Facade

This past weekend I had a chance to get a closer work at the impressive buildings of an old river town. A four-lane highway dissects the beautiful downtown of this old river city, but this time I parked on a side street and walked to and fro, and back and forth which gave me a view I had seen during the many times of driving through it. I have long admired the old buildings - some former banks, others old hotels. They are striking with their ornate architecture, bright colors and impressive fronts; all have their best face on.

That which is publically faced is the facade. The facade is often patched and painted. Of course, it is not the true picture of the building, however it is the only side intended to be seen by the public. To get a different view you need to go around to the back.

I learned about the alley view when I was a garbage man. The back of a building is not nearly as pretty, but it may be more interesting, perhaps even more genuine. This is where you get a real picture of what goes on inside.

It’s more than just trash that is tossed aside; In the back of a building where all pretenses are dropped you see the tattered and torn shades of the second-floor apartments and wonder who lives there and what kind of life they have. The sporadic, ill-fitting window air-conditioners that hang precariously over the filth below may provide some relief from the heat, but they only change the view by obstructing it.

These old brick buildings have cracks in the mortar too, perhaps even in the foundation; these are invisible from the front.  Flaws and faults are not intended for public viewing and inspection. In fact, the two sides often don’t resemble each other at all.

I spent a year of my life as a garbage man viewing life from the alley; I have spent thirty times that as a salesman. During those thirty years, with all my flaws and faults, I have learned the importance of being genuine when dealing with others. I have also learned how to recognize that trait or the absence of it.

At some point Americans have decided that we want to be told what we want to hear, and we expect our politicians to act accordingly. Me, I just want some sincerity. Often politicians are accused of being two-faced. Even Abraham Lincoln was included in that group to which he responded, “If I had two faces would I be wearing this one?”

We want our candidates to give us their best and to show us who they really are so we can make an informed decision about which one we want representing us. As I watch the front-runner of the Republican presidential candidates insult everyone in his path and the leading Democrat candidate dance around the truth, I can only hope we are being shown a false front. Clearly, this cannot be who these people truly are. Because if this is their best side, Lord help us all.

We would be better served with candidates that are genuine and honest so we know what we are getting. Nothing new to consider with that statement, but I just want a chance to see that side, for that would be truly impressive.

Skating Through Life

About twenty years ago I decided to take my wife and kids on a different way home from church; instead of the predictable route, I went a completely different direction. After about fifteen minutes of aimlessly wandering along gravel roads we came across a For Sale sign in front of an old farm. Since we weren’t in the market for a new house, I surprised everyone by turning into the driveway. I immediately fell in love with the place, and shortly thereafter my wife did too. A few months later we moved into our new home.

That kind of thing reinforced my adventurous spirit. I will often take a different way home – not really a shortcut – more of a “Let’s see where this road takes us.”

Last week I was driving out of Le Sueur, a Minnesota river town about thirty miles south of Shakopee when I decided to take a different way home. I took a quiet county road that seemed to disappear into the woods. Unlike other times when I explore and experiment, this time I was looking for something.

Many years ago there was a roller-skating rink just outside Le Sueur and I was pretty sure it was on this road. I remember riding a school bus several times during my seventh and eighth grade years to Le Sueur to go roller-skating in a school-sponsored activity. It was a big deal – we didn’t have as many entertainment options available as kids do today.

Kids would pile out of the bus and into the arch-roofed roller-rink. Lines would form for the rented skates (black for boys and white for girls), which were handed out with speed and accuracy. Back in those days there was no such thing as in-line skates – these models featured four wheels on two axels. The street shoes we wore in were placed underneath chairs with confidence that they would be there later.

I wasn’t a very good skater, or at least a very good stopper; to stop I would crash into the walls or the chairs, and sometimes the concession stand. The same people who had handed out the skates staffed the concession stand, and again they did their job with precision and quickness selling fountain pop and candy.

Sometimes the disco ball would sparkle, other times there was just a black-light highlighting white clothes and white teeth. We would skate around and around in a big circle to the music from the fifties, sixties and seventies.

Sometime during the event, and without warning, a woman would announce over the loud speakers that the rotation was being reversed (from counter-clockwise to clockwise). I found this particular skate to be initially awkward and yet refreshingly different; it never lasted long and we returned to the normal way of doing things.

As I rounded a corner I saw the old arch-roofed building. No school buses, no kids running towards the doors. The building was now being used for a warehouse or some such thing; I cringe when I consider the condition of that smooth wood floor and the carpeted walls.

I pause for a minute, close my eyes and imagine what once was and will never be again. Even though those days are gone, I still hold on to the memories, the songs and what I learned  – sometimes you need to change direction before you get home.

Fan Club

I find the steady drone of a fan to be very relaxing. If I have trouble sleeping in my bed I reach behind me and flip the switch on a small fan.  My wife, and I each have our own personal fan; it’s kind of like having a sleep number bed except that instead of adjusting the mattress firmness, you control the air movement and background noise in your own personal space.

In addition to the personals, we have a public ceiling fan – it moves the air just fine, but it doesn’t give off a soothing sound.

It has been a wonderful summer for sleeping with the windows open.

Although I love the soothing sound of a fan, it does tend to drown out the noises of the night and early morning. So, like anything else, there are trade-offs.

If the fan is on I can’t hear the crickets chirping, coyotes yapping, thunder approaching, a cow calling, a lone truck on the highway, or a wren scolding me for sleeping in. Of course, with all that racket who can sleep?

My grandson, Micah, was over for a couple hours Saturday. After an afternoon of him running around inside the house, playing with toys, reading books, riding on the golf cart (outside the house), sitting in the fire truck, chasing the cat and gathering eggs, Rhonda decided it was time for a nap (he or me?).

She has a routine of getting Micah in the mood for a snooze, and he was almost there but at the last minute he decided he did not want her to leave the room with him still in the crib. As she had things to do, she appointed me to lie on the bed next to the crib to show him how it’s done.

With all the up and down of retrieving something Micah had either dropped or thrown from the crib, I was able to stay awake for the first ten minutes. But then the sound of the fan worked it’s magic, and I entered that blissful land of Nod, where I was neither asleep nor awake. I could hear Micah walking and jumping around in his crib as he jabbered to himself or me (I couldn’t tell).

After about an hour of restful babysitting I made an executive decision: This little boy had not only not napped – he was wide-awake. So I got him up and we went downstairs.

When I got there it felt warm, so I checked the thermostat. It was 81 degrees, which is a little too warm, especially when the air-conditioner is on.  I checked the breaker, the settings on the thermostat, and I would have checked the condenser or the coil, but I didn’t know how.

According to the forecast, the heat and humidity was going to continue into tomorrow night. Great. Realizing that I was not going to expire from heat stroke and that Saturday afternoon of Labor Day weekend is no time to call a repairman, I accepted my temporary lot in life.  I turned on a fan, sat down and let the sweat run, but at least I was relaxed.

Blurring the Lines

There was something wrong with my new GPS system – it looked like the road I was on was the only one available. Recognizing that driving and fiddling with an on-screen display can get you into trouble, my wife, Rhonda, turned to her old friends, Rand and McNally (she has always liked looking at maps).

Eventually, we found what we were looking for - a beautiful State park that was lacking in one amenity. While there was electricity at most of the campsites, water had to be carried from either the bathroom or a spigot further down the lane. I did not consider this ideal, but I rose to the occasion and carried several buckets to the camper without getting too wet.

I was glad for the short distance to the bathroom, but still I felt unsettled about the whole thing. After a hit-and-miss night of mosquitoes and interrupted sleep I rose shortly after six a.m. with the thought of showering at the public restroom. I was confident I would beat the rush – which I did.

I had begun to adapt to the minor inconveniences until a little dog appeared outside our camper later that morning. I have been told that I will, on occasion, obsess over something, focusing so narrowly that I am unable to see or consider anything else. There is, of course, a reason for that - I am trying to correct a problem. The little dog, not wanting to mess up his own campsite had instead decided to leave a mess at ours – right outside the door.

Yelling out the window, which I considered, seemed out of place with so many neighbors. I jumped from window to window inside the camper trying to follow the rude little creature back to its campsite. I pulled on my shoes with the intent of politely, but firmly requesting that the owners clean up after their dog.

When I got outside I couldn’t find the dog and the thought of going door-to-door seemed like that of a crazed man (which I was beginning to feel like). I walked around the immediate vicinity with no luck. Then I returned to our camper and hollered for a bag from ten feet away. It was obvious that I was going to have to care of it myself or risk stepping in it.

After disposing of the bag and its filthy contents I walked to the bathroom to purify myself. Using a generous amount of soap I lathered up only to discover that there was no water - the well had quit.

I returned to the camper with hands that no longer felt clean and hollered for water from about twenty yards away. Still frustrated by the series of events, I snapped and snarled at Rhonda.

After I apologized (some time later) we decided to move past the messy business of cleaning up other people’s messes and to take the long way home using mostly back roads. We set our sights on seeing interesting sites and to enjoy the journey using a slower pace.  Even though it took longer we saw a part of life that is hidden from the highways and freeways.

The afternoon was going much better than the morning. In the truck I had changed the image on the GPS by zooming out the focus. This gave me a much better perspective; I could see the bigger picture now.

In my mind I needed to do the same thing by stepping back and taking a broader view. Looking back on the morning I saw that I had blurred the lines between what was important and what was trivial. Little dogs and minor inconveniences are small matters compared to the feelings of others. Even though we can’t always see it right away there is always a higher road for us to take.