Thursday, January 28, 2016

Staying on Track

Last week, from the comfort of my office, I watched two train cars get put back on the railroad track. I’m not sure if they “jumped the track” or if they were derailed or if there is even a difference. To get the job done it took four caterpillar cranes, one bulldozer and several men who looked like they could hold their own in any physical disagreement.

I like trains; I like counting them and playing with them. I marvel at the power of trains as they roll past my office several times a day. When I was growing up my brother had an electric train set that we had fun playing with. My brother-in-law has an impressive Lionel set that takes up most of his basement, and I am in awe of the train that runs through a village my friend Bob has in his house.

There is a popular board game that involves trains called “Ticket to Ride,” which my wife, Rhonda, and I enjoy playing together often. In this game routes are selected by the draw of cards. The routes between the destinations are completed when enough matching colored cards are picked from the pile. Some routes require certain colors and some are more forgiving and allow any color train on the track.

The colored train cars are placed on the routes between destinations, which claims your position on the board. Points are given for completed routes and destinations. The more one achieves, the more points they are given. The game is for two to five players, but like anything else the dynamic changes and the sense of competition between players is increased when more people are added to the game.

Perhaps I am reaching too hard to make a point, but when I play this game I notice the parallels between the game and how life is played out. The game begins with the cards you are dealt (family, personality and lot in life), you start at one place, add some trains (friends and experiences) and try and get to another destination (adulthood). On the way, you try to connect other destinations (education, job, marriage, etc.), and all the while you try and enjoy the journey. Certain paths in life require a mix of education, talent, skill or job experience, and of course we all need friends to help us when life derails us.

Just as I believe the way someone conducts their business affairs is a window to their value system and not, according to them, “. . . just business and nothing personal,” I also believe the way a person plays a game is a reflection on how they conduct themselves in other areas of life. Sharing routes and cooperating with each other may not always win the game, but it certainly makes the trip better for all.

Rhonda and I have fun playing the game in the evening and on Sunday afternoons. Even though we play a different style, (I like a long, continuous route, she strives to garner more destinations) we respect each other’s spot on the board, will yield our way, take turns, and be good sports whether we win or lose. Because once the game is over we still have to share a sleeper car and stay on track together.




Thursday, January 21, 2016

Take It To The Limit

 “A good man always knows his limitations.” Clint Eastwood said this in the movie Magnum Force. As I continually strive to be a good man, I try to be aware of my limitations. For instance, like any Minnesotan, I can tolerate cold weather up to a point, or in this case, down to a point on the thermometer.

Saturday was cold, but I had heard that Sunday would be even colder. I’m not one to plan too far ahead, but when I know that the following day will be cold enough to tear your nose from your face, I will adjust my routine.

On the weekends I like to mix my time between inside and outside activities, but with the colder weather coming I concentrated on getting my outside stuff done before I retreated to the safety of my house. I was having trouble getting a piece of equipment started so I got up early to run to the store and get a battery charger, but before I left I needed a jump-start myself with a cup of coffee. I drank that while I waited for the fire in the wood stove to catch. A cold draft racing down the chimney made it challenging, and it took a little more time than normal.

Once the charger was hooked up, I decided to give it some time to do as advertised and charge the battery. While waiting, I tackled what initially appeared to be an easy inside project – the replacement of a temperamental electrical outlet (sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t). I have replaced outlets before and was comfortable I could get the job done before the battery was charged.

Once both the electrical power and outlet plate are off it’s usually a matter of pulling the outlet from the wall and disconnecting three wires. Usually. This time the outlet was being unusually stubborn and would not come out easily; I assumed it was because it was cold outside, as everything moves slower when it’s cold. That wasn’t it.

There were four additional wires connected to the rear that were holding the outlet in place. The outlet was being used as a junction between the power source and two other ends down the line (a light, another outlet, some other modern convenience or the neighbor’s electric fence).

Instead of letting a tolerable, but annoying situation be and putting the outlet back into the wall. I cut the four wires, disconnected the expected three wires, plus two additional grounding wires and removed the cursed outlet. I now had nine wires to contend with in a box not large enough to keep a house mouse comfortable.

Even though I had done my best to cut the four wires close to the outlet I was left with wires that were too short to reconnect to another outlet. I pulled and I tugged, but the wall would surrender no more wire to me.

I tried everything. I went to the basement (without tripping on the second step) to see if I could remedy the problem from a different angle, I even tried to splice more wire to the short ends – but the thought of the house catching fire after the wires were tucked back behind the plate caused me to reconsider.

I was starting to get mad and hot. Then I remembered the battery charger; I went outside to check on it. By now it had enough time to charge the battery and the equipment started right up.

Even though I had success in one area, I had to face facts. I was not going to be able to fix the outlet problem myself – I would need to call an electrician.

Once I had admitted this to myself, I cooled off and accepted the situation. Without regard to the quality of my character, I am keenly aware of my limitations.


Thursday, January 14, 2016

A Long Holiday

Christmas is over; it ended for me on Saturday, January 9th. I know that sounds ridiculous, but our last Christmas party of the season was at our house Saturday. Several weeks ago this day was chosen as the only day that everyone from my wife’s side of the family could get together. When people make these calendar and scheduling decisions I am never consulted, mind you I would have nothing to contribute to the discussion anyway. I remain flexible and spontaneous, if not aloof and uncommitted.

The Christmas party was special; we had it in our garage. The vehicles were backed out to make room for the tables and chairs. The floor was swept and washed so clean that it could be eaten off of it. I saw my 23 month-old grandson test this theory at least once during the party.

The feeble faux Christmas tree, complete with ornaments and lights, was transplanted from the corner of the living room to just below the landing in the garage. Presents were placed under the tree on top of the skirting and the tables were adorned in holiday splendor and holly.

Jolly relatives came from miles around bearing gifts and goodies. There were pans and platters, crockpots and candy. We talked and ate, played games, exchanged gifts and pleasantries. Indeed, a good time was had by all.

I can’t help but wonder though how out far on the calendar one can push a holiday celebration. I have a friend who believes that any day outside the 24th and 25th does not qualify. He says, “You can call it Christmas if you want, but it’s not.” Two weeks seems reasonable to me, but what about two months? If life becomes so busy that you go past the end of July, are you late or early?

I have known people who will not tolerate a celebration of their birthday other than on THE day. Then there are those who don’t mind a birthday lunch or party before or after the fact by a week or so, but clearly we lose focus if we wait too long or go too early.

There is a benefit in stretching the Christmas season; I find that the festive atmosphere still lingers with the decorations, and Vince Guaraldi’s Christmas music playing in the background does not seem out of place. I will miss the plush “Merry Christmas” mat outside the shower that welcomes me. The various nativity scenes scattered throughout the house that subtly remind me of the reason for the season will be wrapped up and put away. The banner that hangs from a door with its alternating blinking and winking lights that my grandson, Micah, calls “the changing,” will come down until next year.

I will miss all those things, but most of all I will miss the merry, cheery attitude that seems absent during other times of the year. People do seem happier and more than willing to give than to receive. It is the best time of year.

Christmas is over, but I hope and pray that the spirit of the season will linger.




Thursday, January 7, 2016

Heavy Load

This weekend I was reminded how too much of something can be bad for you. Like most people who live around here, we have a water softener, and like most people, I have to put salt in the brine tank.

The salt comes conveniently packaged in 40-pound bags with a handle on each end. I suppose some people carry the bags like a basket, grasping the handle on each end, and I suppose some people, such as myself, will employ what my mother used to call “a lazy man’s load.”

A lazy man’s load, according to my mother, meant you would overload your arms with cargo to save a trip. For instance, if I have to carry ten bags of salt from my truck, through the garage, up the stairs to the house, down the hall, around the corner and down the stairs to the basement, my mother would call me lazy if I carried a bag in each hand and made five trips instead of ten.  Then again, she never carried 40-pound bags of salt.

Perhaps, I am lazy, in that I am trying to cut my trips in half, or maybe I am stubborn and just trying to prove I can still carry a bag in each hand. I am completely aware that I won’t win any county fair strong man competitions with such a feat, but by the end of the fifth trip my arms have each gained an inch in length.

Forty pounds is heavier than it used to be. When Bill Stemmer was running the feed mill in town, I used to buy chicken feed from him. Bill’s a big man and thought nothing of throwing 100-pound bags of feed around.  I, on the other hand, gave the matter a good deal of consideration. This was before I entered the wonderful world of pick-up trucks with their open cargo area and tall end-gate. Getting a heavy bag of feed into the trunk of a car is one thing, persuading it out is a different task entirely.

That’s the way it is with the salt bags. The journey through the house is easy; it’s the basement stairs that tests your mettle. The first step is the widest of the lot, allowing for a confident purchase, the second step is the doozie and warrants a warning. It’s narrow and it almost disappears from sight, as you descend into the bowels of the house.

For years I have contemplated replacing the whole staircase, using the top step as the model for the rest its brothers. The second step usually doesn’t bother me too much, but the opening for the stairs is too narrow to descend it straight away, and carrying bags sideways down the steps means the upper one has to be raised or allowed to bump down the stairs. Plus there is the matter of tripping and killing myself, but at least I would be well preserved with all that salt.

I was explaining the problem of the second step to my smart son-in-law and he asked to see it. After a quick inspection, he pointed out that the large first step was overshadowing the second step. He advised reducing the width of the first step by two inches, thereby exposing more of the second step.

I could feel my blood pressure go up with the realization that twenty years of tripping down the steps could have been eliminated so easily. The wide first step is the problem, as is too much salt.




Friday, January 1, 2016

Book of Life

If time were a book, December 31st would be the closing of one chapter and January 1st would be the opening of another. As with any book, I like to go back and read some of the meaningful passages. With that in mind, here are some moments from this year.

In DECEMBER I wrote how Thanksgiving started with a “first-world problem.” A water supply line burst, but thankfully we were home to turn the water off before there was too much damage. Of the many things to be thankful for I can add indoor plumbing and safe drinking water.

In NOVEMBER I lost my mother’s sister, a sad event to be sure, but a reminder of my mother and my own childhood. The fallen leaves of OCTOBER brought me back to the churchyard of my youth and a melancholy feeling about the change of seasons and the shortened days.

While camping in southeastern Minnesota this SEPTEMBER I was reminded how my time here on earth is fleeting as I witnessed the rare “Blood Moon.” Sharing the campground with my family was a pair of adult sons and their fathers. It occurred to me that the older men would probably not be around to see the next appearance of this lunar event.

For years my father referred to my younger brother and me as “the boys.” In AUGUST my daughter began to refer to her son, Micah, and his brand new baby brother, Jonah, as “the boys.”

Small town festivals and county fairs dominated the commentaries in JULY. I was smitten with the simple pleasures and laid back atmosphere found at these outdoor festivals. I learned some life lessons while sitting across from a chess master: A peaceful existence is best, never pass up an opportunity to experience something new, follow the rules and keep your options open.

In JUNE, around the first day of summer when the shadows are shortest, my grandson discovered his. As he gets older and his shadow lengthens, I hope and pray he always walks in the light and that he discovers where to cast his shadow.

In MAY my wife and I began our season of traveling and camping by sticking to the back roads.  It’s a wonderful way to go – if you’re not in hurry, as a 30-minute trip can easily become two hours while exploring back roads and small towns. That day ended in Henderson, which is close to home, but you don’t need to travel far from home to have a good trip or a good life.

Bob Seger and Blue Jeans were two of the subjects covered in APRIL. Seger’s songs helped me reach out to an old friend, and blue jeans helped me bridge the gap between my father and brother’s sense of fashion.

My eyes and ears were opened in MARCH by a fourteen-month old boy. I sat on the couch, while my grandson, Micah, stood and looked out the window. He marveled at a bird’s ability to fly, the wind dangling a leaf and the stereo of sounds that filled his day.

In FEBRUARY I found myself wishing for more days in this shortest month of the year. It may be the only month where one can sit by a fire and read night after night without anyone thinking them lazy. I may be fooling myself with these thoughts, as few others shared my sentiment. The first essay of JANUARY began with a blank screen as the whole year was laid out before me.

 So as this dog-eared and worn year comes to an end, I start looking for ways to make next year even better. My desk sits in front of an east-facing window, and once in a while between sentences, I will look out that window and imagine I can see tomorrow just beyond the horizon.  Turn the page.