Thursday, January 26, 2017

Carry On

The older I get the more people I know who pack up and head south for the winter. Along with growing closer to that age group come questions regarding any pending plans for my own departure (Minnesota, not Earth). Although I enjoy traveling, I continue to resist any southern draw. True, my wife and I did drive to Missouri and Arkansas for a week in October, but I hardly think that counts.

Still, I like being here in the winter. One year, when I was a kid, my family spent Christmas in the Arizona desert with my cousins at their home. They had presents and a bright star in the east to remind us what Christmas is all about, but with cactus instead of trees in their yard, a real Christmas tree was not an option for them. It was memorable, but just not the same as a Minnesota holiday.

I guess that’s one of the things keeping me here. The thought of spending Christmas in a warm climate just wouldn’t seem right. Perhaps it’s my own quirky character of not wanting to go too far from home for any extended stay. Maybe it’s a couple little boys that call me “Pa” and my daughter and son that keep me here. I also have a few friends I see from time to time, I like our old farm, and I still enjoy going to my office. Plus, I am comfortable with the cold and snow.

It’s been awhile since I have stepped into skis, put on ice skates, rode a snowmobile or fished through ice, yet I still favor winter even when it’s cold enough to have your nose fall off. So, while I don’t participate in what are considered traditional winter activities, I have found that wood splits easier when it’s froze; the fire is more comfortable when it’s cold outside, the candle light is softer on a winter night, books lend themselves to a longer session of reading and the cold, crisp air feels good in my lungs when trudging though the snow.

This has been a unusual winter. Rain and temperatures in the forties make it seems more like March with the scent of spring in the air. This month the gravel road in front of our place that is dry and dusty in the summer, has gone from a hard frozen path to at one time being almost impassable with heavy snow. Then the rain came and turned it into a skating rink, which made walking to the mailbox a balancing act. Now with the warmth, the road has become like over-cooked oatmeal slopping up the sides of my truck so that even a two-year old grimaces over the grime, as my grandson told his mom today, “Pa’s truck needs to be washed”.

White Christmas is gone and we are left with a messy January thaw,
Our long awaited Christmas tree storage bag was finally delivered, so we took the tree down and put it in the bag for safe keeping.  The bag is large enough to stuff Santa himself in there. It looks like we’ll have to stay put for the winters, because the bag is so big it would never pass as a carry-on for a flight south.


Thursday, January 19, 2017

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

I was reminded more than once to be aware of blind spots when I was learning to drive. In addition to the blind spots caused by the structure of the vehicle, mirrors also presented problems. The mirrors on the sides of the vehicle were once flat and not convex (like they are now). Although the flat, reflective surface gave an accurate representation of the distance of objects in the mirror, there much that was hidden from view.
My first experience “driving” was probably with my dad. Many people my age and older can tell you about a time or two “helping” their dad drive. “I’d sit on his lap in that big old Buick and steer as we drove through town.” (Bruce Springsteen, “My Hometown”)
The first vehicle I drove without assistance was a three-speed pickup. I was spending a summer Saturday with my friend, Mark, at his family’s gravel pit. Mark, in addition to being licensed, was comfortable operating heavy machinery, so for him to teach me how to work a standard transmission seemed quite natural and necessary. We climbed into the truck with me behind the wheel and Mark in the passenger’s seat; Even though it seems easy now, I remember having trouble keeping everything straight: One hand on the steering wheel, one hand on the shifter (three on the tree), one foot on the gas, and the other one positioned over the clutch. I am sure he must have told me about the brake.
As were driving around the pit we hit a deep rut in the road, and without the aid of seat belts, we both flew forward against the dash. The sudden jolt must have caused me to floor the gas pedal because the truck leaped forward. In its path was a road-grader (we knocked the blade off) a fish-house (we went through it) and a large pile of sand (it stopped us).
My other unofficial driving lessons were less harried, but just as memorable. David, my brother-in-law, let me drive his Dodge Polara (with Wisconsin plates) around the parking lot of a state park one summer day. It was the highlight of that camping trip, as I didn’t hit anything or anybody.
My brother, Dan, and I drove around together quite a bit.  Because of him, I learned to appreciate the musical accompaniment the radio provided while cruising around. He also taught me some of the more subtle nuances of driving. For instance, when stopping the car the braking should be gradual, so as not to throw the passenger onto the floor (seat belts were optional back then). Cornering should be done at a speed slow enough so the tires don’t squeal or leave the pavement.

One lesson he taught concerned a particular style of road sign that warns you to reduce speed in one-fifth of a mile. Start slowing down, he suggested, when the sign appeared, as it would be here before I knew it.

I must have missed the signs of the years flying by, for I got here all too soon. This last week I met with some friends to plan our fortieth high school class reunion. The future came so fast I didn’t even see it coming. Looking back now, I think Dan was right - don’t be in a hurry, listen to the music and enjoy the journey.



Thursday, January 12, 2017

It's a Small World

“It’s a small world,” Pat said to Mark and me. I had brought the two of them together the other night because I knew they shared an interest in Canadian fishing even though I don’t. I’m not opposed to it, it’s just that I prefer fishing for a compliment, wading into an argument, or casting a shadow. When I introduced the two of them to each other a few years ago they discovered they had both stayed at the same privately owned cabin on a small island in Canada.

Since their connection was through me, I felt an obligation to bring them together again so they could learn how each came to find the same cabin. While I happily listened and nodded knowingly from time to time, they talked for the better part of an hour regarding shared acquaintances, obscure logging roads known to only a few, and how this all came to be. When the conversation rested Pat remarked about how small the world is. It was an understatement; I was in awe of the multiple connections these two men had.

Perhaps I am too easily impressed, but the likelihood of these two men crossing that many lines is fictional. Pat’s ten years older than Mark, they grew up in separate states, worked in different fields, lived in different counties and had never met each other before I introduced them.

It has been said that there are just six degrees of separation between any two people on the planet. It’s a friend of a friend type of connection. Pat and I have been friends for several years, whereas Mark and I go back several decades, and now those two share a connection separate from me.

Although I am not a fan of name-dropping, I will acknowledge that who you know often trumps what you know. The possibilities of who knows who are mind-boggling. For instance, it is quite likely that most of us know someone who knows someone who has met one of the United State’s Presidents (and is willing to admit it). It’s no longer noteworthy to say that you know so and so from here and there as almost everyone does due to the current fad of being famous for apparently no other reason than being famous.

When counting the degrees of separation, I have noticed that the warmer connections are the closer ones. When I was younger I was impressed with how many people my parents knew. It seemed that no matter where we went someone was always saying, “Hi Tom” or “Hello Pat.” I was always proud to answer in the affirmative when asked, “Are you Tom and Pat’s son?”

For a short time my kids seemed impressed with my small circle of friends and acquaintances. Now the focus has shifted from me to my children. I am just as proud, but in a different way, to say “Yes” when asked if I am Jennifer or Nate’s Dad.


As I get older, I am less interested in expanding my social horizons than I am in keeping my eye on the friends I have. I find that if I am attentive to my family and friends my life is indeed full. I am content with a very small world, in fact, the smaller the better.

Thursday, January 5, 2017

Fake News

“Did you hear what I heard?” Even though that question has a reputation of doing more harm than good by repeating gossip, we often can’t wait for the next part.

In ancient Greece (469 - 399 BC) Socrates had a wise reply for such a question. One day an acquaintance ran up to him and said, "Socrates, do you know what I just heard about one of your students?"

"Wait a moment," Socrates said. "Before you talk to me about my student let's take a moment to filter what you're going to say. The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?"

When the answer was no, Socrates said, “Now let's try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my student something good?"

Again the answer was no, so Socrates continued. "You may still pass the test though, because there is a third filter - the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my student going to be useful to me?"

"Well," concluded Socrates after hearing no for the third time, "if what you want to tell me is neither true nor good nor even useful, why tell it to me at all?"

Our almost insatiable appetite for gossip has left us vulnerable. It seems we will gladly lend an ear (or an eye) to anything unjust and juicy. This unhealthy attitude has given fake news websites the large audience they need to broadcast their lies.

Wikipedia says “fake news websites publish hoaxes, propaganda, and disinformation to mislead, rather than entertain, readers for financial or other gain.”

Being the cynic that I am, I have a tendency to view most of our major media sources with a doubtful eye anyway. This is especially true when the information originates from social media, which is where most of the fake news is found and circulated by unsuspecting and unwary participants.

Remember the advice from your childhood, “you can’t believe everything you hear.” The same is true for things you read. Check your sources and seek additional supporting (and contrary) perspectives.  Become a reader of information other than what’s on a computer screen and adopt a practice of being a life-long learner.

Still, other than becoming better informed and refusing to participate in the dissemination of lies, there is little you and I can do to cease the circulation of hoaxes on a national level. The same is not true of gossip, however.

In this regard, we have great power. We can stem the tide by asking the three questions posed by Socrates. Why share false, wicked and harmful information when there is so much good we can talk about.

I know Christmas has come and gone, but I am a firm believer in keeping the good message of Christmas with me all through the year. Therefore, instead of spreading gossip, feel free to spread the gospel by repeating the lyrics of a Christmas song.

“’Do you hear what I hear?’ Said the king to the people everywhere. ‘Listen to what I say, pray for peace people everywhere.’”