On This Side

My kids always tell me to ask them when I need help with a project. I’m not very good at that, as I don’t always know when I will need help, and I am quite independent. Sometimes what looks like a one-man show turns into a three-act play with a full cast and pit orchestra. I am never really sure how things are going to go, and I don’t want to waste their time. If it’s just me I can be flexible and answerable to no one.

Even though I am quite terrible when it comes to asking my children for their help, I want them to know I am always willing to help them. When I say good-bye, I always tell them I love them and to call me if they need anything. Sometimes they do call, and when they do I feel needed and fulfilled.

Yeah, I know it’s probably not healthy – maybe the sign of a co-dependent relationship: I tell them I love them, and to demonstrate it, I drop everything the minute they call. Helping them makes me feel needed, and then when I leave I remind them to do it again. On the other hand, maybe it’s a way of banking some help in the surplus column so when I do get old – like thirty or forty years from now they (along with their children) will have to help me. I just don’t want to exhaust my capital too soon.

I Imagine there will come a time when I will be very dependent upon their help. Still, if I can still do things by myself for many years maybe they won’t put me in a home and let me stay in mine.

I heard a story several years ago about the death of a man. He was the town’s gravedigger. I don’t know if the facts are true – but it makes a good story. This man, along with his trusty backhoe, had dug many of the graves for the local townsfolk; yet it seems that when he died and it came time for him to be buried, his friend the backhoe had other ideas.

Just as I imagine that Mike Mulligan’s beloved steam shovel, Mary Anne, would not have easily borne the task of burying Mike, often a fickle tractor will only run for just one man. The backhoe refused to start; it would have no part in digging that final grave. I suppose the gravedigger’s sons could have hired it done or employed the services of another backhoe. Instead, they decided to dig their father’s grave by hand.

Let’s assume the story is true for a moment (not about Mike and Mary Anne, but about the gravedigger and his sons). I am fascinated with the irony of the iron horse refusing to bury its master; yet I am also struck by what the sons did that day. They helped their dad with his last project on this side of the grave and he never even asked.

Trite and True

When spring break came for some members of my family we decided to get out of Dodge; but instead of going south, we went north. No one would ever describe I-35 as the road less traveled, nevertheless we managed to avoid traffic by leaving early in the morning. I like driving, and as long as I have enough coffee, you will never catch me asleep at the wheel. We didn’t leave real early, but better late than never.

Our first stop was Canal Park in Duluth for a Kodak moment, as my wife cannot resist taking pictures. There were no ships coming in while we there, so we missed seeing the Lift Bridge operate – but that’s water under the bridge. Another stop we always make is the Lake Superior Maritime Visitor Center, where once again it was proved that the best things in life are free: no admission charge.

We were reminded that there is no such thing as a free lunch when we stopped at Grandma’s Saloon and Grill. By then I was so hungry I could eat a horse, despite that I only ate half a sandwich. I’m not getting any younger, so I’ve started to watch what I eat – including quantities. The rest of the family had a little of this and a little of that.

Heading further north we took the scenic route instead of the expressway. This way we were able to stay close to Lake Superior, where it’s just water as far as the eye can see. Our next stop was Tofte and Blue Fin Bay, where we have been there and done that, even so we liked it so much the first time we decided to come back.

All the suites overlook the grand lake, which for me is a litmus test as to whether the hotel is worth staying at. If I am going to be in a home away from home I want it to be memorable. Imagine leaving with the feeling of having nothing to write home about.

At the end of the day after a day of driving I am ready to relax and do nothing. Of course, Rhonda and I don’t always see eye to eye on how to spend our time. She wants to explore the place and check out the pool, whereas I would rather stay back and check out the TV and read a book, but why air dirty laundry?

I have heard it said “Beware the ides of March,” and I suspect one should also be mindful of the tides this time of year. The North Shore in March can be as cold as ice. I understand some people will don a wet suit and surf Superior, except to do that I think you’d have to be as crazy as a loon – and I swear I saw one of those on the big lake.

They say misery loves company, although not on the North Shore in March. Beats me why, but there were no crowds at the state parks, in the villages, or on the highways. I suppose it could have something to do with temperatures in the twenties and snow, as most everyone wants their place in the sun.

I had heard it through the grapevine that we would be stopping to see some waterfalls in the area. That was just the tip of the iceberg, we saw about a dozen. I guess when it rains it pours – they seemed to be roaring everywhere.

Everyone has their cross to bear, and I tried to be a good sport and stay in the game because actions speak louder than words. Even though all’s well that ends well, when it came time to leave for home, it was bittersweet.  They say that you can never go home again, but I was ready to test that theory.

The return trip seemed to take forever, yet it was worth the price of admission, because there’s no place like home. I don’t want to let the cat out of the bag, however vacationing up north this time of year may be a well-guarded secret. Say what you will, but going some place warm for Spring Break is so cliché.

Thank you for Subscribing

Dear Sir or Madam of the StarTribune Subscription Services,

I received your invoice in the mail with the note, “Thank you for subscribing.” That is printed boldly on the return envelope, which has been included for my convenience, as well as yours I suppose. You are very clear about what is and is not to be included on the invoice. “Please do not write comments on this invoice” is also written in bold type. Therefore, I am enclosing this letter in the return envelope.

Although I must admit the trail of correspondence is quite confusing: It appears your invoice, for a Minneapolis newspaper, was sent first class, presorted and postage paid from Palatine, Illinois. The envelope you included for me to return my money in will be delivered to St. Louis, Missouri and not St. Louis Park, Minnesota (which seems more logical as it is just down the road from Minneapolis).

Unfortunately, my sending you money does not guarantee that you will hold up your part of the bargain – which is to deliver newspapers to my home Saturday and Sunday. I no longer expect the paper to be there when I walk down my rural driveway; I hope it is, but quite often it is not and I am tired of being disappointed. On the infrequent occasion when the paper is in the box or laying on the road I am happy and a little surprised.

Since there are no stores within walking distance of my home I rely on you to deliver the news to my home. Yes, I know there are other options; there is the on-line version of your paper (along with other internet news sites), TV, the radio and news magazines that are delivered through the U.S. postal service.

But I like a daily newspaper. I like to hold it, to fold it and to read it. I want to see who died and who is still alive. I want to see what the weather was yesterday and what I should expect tomorrow; to read what stupid things our current leaders and future leaders have said; to see what investments I should avoid, who won and lost on the ice, the field, the court and to be entertained by the comics section.

When my dad had a cabin up north he would, as part of his morning routine, start up the old pick-up and drive to town for the newspaper. I have driven in to town myself a time or two in my own truck from my own home, but lately I have given up, as I would be driving in far too frequently to justify a paid subscription. So, more often than not, I do without the paper. I miss it and I grumble about it.

My friend Pat, who has given up on your newspaper for philosophical reasons, drives to the store every day for the St. Paul paper, as they don’t deliver out here. He has developed a morning routine complete with “the regulars” who meet at the store about the same time every morning. I suppose I could try that, but I have trouble taking care of the friends I have.

On your invoice you give me the option of spending another 99 cents a week to have another newspaper not delivered to my home on a regular basis. That’s a bargain, as I am being billed $36.16 for eight weeks of hit and miss delivery.

You also give me a choice of adding a tip for the carrier. I think I will stick to giving a gift at Christmas, which I strategically place in the box instead of trusting you to deliver the tip. But now that I am in the giving mood, let’s say we try this again. Enclosed please find $36.16.

Please accept my gratitude in advance: Thank you for delivering.

Scammers and Schemers

My dad used to tell me that the telephone is not a toy and should not be treated as such. I don’t know what he would say about the present state of telecommunications, because although it remains true that phones are not toys; they certainly are used to play a lot of games. I played with the phone when I was a kid; I also use the phone for entertainment as a well-seasoned adult.

Once in a while someone will call my office offering to help me fix our computer. If Kathy answers such a call she will ask them to hold, and then transfers them to me. She is too busy for such silliness, and she knows how much I like to play these games.

The most recent conversation went like this: “Hello, this is Jerry.”

“This is Tony from the Windows Department. We got a report that you are having trouble with your computer.”

“I’m so glad you called – the computer has been acting up all day,” I say.

“Are you near your computer now?” Tony asks.

“Yes, yes I am.” I tell him.

“What are you seeing now?” Tony wants to know.

“Nothing.”

“Is your computer on?”

“No, should it be?” I ask.

“Yes, turn it on,” Tony instructs.

“Okay, it’s on.”

“Now I want you to press the Control button, the Windows key and the letter R,” Tony continued.

“I’m sorry, I don’t see a Control button, “ I replied.

“The Control key is in the lower left.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see that,” I said.

“The Control key is the key that has the letters C-T-R-L on it,” said Tony with just a little bit of frustration in his voice.

“Wait a minute, are you telling me that C-T-R-L stands for Control?” I reply.

“Yes, that is the Control key. Now press that, the Windows key and the R key.”

“I’m sorry, are what?” I asked.

“R, the R key, it is between the E and the T keys,” he said with a slight edge in his voice.

“Alright, I found the R key. Now what do you want me to do with it?” I ask.

“Press the R key, the Windows Key and the Control key at the same time,” Tony commands.

“With the same hand?”

“It does not matter,” he says. Now I’ve made him angry.

“Okay, I got it,” I tell him.

“Now what do you see on your computer screen?” Tony asks.

“I see a bunch of letters,” I tell him.

“What are the letters?” Tony wants to know.

“T…O…N…Y…I…S…A…L…I…A…R. Wait a minute that spells Tony is a liar. Tony, are you lying to me?” I ask taking the conversation in a different direction. “Tony you’re trying to scam me, aren’t you?”

Of course, Tony denies it and foolishly sticks to his story about being from the Windows Department. I tell him that I know he is trying to extort money from me using this scam. I then tell him that he needs to hang up the phone, quit this dishonest job, ask God to forgive him, and try to find honest, meaningful work.

“Will you give me a job?” Tony wants to know.

“I don’t think so, my first impression of you is rather unfavorable.” I tell Tony “Good-bye” and hang up the phone, as I have had enough fun for the day.

Yeah Dad I know, the phone is not a toy, and neither is it a tool to steal.

Family Fun

I saw a sign along the highway many years ago that said, “There is no such thing as fun for the whole family.” I think it was meant to be funny, but instead it provoked my thinking.  I wondered – is it true? Do entire families announce, “We are not amused”? I first had to define the terms within the premise. Without starting an argument, I think most people would agree that “the whole family” is meant to be your family-family, not your “work-family” or your “church-family.” What fun means and what qualifies as fun is a little harder to pin down.

Fun is, according to my Oxford American Writer’s Thesaurus, synonymous with “enjoyment, entertainment, amusement, jollification, merrymaking, recreation, diversion, leisure and relaxation; a good time, a great time.” That makes sense. However, I stumbled a bit on jollification; which, upon further research, I discovered is jolly merry making – an older term to be sure.

Fun, in other words, appears to be all over the board. It can be found in playing a board game, strolling a boardwalk, building something out of wood, eating lunch on a picnic table or sitting around a campfire. If you are entertained, you are not bored.

But, how does one entertain the whole family? Everyone has their own idea of how to jolly well make merry. An old Latin proverb states, “There is no accounting for tastes,” and that includes how people spend their leisure time. Since people have different tastes, I submit that to have fun with your family everyone in the family must be flexible, have an open-mind and a desire to try something new. Happy families enjoy spending time together, or as Leo Tolstoy wrote in Anna Karenina, “Happy families are all alike, every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” 

What was enjoyable for my wife and kids twenty years ago may not have a chance today. For instance, we used to visit a place called Family Funways, a small amusement park in Burnsville, which opened in 1978. It had twenty rides – many identical to the ones found outside grocery stores in the sixties that cost just a quarter for two minutes of glee. There were also go-karts, a miniature golf course, a petting zoo, coin-operated games, and robotic characters that would come to life and perform macabre rituals for a quarter.

  

The park was usually quite empty, but we were drawn to it after an afternoon of shopping at nearby Menard’s. Even though it was free to get in and fun could be had for only a few dollars, I doubt we would find amusement there again. We will never find out, as it closed in 1999 leaving behind a vacant lot beneath some power lines. Once in a while we talk about it and wonder aloud whatever happened to it.

We also talk about some of our camping experiences and trips to Grandpa’s lake. Having fun is a shared experience, whether it is found in hobbies, sports, games or just enjoying time together. We found there is such as a thing as fun for the whole family and we have great memories to prove it.