GPS

Sometimes when I sit down to write I start going in one direction but end up taking a different path. When this happens I am surprised at where I find myself.

I try not to resist the new direction as it is usually better than the first I had begun. Perhaps if I stuck to an outline I would stick to one road – but that seems too rigid. I want to be open to new ideas, so I follow them to see where they take me.

I actually like to travel that way too. It’s fun to take a new, unexpected route that will get me to the same spot (eventually). I can get turned around easily and will often drive in the wrong direction for a while. In some circles this is known as being lost.

A month or so ago I got a tool (or toy if you’d like) to help me navigate. It’s a GPS instrument. GPS stands for Global Positioning System, but it could stand for Go Places Soon, Get Positively Screwed-up, or Get Passengers Steamed. With information received from satellites this utensil knows where you are and how to get somewhere else.

This is the closest most men are ever going to get to asking directions. In my life I have had my share of people telling me where to go – now I can get it done in 40 different languages, because this gadget can give you directions in a language other than English – just like America. You can be told what to do by a male or female voice. It’s much more annoying when it’s placed in the back seat. For American-style English you can choose from either Jack or Jill. These two come in handy when you get thirsty going up hills.

This little box is full of possibilities. You can select the language to match the ethnic flavor of the restaurant you are going to. I think it would be fun to close my eyes (not while I was driving of course) and pick an arbitrary language. Then, stopping the first person I saw I would hold up the GPS and ask, “Excuse me, I’m lost. Do you speak (Cantonese)?”

This thing is really quite amazing. It displays the posted speed limit along side the rate you are going (my two numbers don’t always match). I suspect that someday we will be ratted out by our electronic devices. Our mouse will point to us in a line-up.

Different settings allow for different scenarios. There is the Eco setting. I think it probably tells you to park your car and walk. Some of the settings will help you avoid heavy traffic and road construction. Other than telling you to forget it and take the bus, it will route you in ways that would never be chosen by humans.

Not too long ago I was taking my family to a wedding in Minneapolis during rush hour. It probably wasn’t the best time to give my new tool a trial run. I had a pretty good idea how to get there but I turned the route choice over to my new traveling companion.

The devilish device took us on Lake Street into the Uptown area of Minneapolis, then on Hennepin Avenue, then onto Interstate Highway 94, off on Third Street and then a quick right on University Avenue where we arrived at our destination on time. It helps to have an adventurous spirit.

I wonder if Robert Frost would have liked this implement. It would have given him many opportunities to travel roads not normally taken.

First Avenue

When I miss a day or two of reading the newspaper, I set them aside until I can catch up. My unwillingness to just keep going with today’s newspaper and forget about what I missed prevents me from throwing the old unread newspaper away (I mean recycle). So I was a little behind the other day when I picked up the March 26 edition of the Shakopee Valley News.

I don’t know if this was intentional, but all the stories seemed to have a connection. Four stories appeared on the front page with the following headlines: “Proposed median downtown divides,” “More, longer trains coming,” “Waters begin to recede” and “Green light, finally for Hwys. 169/494.” A fifth story had a photo that appeared next to it. It read: “SHAKOPEE IS CHANGE.”

So it seems that you will be able to get out town easier; but if you choose to stay, things may get a little frustrating with the change that is surely coming. The county, with the cooperation of some of Shakopee’s elected officials, seems poised to construct a four-lane divided road on First Avenue between Spencer Street and Marschall Road.

From my reading of the story “Proposed median downtown divides,” by staff writer Shannon Fiecke, it appears that a divided highway may make it more difficult to get to the other side of the road because of a proposed center median. Some business owners believe this would be bad for business.

But according to the article, Scott County Highway Engineer Mitch Rasmussen thinks medians are good for business. He said: “If you don’t feel safe getting in and out of an area, you don’t go there.” But Mr. Rasmussen, if you can’t get there easily, you don’t go there. Why didn’t the chicken cross the road? Because it couldn’t.

City Councilman Steve Clay believes that people rarely change their minds when driving. In the story by Fiecke he is quoted as saying “I would hope that 99.5 percent of people going to a business know they’re going there before they start driving down the road.”

I reject his premise. I think many people (including myself) are spontaneous when making decisions. Voting may be an exception. I would hope that most people know who they are not going to vote for before they get to the ballot box.

An alternative proposal to have a turn lane instead of a median isn’t favored by the county because $150,000 from the state of Minnesota may not be available to build the median at a later date. I think the county, or perhaps the city, maybe both, will be spending that money and more when they discover that neither Bluff Avenue nor Second Avenue are good alternates for moving traffic east and west.

Neither road is open all the way between Spencer Street and Marschall Road; both would need major improvements for them to handle more traffic, and Second Avenue is cut right down the middle by a train track. Putting more cars and truck on these two residential streets looks even worse when you consider that Second Avenue can only be crossed at three of its eight intersections between Spencer Street and Marschall Road.

But wait, there’s more.: From another story, “More, longer trains coming,” by Fiecke in the same edition of the Shakopee Valley News, we learn that soon we could be waiting twice as long with twice as many trains. Plus, they are getting rid of that wonderful, soothing “clickety-clack” sound.

Maybe I’ll just keep a stack of newspapers in the truck to read while I wait to cross the road.

Cabinet Maker

Among the growing number of things that bother me, cabinet doors and drawers that are left open have a prominent position on the list. So when I noticed a large drawer in the kitchen was waiting to be returned to its proper place, I gave it a nudge. When it didn’t yield to my polite advances I gave it a push. Then, becoming frustrated with its uncooperative nature, I gave it a shove.

When a drawer is new and properly installed it retreats to its cave in silence. As it ages and loses its agility sometimes it makes a squeaky, scraping noise. This particular drawer screamed loudly as it jumped off its tracks and lay askew.

“I’ve killed it,” I said to myself.

“What happened? “ Rhonda, my wife, asked as she entered the room.

“Nothing,” I said. “This drawer just needs a minor adjustment. I’ll take care of it.”

My wife grew up in a house where her dad never took his car in to a garage (other than his own), never had a repair man to the house, never needed a plumber or an electrician to take care of a problem. Wayne was a cabinet maker. He could fix darn near anything. He's gone now or I would have called him. One time he talked me through a water softener repair over the phone.

“I’m sure you can do it,” Rhonda said. Imagine how disappointed she must be.

Al Sicherman, a retired columnist for the Star Tribune, said that ”any such project, no matter how apparently simple will ultimately require three trips to the hardware store.” It’s a good thing I like driving, because most every project I begin (notice I did not say finish) has me on the road several times before I surrender to the superior forces of the physical laws.

Upon inspecting the drawer I saw that the one of the rails was bent and broken. I brought it down to Jay Picha. Jay is a cabinet maker. He can fix darn near anything. I asked him if he thought I could find a match for the wrecked rail.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said rather casually. “Bring the whole drawer down.”

With my second trip to Picha’s Cabinet Shop (not a hardware store, but close enough), Jay gave me a new set of rails and a lesson on how to install them. He even had me take them apart and put them back together to prove to him (or maybe it was me) that I could do it.

When I got home five minutes later, the rails looked different, more complicated. It took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure out to start the show.

For my first trick I decided to attach one of the rails to the interior wall of the cabinet. The drawer was designed to hold sheet metal used for baking cookies and building machine sheds – so it was kind of tall and long, but not very wide, so I was unable to fit the drill, my hand, arm and shoulder in the cabinet at the same time.

I went to the hardware store (third trip that day) for a drill made for just such an occasion: It’s got this right angle that works in tight spots.

Two hours later the rails were on and the drawer was back in its spot. But because of some unexplained phenomenon, the drawer doesn’t close completely at the top no matter how much I plead with it. That’s OK. I’ll try not to let it bother me. Stupid drawer.

Census

Like just about every other home in the U.S. the census came in the mail the other day. Those nosy folks at the bureau have made it easy to stand up and be counted. It’s not like the old days when Quirinius was governor of Syria. I didn’t have to travel by donkey to the home of my ancestors.

The single sheet message from the Director of the U.S. Census Bureau (that sounds like a good job) states in bold print: “Please complete and mail back the enclosed census form today.” I got mine on the 16th of March. They wanted me to fill it out with information pertaining to April 1st, which on my calendar is about two weeks in the future.

On the first page of the 2010 Census it states, “The Census must count every person living in the United States on April 1st, 2010.” This reference date is used no less than 15 more times throughout the form. So unless you are a time traveler visiting from tomorrow land you cannot, with any certainty, answer about a future event. Yet, the Census Bureau requires us to do that very thing.

To verify this nonsense I went to the official web site: www.2010.census.gov. There it stated that, “Households should complete and mail back their forms upon receipt. Ideally, all forms will be returned by Census Day on April 1, 2010.” Census Day? Are gifts or flowers expected?

Any day prior to April 1st where this form was completed and returned makes any and all answers a bunch of good guesses at best. You see, they want you to answer the questions from the perspective of April 1st. But all you can do is hope, Lord willing (as my Dad used to say), that your answers (and life) will be the same on April 1st as they are on the day you did your civic duty. The fast forward calendar treatment makes some questions even more senseless than others.

The first question asks, “How many people were living or staying in this house, apartment, or mobile home on April 1, 2010?” Then to make sure you weren’t lying or forgot to imagine that someone might be there by the 1st, they repeat it in Question 2: “Were there any additional people staying here April 1, 2010 that you did not include in Question 1?”

Then to help you along they give you five possible answers, (I have included my five possible comments).

“Children, such as newborn babies or foster children,” (oh, you mean the kids. Are they people too?).

“Relatives, such as adult children, cousins, or in-laws,” (how would Gomez Addams have answered this?).

“Nonrelatives, such as roommates or live-in baby sitters,” (I think Fraulein Maria came uncomfortably close to satisfying both of these non-relative subsets before she became Mrs. Captain Von Trapp. But that was Austria – so never mind.).

“People staying here temporarily,” (how temporary – an hour, two days, out the door April 2nd? It doesn’t say.).

“No additional people," (that’s it, now you’re catching on. Please refer to Question #1 if you need further clarification.).

I’ll let the bureau handle the race and national origin questions. Anything I say would only make it worse. Why can’t they ask something simple and straight forward like: Ginger or Mary Ann, or not counting winter, which is your favorite season?

In these days the federal government issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire United States. This census took place while Pawlenty was governor of Minnesota. And everyone took out his own pen to register.

Counting

“19 and Counting,” is one of the many reality TV shows that have taken over the airwaves. This show follows around Jim and Michelle Duggar and their 19 children.

In one episode Jim was trying to lose some weight. One thing he talked about stuck in my mind: It doesn’t sound bad if you only gain one pound per year, but over 25 years that adds up.

It got me thinking about my own gravity-pulling factor. If I am able to stick to the Duggar diet, by the time I’m 100 years old I’ll weigh almost 250 lbs. With the government’s focus on obesity that much personal mass may be unacceptable.

The First Lady, Michelle Obama, is leading a campaign against childhood obesity called “Let’s Move.” I would be happy to help the Obama family move out of the White House and back to Chicago, but I don’t think that’s what she’s talking about.

Using her own daughters as examples, Mrs. Obama said their family pediatrician “cautioned me that I had to look at my children’s BMI (body mass index).” TMI (too much information), Mrs. Obama.

But this is not the first time the Obama’s have gone public with their daughter’s weight. In November 2008, Barack Obama casually mentioned that his 11-year old daughter, Malia, had become “a little chubby”. I’m sure the Obama girls will turn out just fine without any professional therapy. After all, what girl doesn’t secretly wish that her parents would publicly discuss her weight?

If the President and his wife feel so free to criticize their daughter’s health, they will most certainly come after you and me next – not that I consider you obese, but I don’t think their girls had any weight problems either.

Combine this with what Nancy Pelosi, the Speaker of The House, may have meant when referring to the health care bill. “It’s about diet, not diabetes.” From the sounds of this our daily diet decisions may soon be made by the government. An innocent question to your neighbor “May I borrow a cup of sugar?” may get you turned over to the calorie cops. I think I may know how to head this off though.

If the president, under pressure from his family, quit smoking maybe he’d start eating like crazy. Nothing would be off-limits, Mountain Dew, Twinkies, Girl Scout cookies, even candy. Maybe he’d put on a few extra pounds and start to relax a little; and if he wanted to sneak a cigarette once in awhile, that would be all right.

I really don’t have a problem with President Obama smoking though. In fact, borrowing the words from Old Lodge Skins, the Indian Chief in the movie “Little Big Man”: “I would like to meet this man and smoke with him.” Although I don’t smoke, I would if I could sit down with the president. I bet he smokes Kools. As long I am living in this fantasy world, let me take it one step further: it would be fun to have a beer with him and just talk – my treat (maybe I could deduct it from my taxes).

During the course of our conversation I would tell the President that although I appreciate his concern for the citizens of this country, the American people can thrive without government interference. Independence – it’s what this country was founded on. Whether someone smokes or eats too much is their business (or their parents’ or guardians’) and not the government’s.

I’ll keep track of my own weight if you don’t mind; 190 pounds and counting. But hey, I’m working on it.

Facebook

About two weeks ago I broke down and joined Facebook to make friends and advance my literary career.

I had resisted, as I do with anything that looks to be a passing fad. But, when my cousin, Sheri, who is an editor and writer suggested it, I decided to give in and give it a try. Sheri was also the one who convinced me to start a blog so the seven or eight people who like my writing can go back for a second look.

Soon after joining this cyber community I started getting “requests,” from people to be their “friend.” This should not be interpreted as an indication that I am friend material; my seven or eight acquaintances would argue otherwise. Rather, it’s just the way this social network stuff works. Some people will seek a connection only with people they know; others ask anyone with a name. No money changes hands, there is no handshake, no physical contact, and unless photos are available you may not even know what the other person looks like.

Most of the people who asked me to be their Facebook friend I knew; for some I had to consult my copy of “Who’s Who” to see who’s that.

Facebook friends interact with one other through the Internet. Thoughts and feelings are shared on-line such as “I scored 16,726 points playing “clock-buster,” or “My husband just got sick and threw up in the pan of sauerkraut.” Nice. Thanks for sharing.

This making-friends business is much easier now that it used to be. Today friends can be made with a couple keystrokes. However, pointing and clicking doesn’t guarantee that people will click and connect; it takes more than just logging-on to be friends. But perhaps I am getting too caught up in the meaning of words. Maybe it is that easy.

I could have saved myself a lot of trouble through the years if I had only waited. One summer day in 1971 when I was dragging around the house with nothing to do, my older brother, Dan, made a suggestion.

“John has a younger brother, why don’t you go see what he’s doing?”

John was one of Dan’s good friends. He, along with his brother Jim and the rest of their family, lived on the other side of town – almost two miles away. I didn’t phone him to see if my request would be accepted. I hopped on my bike and made a social call.

Strangely, I remember nothing of the bike ride; I had no feeling of dread or reluctance. But I do remember knocking on Jim’s door.

“Hi, I’m Jerry Kucera. Do you want to be my friend?” I asked.

With only the slightest hesitation – hopefully out of surprise and not of pity – Jim answered, “Sure, you want to come in?”

We did become friends; still are. I would make that same trip across town about a million times until we both left for college. We would play Risk and Stratego (of which I lost every game). The neighbors had an outdoor basketball court they let us use. The vacant lot next to his house became our football field. Jim even made up a game where a Wiffle football was thrown on the roof of his house; we called it “The Game.” One summer night we even harbored a fugitive from the law in a tent in his backyard.

Today, Jim lives about 30 miles away. I don’t think he’s on Facebook, but rather than check I think I‘ll call and ask him. I would bike over there, but it’s just too far.

Serpentine Oil

It might be too early to celebrate, but it seems I’m about to come into some real money. I’d rather not say how much until things are more settled, but the inheritance, if you can call it that, looks to be rather large.

I got an email from some barrister (I guess that’s a foreign name for a lawyer), a guy by the name of Khan R. Tist. I think he must be from another country as his English is not very good.

Apparently this Mr. Tist is the personal attorney for one of my long-lost relatives. I guess they were in killed in an auto accident back in 2005. I didn’t know them so it’s hard to get too worked about it, still it was a tragedy. My (cousin?), Leo, his wife and three kids all taken just like that. Oh, those poor people.

Anyway, it seems that they had no other family so this lawyer somehow finds me and makes contact. It’s lucky for me that he found me, but unlucky for my cousin and his family that it had to come to this. So from reading the letter I find out that Leo worked for some oil company – Serpentine Oil (must be a foreign concern). From the sounds of things he made quite a bit of money with them.

Frankly, I’m not really surprised as that side of the family has always done pretty well for themselves. I seem to remember hearing about Leo and his good fortune. From what I can tell everything looks to be on the up and up. I have a pretty good head for this kind of thing, and I am generally a good judge of character plus, it’s family. What’s a guy supposed to do in a time like this? I can’t turn my back on them now after they’re dead.

I just wish I had got a chance to get to know them. The lawyer, Khan R. Tist, gave me his contact information in his email; he seems very nice. I think I’ll call him soon, but before I do I think I will gather up my Social Security number and bank account numbers (checking and savings), just in case he needs them for some legal reason. Hopefully I can get this taken care of soon. I could even fly there – wherever that is. I like to travel, so why not?

To be on the safe side, though, I probably should bring my checkbook and my credit cards in case some cash advance is needed to move things along, you know maybe to “grease the wheels,” a little. I’ll have to see how the local customs are though. It could even save time if I were to give Khan (listen to me – I talk like we’re old friends)my credit card numbers (including expiration date), security code (that little number on the back) because sometimes they ask for that to make sure it’s really you, and any corresponding PINs to make sure there are no problems or delays.

I’m not trying to brag about this. I mean poor Leo and his family are dead for heaven’s sake. I’m just trying to do the right thing and help out. The nice thing is that Khan “guarantees that this will be executed under a legitimate arrangement that will protect you [me] from any breach of the law.” That’s a good thing, because once you have that kind of guarantee what could go wrong?

I hope it’s not a scam. I’d hate to have to cancel the party; I already ordered the cake.