run in life and had earned the right to leave on her own terms. Not many of us can say that.
We (myself, friends and family) will miss her greatly but feel fortunate to have known her as long as we did. In the end, that's all one really needs to say about somebody.
Colleen was a person of great surprises. For example, she was an avid, hardnosed Scrabble player. My track record against her was roughly the same as the Detroit Lions against the Minnesota Vikings.
After her husband George died, she quietly went out and took classes to get her driver's license. Her kids had no idea until one day she announced she needed a ride to go take her road test. She didn't drive a lot but liked the fact she could.
We took her to a baseball game at the Metrodome one night and she startled my wife (and, I admit, myself) by keeping a perfect, neat scorecard. We knew she was a good fan but never saw this coming.
She had some strong political opinions but generally settled for everybody else battling it out publicly. But she felt strongly about voting and took pride in knowing all the issues before making a decision.
In the end, she was ready to go. The quality of life she once knew had diminished and she was sick of hospitals. As her body wore down, however, her strong heart kept firing to the end. I used to kid her that I knew where kids got their stubbornness gene from.
As Robert Sherwood once noted, dying is easy. All of us will achieve that. Living, however, is the trick. Colleen Larkin had a great run in life and had earned the right to leave on her own terms. Not many of us can say that.
We (myself, friends and family) will miss her greatly but feel fortunate to have known her as long as we did. In the end, that's all one really needs to say about somebody.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Humor is always helpful
I wasn't necessarily looking forward to a 90-minute to Mankato .. even though Highway 169 is a nice drive. But getting through traffic in the Twin Cities to get to 169 -- even in mid-afternoon -- takes patience, grit and a lot of perseverence. Fortunately, I had the perfect sedative for such a journey.
Tom Lehrer was a satirist in the late 1950s and 1960s. He only made a couple of records (that are now on CDs) but the humor seems as a fresh now as it did then. Oh, it helps to be old enough to remember and understand jokes about people like George Murphy and Hubert Humphrey. I hardly noticed the idiot who made a left hand turn without a blinker and the guy who stopped in the middle of the highway to grab a cellphone that had apparently fallen out of his hand.
I merely listened to Mr. Lehrer's humor and moved on.
We live in parlous times. We all have a lot on our plates these days. It seems that no matter where you turn, somebody is unhappy and can't wait to tell the world about it. When you have enough of that, all that is left is to listen to somebody who makes you smile.
The 90 minutes fairly flew by. Now I am in a hotel with a dozen high school girls softball teams. What possibly can go wrong now?
Tom Lehrer was a satirist in the late 1950s and 1960s. He only made a couple of records (that are now on CDs) but the humor seems as a fresh now as it did then. Oh, it helps to be old enough to remember and understand jokes about people like George Murphy and Hubert Humphrey. I hardly noticed the idiot who made a left hand turn without a blinker and the guy who stopped in the middle of the highway to grab a cellphone that had apparently fallen out of his hand.
I merely listened to Mr. Lehrer's humor and moved on.
We live in parlous times. We all have a lot on our plates these days. It seems that no matter where you turn, somebody is unhappy and can't wait to tell the world about it. When you have enough of that, all that is left is to listen to somebody who makes you smile.
The 90 minutes fairly flew by. Now I am in a hotel with a dozen high school girls softball teams. What possibly can go wrong now?
Saturday, May 30, 2009
A disturbing scene
I was standing outside the Golden Nugget Hotel in downtown Las Vegas waiting for the bus to take us back to the airport for the return trek home. Leaving Las Vegas is always a melancholy time. But what happened while I was waiting jarred me quickly back to reality.
A man who appeared to be my age was walking toward the hotel pushing a shopping cart that has a couple of taped plastic bags in it. He wasn't shabbily dressed but he wasn't wearing a tux either.
Suddenly, he stopped and peered into a garbage can. He reached in, grabbed a Coke cup and appeared to drink its remnants. Then he walked along past us to the end of the block, snooping into garbage cans. His "luck" ran out at the end of the street because he encountered a hotel security person, who quietly and efficiently sent him around the corner.
We've all seen the people on the edge of freeways with their signs "Will work for food" and the like. But we can breeze past them in our cars and manage to forget them quickly.
But it is a different story when you watch a guy slowly walk past you pushing a cart with what is probably his entire worldly belongings in it. The guy didn't say anything to us as he walked by and he wasn't bothering anybody.
But I don't think I will forget the scene for some time to come. The next time I hear a politician or a pundit tell me we are not a country with problems, I am sure I will see the picture of this fellow in my mind. I only wish they could see him too.
A man who appeared to be my age was walking toward the hotel pushing a shopping cart that has a couple of taped plastic bags in it. He wasn't shabbily dressed but he wasn't wearing a tux either.
Suddenly, he stopped and peered into a garbage can. He reached in, grabbed a Coke cup and appeared to drink its remnants. Then he walked along past us to the end of the block, snooping into garbage cans. His "luck" ran out at the end of the street because he encountered a hotel security person, who quietly and efficiently sent him around the corner.
We've all seen the people on the edge of freeways with their signs "Will work for food" and the like. But we can breeze past them in our cars and manage to forget them quickly.
But it is a different story when you watch a guy slowly walk past you pushing a cart with what is probably his entire worldly belongings in it. The guy didn't say anything to us as he walked by and he wasn't bothering anybody.
But I don't think I will forget the scene for some time to come. The next time I hear a politician or a pundit tell me we are not a country with problems, I am sure I will see the picture of this fellow in my mind. I only wish they could see him too.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Less is sometimes more costly
I realize I am not the wisest business person around. But perhaps somebody who knows business well can explain the following to me?
This morning, I stopped at Burger King (or as Clem Haskins once called it, Burgers King) for a quick breakfast. I chose No. 2, a Biscuit with sausage and egg, tater tots and coffee. List price: $3.69.
The guy at the counter then asks the standard question: "Would you a large version of this?" I said no.
He then asked if I wanted a small or large coffee. I told him a small would do nicely.
He rings up the bill and says this will now cost $5.31. Seems that it costs a buck or so more if you order a small coffee instead of the medium you usually get.
I told him to forget the small coffee and go back to the original order. That meant he had to get a manager to void one order and start all over.
I leave it to smarter people than I to explain why this is so.
This morning, I stopped at Burger King (or as Clem Haskins once called it, Burgers King) for a quick breakfast. I chose No. 2, a Biscuit with sausage and egg, tater tots and coffee. List price: $3.69.
The guy at the counter then asks the standard question: "Would you a large version of this?" I said no.
He then asked if I wanted a small or large coffee. I told him a small would do nicely.
He rings up the bill and says this will now cost $5.31. Seems that it costs a buck or so more if you order a small coffee instead of the medium you usually get.
I told him to forget the small coffee and go back to the original order. That meant he had to get a manager to void one order and start all over.
I leave it to smarter people than I to explain why this is so.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
What a sunny day can do for a person
When I first came to college in Minnesota a few years ago, my roommate told me, "If you don't like the weather in Minnesota, wait a minute."
Wise fellow.
It was 97 degrees here yesterday. With it came some glorious sun and equally glorious wind. It made a fellow feel like he was in, say, Aruba.
And it was amazing what it did to people's moods. There were a lot more smiles yesterday than there had been when it was 50 and overcast (as it was Saturday).
Girls who had been waiting patiently for months to wear tanktops and sun dresses brought them out proudly. Guys dragged out the first pair of shorts they could find.
Even the Happy Dog, who is not a big fan of summer, enjoyed it ... once he got under a tree.
A fellow who somehow hurt his heel a week ago and had been hobbling ever since hardly felt it as he made his rounds. (It might have been because of that yummy Hot Fudge Sundae he had at Conny's Creamy Cone. But I digress.)
Even the cranky neighbor down the street smiled and waved at the Happy Dog as he peed on his front lawn.
Life simply was a lot better than it had been the day before.
I suspect this is because we don't get a lot of these days in our little part of the world. And we sure as hell don't expect to get them in the middle of May. (The temp broke the old record by eight degrees.)
We know this won't last. It is supposed to rain tomorrow. But, at least for a couple of days, all is bright and beautiful in the world.
With all the turmoil around us these days, this little break couldn't have come at a better time.
Thanks, God.
Wise fellow.
It was 97 degrees here yesterday. With it came some glorious sun and equally glorious wind. It made a fellow feel like he was in, say, Aruba.
And it was amazing what it did to people's moods. There were a lot more smiles yesterday than there had been when it was 50 and overcast (as it was Saturday).
Girls who had been waiting patiently for months to wear tanktops and sun dresses brought them out proudly. Guys dragged out the first pair of shorts they could find.
Even the Happy Dog, who is not a big fan of summer, enjoyed it ... once he got under a tree.
A fellow who somehow hurt his heel a week ago and had been hobbling ever since hardly felt it as he made his rounds. (It might have been because of that yummy Hot Fudge Sundae he had at Conny's Creamy Cone. But I digress.)
Even the cranky neighbor down the street smiled and waved at the Happy Dog as he peed on his front lawn.
Life simply was a lot better than it had been the day before.
I suspect this is because we don't get a lot of these days in our little part of the world. And we sure as hell don't expect to get them in the middle of May. (The temp broke the old record by eight degrees.)
We know this won't last. It is supposed to rain tomorrow. But, at least for a couple of days, all is bright and beautiful in the world.
With all the turmoil around us these days, this little break couldn't have come at a better time.
Thanks, God.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Proud of my hometown
Yesterday was a great day for many native Detroiters. I’m not referring to the backers of the baseball Tigers, who hammered the Twins 9-0 the night before. For every one of those games, there is a loss by a similar score waiting in the wings.
No, it was a terrific day for my hometown for a different reason. Dave Bing, a guy who came to Detroit 40 years ago to play basketball and then stayed in town as a businessman, was elected the city’s new mayor.
Granted, this is only a temporary gig. He is only filling the seat until the end of the year and must run again in an August primary and a November election. To this native, however, Bing’s election gives hopes that a city that has taken a pounding in recent years can hold its head high again.
Consider what has happened to my hometown in recent years.
1) The previously elected mayor – Kwame Kilpatrick – committed a serious of acts so stupid that he ended up going to jail. The list is too long to enumerate here. But it includes a pair of whistleblower settlements that cost the city roughly $16 million. In addition, there were allegations of a wild party with strippers held at the mayor’s mansion (one of the dancers later was found dead by suspicious means) and rumors of an extra-marital affair between the mayor and his chief of staff. The latter case really exploded with the revelation of some 14,000 text messages between the mayor and the woman in question that led to another trial for, among other things, perjury. While that trial was going on, Kilpatrick managed to acquire more charges of assault, obstruction and, in a particularly silly move, committed a bail violation by going across the border to Windsor, Ontario without asking permission. When all was said and done, Kilpatrick was forced to resign and ended up in jail for four months.
2) The auto industry problems. Is there much that needs to be added to this story? Let’s put it this way: How would folks around here like it if country western singer John Rich went on national TV and sang, “Let’s shut down St. Paul" or "Let's Shut Down New York?"
3) The Detroit Lions going 0-16 in 2008. You may have noticed Brett Favre didn’t ask for a secret meeting with them.
You get the idea. The city has had some very tough times lately.
Enter Bing. He had a reputation of being an honest, hardworking player during a 12-year career with the NBA Pistons, Bullets and Celtics. When his playing days ended, Bing returned to Detroit as a businessman. He had his dissenters (who of us doesn’t?). Generally, however, Bing was held in high esteem around town, reminding folks of Jimmy Cannon’s famous quote regarding another Detroiter, Joe Louis: “He was a credit to his race – the human race.”
In the election, Bing was matched against Ken Cockrel, Jr., who moved up from City Council president to mayor when Kilpatrick left for a new home. As usual, there were missteps along the way. In the February primary, both candidates were cited for being too close to polling sites. Bing exaggerated his academic credentials from Syracuse. Cockrel wore a campaign T-shirt inside his voting booth, a possible violation.
The race was intense but surprisingly free of the usual political mudslinging. Most folks expected Cockrel, a longtime political fixture on the Detroit scene, to win a close race. But Bing, who left his gated suburban community to move into Detroit and ran as the candidate of change, won by four points. Whether he can achieve some of that change remains to be seen. Cobo Exposition Center, where Bing plied his trade as a NBA player, is more than 50 years old and is in drastic need of a facelift or it may lose the auto shows and conventions that has been its lifeblood. And that is just one of many financial issues facing the city.
But a city that drew headlines for mayoral misconduct and one of its main industries needing federal bailout help needed something positive to happen. Talk radio might not think so but you can only beat up people so long before they eventually lose their will to compete. For now, Detroiters – those who live there and those of us who were born there – can smile.
I know little of Bing’s overall politics. I don’t even know if he is going to run in the primary or the main election. If he does run, I don’t know if he would be the best person for the job.
It may turn out that, after a month or two in the job, he may decide there are better ways for a 66-year old to spend his time. It may turn out that he isn’t very good at the job. We’ll find that out in due time.
But I know this: my hometown has been the butt of too many jokes – many of them snide – in recent years. It has hurt to hear them. But Detroiters have good reason to feel good today. They decided on their political leader the way we used to do it – with a hard-fought, clean election based on the issues and the candidates.
Wouldn’t it be a kick if Detroit started another American trend?
No, it was a terrific day for my hometown for a different reason. Dave Bing, a guy who came to Detroit 40 years ago to play basketball and then stayed in town as a businessman, was elected the city’s new mayor.
Granted, this is only a temporary gig. He is only filling the seat until the end of the year and must run again in an August primary and a November election. To this native, however, Bing’s election gives hopes that a city that has taken a pounding in recent years can hold its head high again.
Consider what has happened to my hometown in recent years.
1) The previously elected mayor – Kwame Kilpatrick – committed a serious of acts so stupid that he ended up going to jail. The list is too long to enumerate here. But it includes a pair of whistleblower settlements that cost the city roughly $16 million. In addition, there were allegations of a wild party with strippers held at the mayor’s mansion (one of the dancers later was found dead by suspicious means) and rumors of an extra-marital affair between the mayor and his chief of staff. The latter case really exploded with the revelation of some 14,000 text messages between the mayor and the woman in question that led to another trial for, among other things, perjury. While that trial was going on, Kilpatrick managed to acquire more charges of assault, obstruction and, in a particularly silly move, committed a bail violation by going across the border to Windsor, Ontario without asking permission. When all was said and done, Kilpatrick was forced to resign and ended up in jail for four months.
2) The auto industry problems. Is there much that needs to be added to this story? Let’s put it this way: How would folks around here like it if country western singer John Rich went on national TV and sang, “Let’s shut down St. Paul" or "Let's Shut Down New York?"
3) The Detroit Lions going 0-16 in 2008. You may have noticed Brett Favre didn’t ask for a secret meeting with them.
You get the idea. The city has had some very tough times lately.
Enter Bing. He had a reputation of being an honest, hardworking player during a 12-year career with the NBA Pistons, Bullets and Celtics. When his playing days ended, Bing returned to Detroit as a businessman. He had his dissenters (who of us doesn’t?). Generally, however, Bing was held in high esteem around town, reminding folks of Jimmy Cannon’s famous quote regarding another Detroiter, Joe Louis: “He was a credit to his race – the human race.”
In the election, Bing was matched against Ken Cockrel, Jr., who moved up from City Council president to mayor when Kilpatrick left for a new home. As usual, there were missteps along the way. In the February primary, both candidates were cited for being too close to polling sites. Bing exaggerated his academic credentials from Syracuse. Cockrel wore a campaign T-shirt inside his voting booth, a possible violation.
The race was intense but surprisingly free of the usual political mudslinging. Most folks expected Cockrel, a longtime political fixture on the Detroit scene, to win a close race. But Bing, who left his gated suburban community to move into Detroit and ran as the candidate of change, won by four points. Whether he can achieve some of that change remains to be seen. Cobo Exposition Center, where Bing plied his trade as a NBA player, is more than 50 years old and is in drastic need of a facelift or it may lose the auto shows and conventions that has been its lifeblood. And that is just one of many financial issues facing the city.
But a city that drew headlines for mayoral misconduct and one of its main industries needing federal bailout help needed something positive to happen. Talk radio might not think so but you can only beat up people so long before they eventually lose their will to compete. For now, Detroiters – those who live there and those of us who were born there – can smile.
I know little of Bing’s overall politics. I don’t even know if he is going to run in the primary or the main election. If he does run, I don’t know if he would be the best person for the job.
It may turn out that, after a month or two in the job, he may decide there are better ways for a 66-year old to spend his time. It may turn out that he isn’t very good at the job. We’ll find that out in due time.
But I know this: my hometown has been the butt of too many jokes – many of them snide – in recent years. It has hurt to hear them. But Detroiters have good reason to feel good today. They decided on their political leader the way we used to do it – with a hard-fought, clean election based on the issues and the candidates.
Wouldn’t it be a kick if Detroit started another American trend?
Friday, May 1, 2009
Remaining puzzled about puzzles
There are two puzzles every day in the St. Paul paper. My mother-in-law, the Scrabble Queen, takes on the NY Times version on a daily basis. More often than not, she kicks the Times' tail.
The second puzzle is of lesser quality and is usually buried in the classifieds. It is the one that I usually try ... with generally pathetic results.
Today, for example, there are clues like this:
Unable to decide (Four letter word has to begin with T)
Citation (Five letters, second and third are ED)
Put down (Eight letters, second is E)
You get the idea. I like to think I'm a reasonably intelligent guy. I read books. I am familiar dictionaries. But I'm damned if I know was is a five-letter word for "Radio Tube Gas."
Puzzles are a lot of fun. But I have decided they can also give you a serious inferiority complex
The second puzzle is of lesser quality and is usually buried in the classifieds. It is the one that I usually try ... with generally pathetic results.
Today, for example, there are clues like this:
Unable to decide (Four letter word has to begin with T)
Citation (Five letters, second and third are ED)
Put down (Eight letters, second is E)
You get the idea. I like to think I'm a reasonably intelligent guy. I read books. I am familiar dictionaries. But I'm damned if I know was is a five-letter word for "Radio Tube Gas."
Puzzles are a lot of fun. But I have decided they can also give you a serious inferiority complex
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Just when you thought you had seen everything ...
I witnessed an amazing event last night - a guy walking a blind dog. The guy said the dog, who is nine years old, lost his eyesight to a congenital disease a year or so ago. But he said he never considered putting the dog down. He simply re-arranged things in his house so the dog wouldn't hit a sharp corner accidentally.
That is remarkable enough in itself but then there is this. As a rule, Pete, the Happy Dog, is very friendly with female dogs but just so-so with male dogs. The one thing he hardly ever does is allow another dog of either gender to sniff his rear for any length of time. (No, I don't know why. Weird dog thing.)
The one dog he ever let do it was our neighbor Ken and Carol Mondry's dog Chico, who was very old and didn't get around well at the end of his life.
But he let Darwin (that's the dog name) sniff to his heart's content and even let ol' Darwin make a little ... er ... run at him. (Call it the dog version of getting to first base. Like any good self-respecting dog, Pete knew when to say when. Perhaps he didn't have the heart to tell Darwin it wouldn't do him any good to keep going.)
I am not quite sure what to make of this. I have been sold that animals have an innate sense that tells them when another animal is either sick or has a problem of some sort.
Whatever the reason, this was a remarkable thing to watch.
That is remarkable enough in itself but then there is this. As a rule, Pete, the Happy Dog, is very friendly with female dogs but just so-so with male dogs. The one thing he hardly ever does is allow another dog of either gender to sniff his rear for any length of time. (No, I don't know why. Weird dog thing.)
The one dog he ever let do it was our neighbor Ken and Carol Mondry's dog Chico, who was very old and didn't get around well at the end of his life.
But he let Darwin (that's the dog name) sniff to his heart's content and even let ol' Darwin make a little ... er ... run at him. (Call it the dog version of getting to first base. Like any good self-respecting dog, Pete knew when to say when. Perhaps he didn't have the heart to tell Darwin it wouldn't do him any good to keep going.)
I am not quite sure what to make of this. I have been sold that animals have an innate sense that tells them when another animal is either sick or has a problem of some sort.
Whatever the reason, this was a remarkable thing to watch.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
It happens every spring (well, here anyway)
Okay, it may be Tax Day but that is no reason to be depressed. Today is absolutely splendid here -- 68 degrees, sunny with just a slight breeze. There are a lot of problems with weather in this part of the world. But days like today make up for a lot of them. Even the woodpeckers seem to be in tune today.
When you live in California, you never get to truly enjoy days like this ... because there are about 300 of them a year. But here, where we have snowstorms in March and water overflowing everywhere, we cherish days like this.
When you live in California, you never get to truly enjoy days like this ... because there are about 300 of them a year. But here, where we have snowstorms in March and water overflowing everywhere, we cherish days like this.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Hope springs eternal
If Christmas is the season of Joy, then Easter is the season of Hope. Despite the gloom and doomers' fondest hopes that we are going to hell in a handbasket, things are looking up these days.
The sun is shining, the grass is greening and the economy seems to be rebounding a bit. If you can't smile today, then you are really a crank and there isn't much hope for you.
Happy Easter to one and all!
The sun is shining, the grass is greening and the economy seems to be rebounding a bit. If you can't smile today, then you are really a crank and there isn't much hope for you.
Happy Easter to one and all!
Monday, April 6, 2009
It's Opening Day - all is well in the world again (for now)
Appropriately, the sun is shining brightly in our little part of the world today. Even though the local major league team -- the Minnesota Twins -- are about to start their last season playing indoors in Minneapolis -- there is an extra bounce in a lot of people's step today.
For today is Opening Day - the official start of the major league baseball season. (Yes, I know there was Sunday night game in Philadelphia. But that was simply to give ESPN2 something to do.)
No, today is Opening Day. All athletic teams have season openers. But only one sport -- major league baseball -- has an Opening Day. It is as is spring has officially sprung. Never mind that the scheduled high today is 38 degrees. The sun is out, baseball can be played again and, for one day (well, at least one afternoon), we can forget bailouts and overseas summits.
Here in the Midwest (and, I suspect in the East), Opening Day means we can officially go back outdoors and play again. Accordingly, most teams play their first game at home in the daytime. (The Twins and the Blue Jays, both of whom have roofs over their heads, do not. Time is insignificant when you are under the Big Top.)
Granted, it is generally a little nippy but that's okay. I remember going to an Opener at old Met Stadium in Bloomington. Nolan Ryan was pitching for the Angels and there was snow piled up outside the stadium. On a warm summer day, Ryan was a handful to face. On this day - with the wind blowing and the temp about 40 degrees, the Twins didn't have much of a shot and went down easily, 7-3. Didn't matter. It was fun anyway.
On Opening Day, it is usually your team's best pitcher against their team's best pitcher. It didn't matter if the starters were Bob Gibson vs. Sandy Koufax, Whitey Ford vs. Sam McDowell, or as was the case when the twins faced the Mariners at Met Stadium in 1978 (a better weather day, it was 85 and gorgeous), Geoff Zahn vs. Tom House. It was just fun to sit outside and watch baseball again.
Of course, the game doesn't mean more than any of the other 161 the teams will play. In 1968, when the Detroit Tigers lost the opener, 9-1. The next day, they rallied in the ninth inning for the first of their 103 wins en route to rolling to the American League pennant.
As mentioned, this is the last Opener at the Metrodome. Next year, the Twins move to Target Field, a smaller facility on the edge of downtown Minneapolis. There is a large incinerator nearby that doesn't smell great. Parking could be a big challenge. The place will not have a roof. The wisdom of this idea has been debated back and forth but the matter is closed. We'll just have to deal with it.
There will be a few issues to handle. Yesterday, we had two inches of snow on the ground. So, if the Twins opened outside this afternoon, you would see a lot of parkas in the stands. On such a day, an inventive vendor could probably retire after selling hot chocolate all day ... provided he was smart enough to add a little extra "seasoning" to the drink. (Naturally, the "seasoning" would not be recorded on the books.)
As a country, I think we need the concept of Opening Day more than ever this year. The constant battles over the economy, the war in Iraq and other assorted issues has worn us all out. For a short time it takes to play a game, we can put those weighty issues out of our minds. They will be there for us tomorrow. The arguments over them can return then. Today, it is simply time to relax and play ball.
Even if it is indoors.
For today is Opening Day - the official start of the major league baseball season. (Yes, I know there was Sunday night game in Philadelphia. But that was simply to give ESPN2 something to do.)
No, today is Opening Day. All athletic teams have season openers. But only one sport -- major league baseball -- has an Opening Day. It is as is spring has officially sprung. Never mind that the scheduled high today is 38 degrees. The sun is out, baseball can be played again and, for one day (well, at least one afternoon), we can forget bailouts and overseas summits.
Here in the Midwest (and, I suspect in the East), Opening Day means we can officially go back outdoors and play again. Accordingly, most teams play their first game at home in the daytime. (The Twins and the Blue Jays, both of whom have roofs over their heads, do not. Time is insignificant when you are under the Big Top.)
Granted, it is generally a little nippy but that's okay. I remember going to an Opener at old Met Stadium in Bloomington. Nolan Ryan was pitching for the Angels and there was snow piled up outside the stadium. On a warm summer day, Ryan was a handful to face. On this day - with the wind blowing and the temp about 40 degrees, the Twins didn't have much of a shot and went down easily, 7-3. Didn't matter. It was fun anyway.
On Opening Day, it is usually your team's best pitcher against their team's best pitcher. It didn't matter if the starters were Bob Gibson vs. Sandy Koufax, Whitey Ford vs. Sam McDowell, or as was the case when the twins faced the Mariners at Met Stadium in 1978 (a better weather day, it was 85 and gorgeous), Geoff Zahn vs. Tom House. It was just fun to sit outside and watch baseball again.
Of course, the game doesn't mean more than any of the other 161 the teams will play. In 1968, when the Detroit Tigers lost the opener, 9-1. The next day, they rallied in the ninth inning for the first of their 103 wins en route to rolling to the American League pennant.
As mentioned, this is the last Opener at the Metrodome. Next year, the Twins move to Target Field, a smaller facility on the edge of downtown Minneapolis. There is a large incinerator nearby that doesn't smell great. Parking could be a big challenge. The place will not have a roof. The wisdom of this idea has been debated back and forth but the matter is closed. We'll just have to deal with it.
There will be a few issues to handle. Yesterday, we had two inches of snow on the ground. So, if the Twins opened outside this afternoon, you would see a lot of parkas in the stands. On such a day, an inventive vendor could probably retire after selling hot chocolate all day ... provided he was smart enough to add a little extra "seasoning" to the drink. (Naturally, the "seasoning" would not be recorded on the books.)
As a country, I think we need the concept of Opening Day more than ever this year. The constant battles over the economy, the war in Iraq and other assorted issues has worn us all out. For a short time it takes to play a game, we can put those weighty issues out of our minds. They will be there for us tomorrow. The arguments over them can return then. Today, it is simply time to relax and play ball.
Even if it is indoors.
Friday, April 3, 2009
A quick economic lesson
I got an email this morning from a guy I used to work with in St. Paul. He moved to Montana a few years ago because his wife was transferred there. Now this fellow is a conservative chap but he is not the fire-breathing type that is heard so often on talk radio. In other words, he probably wasn't fired up over Michelle Obama touching Queen Elizabeth the other day.
My ex-colleague was all a twitter this morning, however, over the fact his wife got a bonus check of $19,000 but, after taxes, only netted around $11,500. His anger was twofold: 1) The amount of taxes being taken out. 2) What that tax money was being used for.
I understand all that but I felt I needed to (gently) remind him something. I have been out of full-time work since mid-October. Without getting into specifics, it would take me roughly 35 weeks of full-priced unemployment checks to match his wife's after taxes money from her bonus check.
I don't begrudge her the bonus for a second. I am sure she "busted her ass off" (as her husband put it) and deserves every penny she got. Good for her.
It's just that a lot of us folks would love to "bust our ass off" for just about anybody. So, having sympathy for folks complaining about the size of their bonus check is tough to do.
If, in some people's eyes, this makes me a bad, selfish person for thinking (and writing) along these lines, so be it.
Nobody ever said life was fair.
My ex-colleague was all a twitter this morning, however, over the fact his wife got a bonus check of $19,000 but, after taxes, only netted around $11,500. His anger was twofold: 1) The amount of taxes being taken out. 2) What that tax money was being used for.
I understand all that but I felt I needed to (gently) remind him something. I have been out of full-time work since mid-October. Without getting into specifics, it would take me roughly 35 weeks of full-priced unemployment checks to match his wife's after taxes money from her bonus check.
I don't begrudge her the bonus for a second. I am sure she "busted her ass off" (as her husband put it) and deserves every penny she got. Good for her.
It's just that a lot of us folks would love to "bust our ass off" for just about anybody. So, having sympathy for folks complaining about the size of their bonus check is tough to do.
If, in some people's eyes, this makes me a bad, selfish person for thinking (and writing) along these lines, so be it.
Nobody ever said life was fair.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Thanks, George
George Kell died today. He was 86 years old and had been out of the limelight for many years. The obits recalled how he won an AL batting title, nipping Ted Williams in 1949 by something like two thousands of a percentage point. It was the highlight of a long productive career that ultimately brought him to baseball's summit, the Hall of Fame.
When I was a kid, he was one of the voices of summer in Detroit, doing the TV broadcasts of the Tigers. In those days, most teams only showed about 40 games, most of those on the road. Kell's big southern drawl boomed loud and clear from wherever the team played. He was cheery without being a homer. He knew the game well because he had been a good player. He didn't try to be anything more than a guy who made baseball games fun for Tiger fans. In short, he made Tiger broadcast entertaining and informative. There were no lectures about lazy players. George didn't have to do that because he knew pictures didn't lie.
Basically, he did a toned down version of radio on TV, narrating the game without getting into a lot of useless detail. He didn't need to engage in a lot of useless banter about players' wives, etc. He simply wanted to tell us what was going on in the game he was doing and the other games around the league.
In short, he was a man who knew what he did best and didn't try to go past that. It takes a certain amount of discipline to do that. And when I listen and watch some of today's talkers, I find myself liking George's relaxed, southern drawl all the more. I never heard anybody say "The Cincinnatah Redlegs lead ..."
The more I think of it, his voice sounded like a cold glass of Vernors' Ginger Ale on a hot summer afternoon.
He once gave me an autograph in a hotel lobby in Boston, talking to me for 10 minutes about Joe Coleman, a pitcher the Tigers had acquired from Washington the year before. At one point he said,"When he learns to control that curveball, he's gonna be some kind of pitcher." That night, Coleman did just that, fanning 10 or 12 guys in a 2-0 win.
The old boy knew his baseball and told us just what we needed to know - nothing more. Silence is indeed sometimes golden.
George Kell understood that fact well. For that fact alone, we should all be grateful.
When I was a kid, he was one of the voices of summer in Detroit, doing the TV broadcasts of the Tigers. In those days, most teams only showed about 40 games, most of those on the road. Kell's big southern drawl boomed loud and clear from wherever the team played. He was cheery without being a homer. He knew the game well because he had been a good player. He didn't try to be anything more than a guy who made baseball games fun for Tiger fans. In short, he made Tiger broadcast entertaining and informative. There were no lectures about lazy players. George didn't have to do that because he knew pictures didn't lie.
Basically, he did a toned down version of radio on TV, narrating the game without getting into a lot of useless detail. He didn't need to engage in a lot of useless banter about players' wives, etc. He simply wanted to tell us what was going on in the game he was doing and the other games around the league.
In short, he was a man who knew what he did best and didn't try to go past that. It takes a certain amount of discipline to do that. And when I listen and watch some of today's talkers, I find myself liking George's relaxed, southern drawl all the more. I never heard anybody say "The Cincinnatah Redlegs lead ..."
The more I think of it, his voice sounded like a cold glass of Vernors' Ginger Ale on a hot summer afternoon.
He once gave me an autograph in a hotel lobby in Boston, talking to me for 10 minutes about Joe Coleman, a pitcher the Tigers had acquired from Washington the year before. At one point he said,"When he learns to control that curveball, he's gonna be some kind of pitcher." That night, Coleman did just that, fanning 10 or 12 guys in a 2-0 win.
The old boy knew his baseball and told us just what we needed to know - nothing more. Silence is indeed sometimes golden.
George Kell understood that fact well. For that fact alone, we should all be grateful.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Is it really that hard to be nice?
A friend of ours is being inducted into her college's athletic Hall of Fame next week for her tennis achievements. My wife and I were invited to come to Florida to see her induction but, alas, can't make it.
So, we'll take her out to dinner here and celebrate her good fortune. We'll toast her success perhaps with a drink or two.
I bring this up because, as a country, we seem to resent it every time somebody other than ourselves does well. Every lottery winner is looked at suspiciously. A lot of people caught in the AIG crossfire -- lower level people who had little to do with the major fraud the company is accused of and who worked hard at their jobs to earn their bonuses -- are catching hell from everybody.
We have, by and large, become a mean-spirited country. It has always been that way for some politically minded-souls. But now this seems to be extending to more than those folks who live and die politically.
There are a lot of folks who are actually mad at President Obama because he actually had the audacity to spend the time to do something fun like fill out a NCAA bracket for ESPN. He went to California to give a couple of speeches and worked out some time to appear with Jay Leno. A lot of people got whacked out of shape over that one. How dare he enjoy himself even a little bit during these parlous times?
What the killjoys don't understand is that we all need breaks from our daily work routine. We also all need praise at times. And, while we may be modest about accepting congratulations for something well done, the fact is we need that input from someone, too. All work and no play (or, to put it another way, all work and no joy) does more than make somebody dull. It makes that person angry and unhappy.
Angry and unhappy people - the folks who are jealous of other people's success or good fortune -- often do irrational things.
It is easy to wish ill on someone else. It takes just a second to do so and, for some people, it seems to be cathartic. (A former colleague once called me up and gave me a profanity-filled tongue-lashing because he thought I had dissed his boss in public. The fact that he was wrong in his assertions is irrelevant in this case. The point was he then called up his old boss and told him he defended him and verbally slayed me. Maybe he felt better about himself for doing this. Maybe he earned a raise for doing so.)
Me? I'd rather be happy for a friend's success. It may not be as therapeutic as yelling at someone or holding a grudge. But I sleep a lot better at night.
So, we'll take her out to dinner here and celebrate her good fortune. We'll toast her success perhaps with a drink or two.
I bring this up because, as a country, we seem to resent it every time somebody other than ourselves does well. Every lottery winner is looked at suspiciously. A lot of people caught in the AIG crossfire -- lower level people who had little to do with the major fraud the company is accused of and who worked hard at their jobs to earn their bonuses -- are catching hell from everybody.
We have, by and large, become a mean-spirited country. It has always been that way for some politically minded-souls. But now this seems to be extending to more than those folks who live and die politically.
There are a lot of folks who are actually mad at President Obama because he actually had the audacity to spend the time to do something fun like fill out a NCAA bracket for ESPN. He went to California to give a couple of speeches and worked out some time to appear with Jay Leno. A lot of people got whacked out of shape over that one. How dare he enjoy himself even a little bit during these parlous times?
What the killjoys don't understand is that we all need breaks from our daily work routine. We also all need praise at times. And, while we may be modest about accepting congratulations for something well done, the fact is we need that input from someone, too. All work and no play (or, to put it another way, all work and no joy) does more than make somebody dull. It makes that person angry and unhappy.
Angry and unhappy people - the folks who are jealous of other people's success or good fortune -- often do irrational things.
It is easy to wish ill on someone else. It takes just a second to do so and, for some people, it seems to be cathartic. (A former colleague once called me up and gave me a profanity-filled tongue-lashing because he thought I had dissed his boss in public. The fact that he was wrong in his assertions is irrelevant in this case. The point was he then called up his old boss and told him he defended him and verbally slayed me. Maybe he felt better about himself for doing this. Maybe he earned a raise for doing so.)
Me? I'd rather be happy for a friend's success. It may not be as therapeutic as yelling at someone or holding a grudge. But I sleep a lot better at night.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Another encouraging sign!
As a country, we seem to be in need of serious encouragement these days. So, it is time for me to do my part.
It may be cloudy outside with snow still on the ground. Our 401Ks have been cut to 201Ks. Minnesota's Senate race still isn't decided ... four months after we voted.
But hope is on the horizon.
It's Opening Day at Connie's Creamy Cone - the local ice cream parlor.
Connie's is a delightful place. Connie lives in the neighborhood and uses a lot of high school kids who are polite and helpful.
They have even added doggie cups, the perfect size for the Happy Dog, Pete (who is a regular customer).
Life is about to get a lot better.
It may be cloudy outside with snow still on the ground. Our 401Ks have been cut to 201Ks. Minnesota's Senate race still isn't decided ... four months after we voted.
But hope is on the horizon.
It's Opening Day at Connie's Creamy Cone - the local ice cream parlor.
Connie's is a delightful place. Connie lives in the neighborhood and uses a lot of high school kids who are polite and helpful.
They have even added doggie cups, the perfect size for the Happy Dog, Pete (who is a regular customer).
Life is about to get a lot better.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Sure sign of spring
The weather people are having a grand time forecasting anywhere from 4 inches to a foot of snow tomorrow. Even though they are couching this with the usual that this storm could go in various directions and may end up just nicking us a bit, it no longer matters.
I just saw something that makes the thought of a little snow insignificant. While walking the happy dog this afternoon, I just saw two kids age 10 or so playing catch.
Snow be damned. Spring is on the way!
I just saw something that makes the thought of a little snow insignificant. While walking the happy dog this afternoon, I just saw two kids age 10 or so playing catch.
Snow be damned. Spring is on the way!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Happy Birthday, Bro
My brother Paul turns 58 today. We're the closest in age (he's 27 months older than me) among the four of us boys. For many years, I thought we were diametric opposites. Paul was the best student of the bunch. He set a high academic standard that, on my best day, I couldn't approach.
He is musically inclined (still plays the guitar and his wonderful son Miles plays the oboe) whereas I once broke a piano key and cracked the top of a clarinet.
As a kid, I used those reasons as an excuse for not doing as well as I should have. Youth is indeed sometimes wasted on the young.
For many reasons, we were never particularly close growing up. It was nobody's fault - just one of those things. But you learn as you get older to appreciate people who are very good at what they do ... and learn from them as to how they do it.
Paul may have been a natural academic but that doesn't detract from the fact he worked very hard in the classroom. From the first day at St. Francis Grade School right through getting his medical degree from Michigan State, he always disciplined himself when he felt he had to.
Success followed him but that is the way the system is supposed to work. He's earned everything he has. One thing the right wing is correct about: there are way too many people who envy success instead of acknowledging (and celebrating) it.
I will always be grateful that Paul was there to care for our guardian Pete (yes, the dog was named her - I like to think she is quite pleased to know it from her post upstairs) during her last days as she battled cancer. He left a good medical practice to take a position in a small town in Oregon to tend to her. That was one of the most unselfish acts I have ever witnessed. If nothing else, it deserves this small notation here.
(He is still honoring Pete in a way. He doctors to senior citizens in the Denver area.)
Paul has been a kind and patient older brother over the years, accepting my idiosyncrasies without commenting one way or the other on them. It took me a while to appreciate that but better than late than never, right?
I wish I had a better way of paying that kindness back than this small public ode. But this seems to me the best way to do it.
So, happy birthday, bro. I admire all that you have done and thank you for the knowledge that you are there when I need you.
Hope you have a great day.
He is musically inclined (still plays the guitar and his wonderful son Miles plays the oboe) whereas I once broke a piano key and cracked the top of a clarinet.
As a kid, I used those reasons as an excuse for not doing as well as I should have. Youth is indeed sometimes wasted on the young.
For many reasons, we were never particularly close growing up. It was nobody's fault - just one of those things. But you learn as you get older to appreciate people who are very good at what they do ... and learn from them as to how they do it.
Paul may have been a natural academic but that doesn't detract from the fact he worked very hard in the classroom. From the first day at St. Francis Grade School right through getting his medical degree from Michigan State, he always disciplined himself when he felt he had to.
Success followed him but that is the way the system is supposed to work. He's earned everything he has. One thing the right wing is correct about: there are way too many people who envy success instead of acknowledging (and celebrating) it.
I will always be grateful that Paul was there to care for our guardian Pete (yes, the dog was named her - I like to think she is quite pleased to know it from her post upstairs) during her last days as she battled cancer. He left a good medical practice to take a position in a small town in Oregon to tend to her. That was one of the most unselfish acts I have ever witnessed. If nothing else, it deserves this small notation here.
(He is still honoring Pete in a way. He doctors to senior citizens in the Denver area.)
Paul has been a kind and patient older brother over the years, accepting my idiosyncrasies without commenting one way or the other on them. It took me a while to appreciate that but better than late than never, right?
I wish I had a better way of paying that kindness back than this small public ode. But this seems to me the best way to do it.
So, happy birthday, bro. I admire all that you have done and thank you for the knowledge that you are there when I need you.
Hope you have a great day.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Alex Rodriguez's real "sin"
By now, just about every sports fan in the country has seen or read about Alex Rodriguez's use of steroids a few years back. We'll leave the arguments as to what should happen to him now to more learned minds.
But it seems to me what Rodriguez did was damage a lot of very innocent athletes ... and it says here he owes them a big apology.
We are a big brush country. We tend to take one person's problem in a specific area and apply to everybody involved in that activity.
Because he is one of the best players in his chosen spot, what's good for Alex Rodriguez is considered by many to be good for a lot of people.
Except in this case, it isn't so. Worse, he made it appear as if this was a minor peccadillo that could have happened to damn every player in baseball. The result of that is the next time somebody jumps up dramatically and starts putting up numbers he had never done before, the blanket of suspicion will immediately arise. Since the commissioner is not indicating there will be any form of punishment, it can appear to the outsider that Rodriguez is skating clean.
Instead of throwing himself on the mercy of the court of public opinion, Rodriguez tried to talk his way out of trouble. He didn't do a good job in that regard. As a result, the folks who don't regularly watch these things may start thinking everybody is like that.
Well, not all athletes are weasels. And the fact is that most folks who do something stupid (It wasn't illegal) eventually pay for it themselves. Rodriguez not only hasn't paid any penalty of this faux pas but it helped get a contract worth a bazillion dollars.
That makes one of the lucky ones, I guess.
This is also the guy who said publicly a reporter was "stalking" him for the story. A few days later, he called the reporter to apologize. Too late. The damage was done. Again, the star got away with doing something that may not have been illegal but certainly was wrong.
And that is the bigger problem. The good folks in athletics outnumber the bad eggs by a wide margin. But the bad eggs are the ones who get attention.
It says here this bad egg needs to get cracked in some way, shape or form. It isn't likely to happen, though. But it could if enough pressure is put on the $17 million man (BB commish Bud Selig) to do so. It wouldn't be just for the good of the game. It would be for the good of athletics in general.
But it seems to me what Rodriguez did was damage a lot of very innocent athletes ... and it says here he owes them a big apology.
We are a big brush country. We tend to take one person's problem in a specific area and apply to everybody involved in that activity.
Because he is one of the best players in his chosen spot, what's good for Alex Rodriguez is considered by many to be good for a lot of people.
Except in this case, it isn't so. Worse, he made it appear as if this was a minor peccadillo that could have happened to damn every player in baseball. The result of that is the next time somebody jumps up dramatically and starts putting up numbers he had never done before, the blanket of suspicion will immediately arise. Since the commissioner is not indicating there will be any form of punishment, it can appear to the outsider that Rodriguez is skating clean.
Instead of throwing himself on the mercy of the court of public opinion, Rodriguez tried to talk his way out of trouble. He didn't do a good job in that regard. As a result, the folks who don't regularly watch these things may start thinking everybody is like that.
Well, not all athletes are weasels. And the fact is that most folks who do something stupid (It wasn't illegal) eventually pay for it themselves. Rodriguez not only hasn't paid any penalty of this faux pas but it helped get a contract worth a bazillion dollars.
That makes one of the lucky ones, I guess.
This is also the guy who said publicly a reporter was "stalking" him for the story. A few days later, he called the reporter to apologize. Too late. The damage was done. Again, the star got away with doing something that may not have been illegal but certainly was wrong.
And that is the bigger problem. The good folks in athletics outnumber the bad eggs by a wide margin. But the bad eggs are the ones who get attention.
It says here this bad egg needs to get cracked in some way, shape or form. It isn't likely to happen, though. But it could if enough pressure is put on the $17 million man (BB commish Bud Selig) to do so. It wouldn't be just for the good of the game. It would be for the good of athletics in general.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Care to reconsider, Sen. Cornyn?
When I started this little literary escapade, I promised I would stay away from politics as much as possible.
I think I have done this but I heard something from Sen. John Cornyn (R-Texas) that needs to be refuted. Like most Republicans, he is against the stimulus bill currently being considered in the House and Senate.
Fine. He's entitled to that view. In defending his position, however, Sen. Cornyn said, "It's a solution to a problem that doesn't exist."
Those of us who have been out of work since October respectfully disagree.
There are several items in the bill that should stimulate debate. One that shouldn't is the provisions to help our jobs back in the economy.
I know I am not alone in being out of work. There are something like 600,000 of us just in the state of Minnesota. That is a major problem and it needs some type of solution. It isn't going to have from the employers. So it is up to government to step in and help out.
There was a time when the politicians could sit down and agree to disagree on some items but find a common ground to make the picture happen. One hopes this will still be the case here.
Unfortunately, the president may be right when he hints too many Republicans (and a few Democrats) have been spending too much time worry about criticized by Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity or one of the other hardline right wing talkies and not enough time trying to fix the problem.
Those folks have their money - lots of it - and frankly, have no worries. Some of the rest of us would like the chance to earn some of our own. Let's hope Sen. Cornyn and others eventually understand that.
I think I have done this but I heard something from Sen. John Cornyn (R-Texas) that needs to be refuted. Like most Republicans, he is against the stimulus bill currently being considered in the House and Senate.
Fine. He's entitled to that view. In defending his position, however, Sen. Cornyn said, "It's a solution to a problem that doesn't exist."
Those of us who have been out of work since October respectfully disagree.
There are several items in the bill that should stimulate debate. One that shouldn't is the provisions to help our jobs back in the economy.
I know I am not alone in being out of work. There are something like 600,000 of us just in the state of Minnesota. That is a major problem and it needs some type of solution. It isn't going to have from the employers. So it is up to government to step in and help out.
There was a time when the politicians could sit down and agree to disagree on some items but find a common ground to make the picture happen. One hopes this will still be the case here.
Unfortunately, the president may be right when he hints too many Republicans (and a few Democrats) have been spending too much time worry about criticized by Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity or one of the other hardline right wing talkies and not enough time trying to fix the problem.
Those folks have their money - lots of it - and frankly, have no worries. Some of the rest of us would like the chance to earn some of our own. Let's hope Sen. Cornyn and others eventually understand that.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Sometimes, you don't need words to communicate
There is a wonderful scene in the movie "Love, Actually" where Colin Firth is driving home the woman who cleans his house. They obviously like each other even though neither speaks the other's language. In the car, he says to her in English, "This is my favorite part of my day." She says basically the same thing being said. Neither could translate a word that was spoken. But both understood each other perfectly.
I thought of this the other day when I arrived home and Pete, the Happy Dog, came bouncing out of the window to greet me. No matter what seems to happen, Pete is happy to see Lynne or myself when we get home. It's puppy kisses galore and a lot of dancing.
The reverse is true when we leave and he is left home alone. There is no puppy kiss then. He is definitely sad.
Our animals don't speak but they communicate grandly. On a brisk day like this morning, Pete is alive on his morning walk. He likes to explore the neighborhood and roll in the snow. But what he likes even more is just being along with whoever is walking him. It is unconditional, unspoken love, a little one-on-one time. And we try to return it any way we can. And you can tell when he feels the love because the eyes are sparkling and he does a dog version of a grin.
Pete knows nothing of the political landscape in the country. He doesn't know the emotional turmoil that goes on through our daily lives. His world is simple, uncomplicated. I am sure he must look at us at times as nuts to being running to and fro, looking harried as we do so.
But there is one thing Pete, Lynne and I can agree on. We like the time we spend together - whether it is playing ball, taking a walk or just sitting on the couch and vegging. In these parlous times, sometimes words just aren't necessary.
I thought of this the other day when I arrived home and Pete, the Happy Dog, came bouncing out of the window to greet me. No matter what seems to happen, Pete is happy to see Lynne or myself when we get home. It's puppy kisses galore and a lot of dancing.
The reverse is true when we leave and he is left home alone. There is no puppy kiss then. He is definitely sad.
Our animals don't speak but they communicate grandly. On a brisk day like this morning, Pete is alive on his morning walk. He likes to explore the neighborhood and roll in the snow. But what he likes even more is just being along with whoever is walking him. It is unconditional, unspoken love, a little one-on-one time. And we try to return it any way we can. And you can tell when he feels the love because the eyes are sparkling and he does a dog version of a grin.
Pete knows nothing of the political landscape in the country. He doesn't know the emotional turmoil that goes on through our daily lives. His world is simple, uncomplicated. I am sure he must look at us at times as nuts to being running to and fro, looking harried as we do so.
But there is one thing Pete, Lynne and I can agree on. We like the time we spend together - whether it is playing ball, taking a walk or just sitting on the couch and vegging. In these parlous times, sometimes words just aren't necessary.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Movies for AARP era making a comeback?
I went to two movies in the last nine days. In itself, this is a feat because, by my count, I had been to one in the last four months.
As surprising as that stat may be, here is an even better one: both movies were very good and were aimed (at least in part) at people in my age bracket.
Last Chance Harvey is a romantic comedy set in London. Dustin Hoffman seems like an odd choice to play the lead. He's now 71 years old but, in this movie, he can pass for 50-55 easily.
He's a struggling, divorced jingles writer who attends his daughter's wedding. Once he gets there, he finds out his daughter wants her stepdad (played by James Brolin) to give her away. Although Kathy Baker (his ex-wife) and Brolin don't have a lot of scenes, they chew up the scenery wonderfully.
In the midst of this, Emma Thompson enters the fray. She plays a single woman roughly her exact age (49) who has a very boring job who wants to love and be loved and spends a lot of time with her mother, a character in her own right.
Without giving away the plot, these old pros speak like people in their age bracket are supposed to - softly. Hoffman and Thompson are a delight to watch because they are exact opposites in style. Hoffman uses silence and pauses between words. When Thompson speaks, she does so quickly (as the Brits are wont to do). But she also can give a look of resignation and contentment that speaks louder than anything that could have been said.
Dating (or merely) mixing at this age is a tricky business. One suspects a 20-something viewer will be bored early. And the final lines ring like something that is probably said by anybody in that age bracket who just met someone they really are fond of.
Frost/Nixon is a virtual opposite of a movie from Last Chance Harvey except for one thing: it, too, is heavy on dialogue. You damn near have to be an AARPer to remember Richard Nixon. As a teen, I was always baffled as to how he got as far as he did in politics. The movie is about the David Frost interviews with Nixon in 1977. At the time, they were unsettling to many because they set a standard for checkbook journalism. Nixon had been out of office for three years and almost out of mind.
The drama necessarily delves into the background and back dealings to make the interviews possible. But it is Frank Langella's performance as Nixon that is compelling. Folks who think they know more than me (i.e. critics) seem unanimous in saying it is a better play than it is a movie. That may be so but those of us who were around in the Nixon era remember how hard it was to get the man to admit he did anything wrong (just like a lot of us AARPers do now) and it wasn't hard to recall those feelings again.
Watching Langella finally give in and say what he really felt was terrific stuff. As I get older, I find it harder to keep my tongue at times. Hindsight is, at times, a terrible burden. In this movie, however, you see the younger, cockier Frost (played by Michael Sheen) get held at bay for a long time by the cool old pro. As we get older, however, our nerves and resolve aren't what they used to be. Finally, Langella gives Frost what he (and his backers) were looking for. It is one thing to admit mistakes when you are young - you have time to correct them. When you are older, you may not get another chance. You can hear the pain in the voice of the man who once was the powerful man in the country admit he lied to us ... because he could.
This is hard, intelligent stuff and it isn't the type of moviewatching that usually brings in big bucks. Still, it is nice to see some directors remembered to include us older folks in on something we are either interested in or can relate to.
After all, not everybody can afford (or even wants to) eat steak at a restaurant. Some folks just like a nice ol' hamburger.
As surprising as that stat may be, here is an even better one: both movies were very good and were aimed (at least in part) at people in my age bracket.
Last Chance Harvey is a romantic comedy set in London. Dustin Hoffman seems like an odd choice to play the lead. He's now 71 years old but, in this movie, he can pass for 50-55 easily.
He's a struggling, divorced jingles writer who attends his daughter's wedding. Once he gets there, he finds out his daughter wants her stepdad (played by James Brolin) to give her away. Although Kathy Baker (his ex-wife) and Brolin don't have a lot of scenes, they chew up the scenery wonderfully.
In the midst of this, Emma Thompson enters the fray. She plays a single woman roughly her exact age (49) who has a very boring job who wants to love and be loved and spends a lot of time with her mother, a character in her own right.
Without giving away the plot, these old pros speak like people in their age bracket are supposed to - softly. Hoffman and Thompson are a delight to watch because they are exact opposites in style. Hoffman uses silence and pauses between words. When Thompson speaks, she does so quickly (as the Brits are wont to do). But she also can give a look of resignation and contentment that speaks louder than anything that could have been said.
Dating (or merely) mixing at this age is a tricky business. One suspects a 20-something viewer will be bored early. And the final lines ring like something that is probably said by anybody in that age bracket who just met someone they really are fond of.
Frost/Nixon is a virtual opposite of a movie from Last Chance Harvey except for one thing: it, too, is heavy on dialogue. You damn near have to be an AARPer to remember Richard Nixon. As a teen, I was always baffled as to how he got as far as he did in politics. The movie is about the David Frost interviews with Nixon in 1977. At the time, they were unsettling to many because they set a standard for checkbook journalism. Nixon had been out of office for three years and almost out of mind.
The drama necessarily delves into the background and back dealings to make the interviews possible. But it is Frank Langella's performance as Nixon that is compelling. Folks who think they know more than me (i.e. critics) seem unanimous in saying it is a better play than it is a movie. That may be so but those of us who were around in the Nixon era remember how hard it was to get the man to admit he did anything wrong (just like a lot of us AARPers do now) and it wasn't hard to recall those feelings again.
Watching Langella finally give in and say what he really felt was terrific stuff. As I get older, I find it harder to keep my tongue at times. Hindsight is, at times, a terrible burden. In this movie, however, you see the younger, cockier Frost (played by Michael Sheen) get held at bay for a long time by the cool old pro. As we get older, however, our nerves and resolve aren't what they used to be. Finally, Langella gives Frost what he (and his backers) were looking for. It is one thing to admit mistakes when you are young - you have time to correct them. When you are older, you may not get another chance. You can hear the pain in the voice of the man who once was the powerful man in the country admit he lied to us ... because he could.
This is hard, intelligent stuff and it isn't the type of moviewatching that usually brings in big bucks. Still, it is nice to see some directors remembered to include us older folks in on something we are either interested in or can relate to.
After all, not everybody can afford (or even wants to) eat steak at a restaurant. Some folks just like a nice ol' hamburger.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Something to be proud of
There are good and bad things about getting older. One characteristic that can go either way is the ability to take most things in stride. We've seen it all before somewhere.
Except for days like yesterday. This was something we had never seen before. Frankly, there were hundreds of thousands of people who didn't believe it ever would happen. Sadly, there were also thousands who believe it never should have ... and their reasoning had little to do with political persuasion.
Watching the inaugural yesterday was satisfying and gratifying.
It was satisfying because, for the first time in a long while, you got the feeling the majority of the country really wants the new president to do well.
It was gratifying because something that has long been spoken as an ideal came to pass. I read where a young African-American woman was asked why she brought her five-year old daughter to watch the festivities yesterday. She answered, "Because now she will know all things are possible."
It was an eloquent but simple answer.
There is no way to know how this president will do. The problems are many and the solutions are not simple.
But a democracy needs to have hope to flourish. We need to be able to have the ability to remain positive in the time of crisis. The naysayers and nitpickers will have their chance to object and complain about the new president's proposed solutions to the various crises the country will face. And there will be occasions when their objections have merit and should be seriously considered.
But yesterday was not their day. Some tried but they looked silly doing so. Deep down inside, I think they knew it.
No, yesterday was a day we needed. It was a day when you realized you can really disagree with someone and not be considered a traitor or an enemy of the state. It was a day when the sun shone brightly and a badly scarred country relaxed a bit. It was a say that never had occurred before and never will again. There is only one first date and this was it.
I emailed a female friend of mine that I thought the day will also come in her lifetime when we will elect a female president, thus knocking down another invisible barrier. It will happen because this truly is a country where anything is possible.
Bit that's another dream for another day. For now, we have yesterday, a day that should have made every American proud.
The memory will never go away. It was nice while it lasted.
However, now it's time to get to work.
Except for days like yesterday. This was something we had never seen before. Frankly, there were hundreds of thousands of people who didn't believe it ever would happen. Sadly, there were also thousands who believe it never should have ... and their reasoning had little to do with political persuasion.
Watching the inaugural yesterday was satisfying and gratifying.
It was satisfying because, for the first time in a long while, you got the feeling the majority of the country really wants the new president to do well.
It was gratifying because something that has long been spoken as an ideal came to pass. I read where a young African-American woman was asked why she brought her five-year old daughter to watch the festivities yesterday. She answered, "Because now she will know all things are possible."
It was an eloquent but simple answer.
There is no way to know how this president will do. The problems are many and the solutions are not simple.
But a democracy needs to have hope to flourish. We need to be able to have the ability to remain positive in the time of crisis. The naysayers and nitpickers will have their chance to object and complain about the new president's proposed solutions to the various crises the country will face. And there will be occasions when their objections have merit and should be seriously considered.
But yesterday was not their day. Some tried but they looked silly doing so. Deep down inside, I think they knew it.
No, yesterday was a day we needed. It was a day when you realized you can really disagree with someone and not be considered a traitor or an enemy of the state. It was a day when the sun shone brightly and a badly scarred country relaxed a bit. It was a say that never had occurred before and never will again. There is only one first date and this was it.
I emailed a female friend of mine that I thought the day will also come in her lifetime when we will elect a female president, thus knocking down another invisible barrier. It will happen because this truly is a country where anything is possible.
Bit that's another dream for another day. For now, we have yesterday, a day that should have made every American proud.
The memory will never go away. It was nice while it lasted.
However, now it's time to get to work.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Going Out on Top
I attended a great funeral yesterday.
Okay, I know how that sounds. But it really was a wonderful event.
Ron Vannelli was a helluva guy. I didn't know him all that well but I liked him a lot. I went to school with his son Greg and know most of his other kids as well. He was a hockey guy through and through, a proud dad of several good players and a terrific referee in his day.
More importantly, he was a good guy away from the game, too. He liked people and liked being with people. He was a guy who was always the life of the party ... even when there was no party.
Ron had been pretty sick in recent years with a rare disease I wouldn't even try to pronounce. It kept him in a wheelchair but, by all reports, he never lost his indomitable spirit (a trait he handed down to his kids and grandkids).
When a man like that leaves us, he deserves a good farewell.
And he got it yesterday. It was SRO at St. Andrew's tiny church yesterday. The priest gave a solid, solemn performance. The songs were basically traditional stuff at funeral. But the pianists and singer were in good form, grabbing your attention without blowing your head off.
Two of his sons coach a local high school hockey team. We exited as their players held their sticks high. Very interesting and nifty stuff.
The real stars of the day, however, were the orators - his son Mark, his nephew Roger and one of the 28 grandkids, Robbie. There were some stories told that clearly meant something only to the family members and tales that everybody could acknowledge. But all of them were told with love and smiles and lots of talk about how much Ron lved his family. On one of the coldest days we have known around here in years, St. Andrew's was a very warm place.
Afterwards, we all repaired to a local saloon/eatery for a terrific brunch filled with laughter and more storytelling.
A friend of mine who was sitting next to me in church noted that, as we get older, we are now attending more of these sort of events than ever. "I went to four in 10 days at one point last year," he said.
True enough.
But it seems to me the whole idea of a wake and (if there is one) a funeral is to honor and represent the life of the deceased. As tough as it is to say goodbye to a friend of a family member, it is easier to do so with a smile and a fond memory.
Now, whenever Ron's name comes up in conversation, I know I will instantly feel happy inside.
I went home and told my wife this is how I want to check out -- with people smiling, telling tales about or on me, having a good meal and, if they want one, a drink or two.
I am sure there were a few tears somewhere yesterday and I don't mean to make light of those who do so. But I would like to think most folks went home last night and couldn't wait to tell someone what a wonderful experience it was.
I can't think of a better tribute to somebody.
Okay, I know how that sounds. But it really was a wonderful event.
Ron Vannelli was a helluva guy. I didn't know him all that well but I liked him a lot. I went to school with his son Greg and know most of his other kids as well. He was a hockey guy through and through, a proud dad of several good players and a terrific referee in his day.
More importantly, he was a good guy away from the game, too. He liked people and liked being with people. He was a guy who was always the life of the party ... even when there was no party.
Ron had been pretty sick in recent years with a rare disease I wouldn't even try to pronounce. It kept him in a wheelchair but, by all reports, he never lost his indomitable spirit (a trait he handed down to his kids and grandkids).
When a man like that leaves us, he deserves a good farewell.
And he got it yesterday. It was SRO at St. Andrew's tiny church yesterday. The priest gave a solid, solemn performance. The songs were basically traditional stuff at funeral. But the pianists and singer were in good form, grabbing your attention without blowing your head off.
Two of his sons coach a local high school hockey team. We exited as their players held their sticks high. Very interesting and nifty stuff.
The real stars of the day, however, were the orators - his son Mark, his nephew Roger and one of the 28 grandkids, Robbie. There were some stories told that clearly meant something only to the family members and tales that everybody could acknowledge. But all of them were told with love and smiles and lots of talk about how much Ron lved his family. On one of the coldest days we have known around here in years, St. Andrew's was a very warm place.
Afterwards, we all repaired to a local saloon/eatery for a terrific brunch filled with laughter and more storytelling.
A friend of mine who was sitting next to me in church noted that, as we get older, we are now attending more of these sort of events than ever. "I went to four in 10 days at one point last year," he said.
True enough.
But it seems to me the whole idea of a wake and (if there is one) a funeral is to honor and represent the life of the deceased. As tough as it is to say goodbye to a friend of a family member, it is easier to do so with a smile and a fond memory.
Now, whenever Ron's name comes up in conversation, I know I will instantly feel happy inside.
I went home and told my wife this is how I want to check out -- with people smiling, telling tales about or on me, having a good meal and, if they want one, a drink or two.
I am sure there were a few tears somewhere yesterday and I don't mean to make light of those who do so. But I would like to think most folks went home last night and couldn't wait to tell someone what a wonderful experience it was.
I can't think of a better tribute to somebody.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Baby, it's cold outside
Although we are generally a hearty bunch in Minnesota, our patience is being tested this week. Look at the picture below.
That was Tuesday morning, when it was a brisk -18 in the morning. It warmed up to -5 later in the day. Today is supposed to be acceptable during the day but the temp is scheduled to drop to -20 tonight. Under those circumstances, it seems to me Pete, the Happy Dog, has the right idea here. He found this place in the front window and stayed put for several hours. Since room is limited, I think I will simply have another hot chocolate and stay put in the basement. Ill be back when it warms up to ... zero.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
How a 33-year old memory is helping my hunt for jobs
Since last October, I have been part of an ever increasing group of characters known as job hunters. It is a frustrating experience ... partly when you find out that ability is one of the least concerns of some employers.
You find yourself taking a serious look at your skills and saying, "Well, I know what I like to do. But what is it that I am capable of doing?"
At the moment, I have four resumes on the computer. They all have the same basic information but each of them also has a twist to them, an accentuation directed in a different area. Before applying, you find yourself reading the job description carefully and changing the wording on the resume each time in an attempt to make it a perfect fit. When it doesn't work, all you can do is sigh and try again.
Don't misunderstand. I am luckier than many folks in this situation. I have a very understanding spouse and family, a little savings I can tap into and have managed to get some part-time work. Unlike some other folks, I also qualify for unemployment benefits.
Life could be a helluva lot worse.
For some reason, this situation reminded me of something that happened in 1976 while I was a college student. Spring Fling was coming up and a few of us in the dorm were moaning we didn't have dates for the event. Joe Sweeney, an old friend, told me he knew the perfect girl for me to call. She was someone he had taken some classes with. He was fairly sure she wasn't seeing anyone and he thought we would be a good match together.
So I called this girl who didn't know me from Adam at 10 p.m. on a Wednesday night and invited to the biggest social event of the year ... that was happening three days later.
Things didn't start out so well. It turned out that Joe had gotten his names mixed up. He did know Pat (that were her name) very well. It was her sister (I think her name was Kathy) who was his classmate. Pat had met Joe once and barely remembered him.
As it developed, we ended not going to the dance that Saturday because her parents were coming from Detroit Lakes to visit her. But good things do occasionally come to those who stick their neck out a long way. Pat and I did go out a few times. Nothing romantic became of it but we did become friends the rest of our time in college.
For reasons I can't exactly pinpoint, this remembrance fills me with hope something good is around the corner for me. There is only one problem I can see. Who do I know that I can call looking for a job who is awake after 10 p.m. on a weeknight?
You find yourself taking a serious look at your skills and saying, "Well, I know what I like to do. But what is it that I am capable of doing?"
At the moment, I have four resumes on the computer. They all have the same basic information but each of them also has a twist to them, an accentuation directed in a different area. Before applying, you find yourself reading the job description carefully and changing the wording on the resume each time in an attempt to make it a perfect fit. When it doesn't work, all you can do is sigh and try again.
Don't misunderstand. I am luckier than many folks in this situation. I have a very understanding spouse and family, a little savings I can tap into and have managed to get some part-time work. Unlike some other folks, I also qualify for unemployment benefits.
Life could be a helluva lot worse.
For some reason, this situation reminded me of something that happened in 1976 while I was a college student. Spring Fling was coming up and a few of us in the dorm were moaning we didn't have dates for the event. Joe Sweeney, an old friend, told me he knew the perfect girl for me to call. She was someone he had taken some classes with. He was fairly sure she wasn't seeing anyone and he thought we would be a good match together.
So I called this girl who didn't know me from Adam at 10 p.m. on a Wednesday night and invited to the biggest social event of the year ... that was happening three days later.
Things didn't start out so well. It turned out that Joe had gotten his names mixed up. He did know Pat (that were her name) very well. It was her sister (I think her name was Kathy) who was his classmate. Pat had met Joe once and barely remembered him.
As it developed, we ended not going to the dance that Saturday because her parents were coming from Detroit Lakes to visit her. But good things do occasionally come to those who stick their neck out a long way. Pat and I did go out a few times. Nothing romantic became of it but we did become friends the rest of our time in college.
For reasons I can't exactly pinpoint, this remembrance fills me with hope something good is around the corner for me. There is only one problem I can see. Who do I know that I can call looking for a job who is awake after 10 p.m. on a weeknight?
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Bring back Sonny Eliot
When I was a wee lad, there was a guy in Detroit named Sonny Eliot who did the weathercast on WWJ-TV. Sonny was a local personality, a guy who cracked bad jokes and made funny sounds during a 3-4 minute segment on the news. In the end, he mixed in a few temps and told us what the next day might be like.
Funny thing was, he was usually right in telling us if it would rain or snow the next day would entail.
Today's weather folks are different. They have some type of seal they get (perhaps from a cereal box) and they can show up impressive videos. They can discuss El Ninos with great enthusiasm.
But they can't seem to tell us how much snow we are going to get and when we will get it.
For two days around the Twin Cities, they issued dire warnings to batten down the hatches. Snow and sleet were coming and there would be a lot of it. Their years of with the seal said so.
Didn't happen. We got about an inch of snow and the roads were fine to travel. Today, they are busy falling all over themselves explaining why they were really correct in their prediction and that Doppler Radar really is a good thing/
Me? I say bring back Sonny Eliot, who probably called the weather bureau about an hour before he went on the air and asked what was up for the next day or so. In the end, he might have been wrong about the forecast as well. But he would have made us smile in the process.
Funny thing was, he was usually right in telling us if it would rain or snow the next day would entail.
Today's weather folks are different. They have some type of seal they get (perhaps from a cereal box) and they can show up impressive videos. They can discuss El Ninos with great enthusiasm.
But they can't seem to tell us how much snow we are going to get and when we will get it.
For two days around the Twin Cities, they issued dire warnings to batten down the hatches. Snow and sleet were coming and there would be a lot of it. Their years of with the seal said so.
Didn't happen. We got about an inch of snow and the roads were fine to travel. Today, they are busy falling all over themselves explaining why they were really correct in their prediction and that Doppler Radar really is a good thing/
Me? I say bring back Sonny Eliot, who probably called the weather bureau about an hour before he went on the air and asked what was up for the next day or so. In the end, he might have been wrong about the forecast as well. But he would have made us smile in the process.
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