Dylan Rocks!

Even when we want him to crooooon.

From BC to BU

We were back and a lot of others were back—back to pick up our new alumni window stickers, to see newly constructed buildings, and to see plans and models of yet more new buildings. It was homecoming and our alma mater’s once embarrassing football now is a force to be reckoned with amongst division three schools in Minnesota. It was raining yesterday, so we didn’t take the short walk over to the grid iron and watch the humiliation of neighboring Hamline University. Instead we went out to eat, came home to work, and fell asleep until dinner time when we headed back to visit with old (and even looking old) friends and acquaintances.

I should mention that we started the day in the classroom. Bethel University, situated on the same picturesque campus that Bethel College occupied during our last visit, tempted us back early in the morning with a collection of "classes without quizzes." The Warden and I sat in on two classes. The first one was lead by a panel of two professors and two current students discussing globalization and the current best selling book: Thomas Friedman’s The World Is Flat. This was a fascinating discussion that is probably second nature to our kids. As one student spoke about her many travels abroad and her boyfriend in England, whom she visits at least a couple times a year, I was reminded of our son’s recent trek to Eastern Europe and the relationship he has there. The world is a lot smaller than only a generation ago, and the lines of demarcation (economically, socially, etc.) are drawn a lot differently too. Those in this country with a college education will probably be a lot more similar to a university student in the third world than either student would be like a fellow native who lacks a high school diploma.

I could go on talking more about the book and the class discussion, but what struck me most (now writing a day later) is a rather odd happening. My wife and I were sitting near the middle of the classroom and as I scanned the room looking for familiar faces I found one near the rear door. It was a fellow student (I believe one year my senior) who was on my debate team. In fact, she was one of the leaders and a coach for us rookies. I remembered her quick mind and vast knowledge of every subject matter. But as I kept glancing at her, I couldn’t recall her name. I finally gave up and we left for a second classroom. This lecture looked at Dan Brown’s book The Da Vinci Code.

Near the end of the lecture, the professor opened up the discussion to questions and I heard a voice from the very back row. It was hers. And as soon as she spoke, her name popped into my head. It was Jo Beld, great encourager of those of us with lesser minds. Always well-spoken and thought provoking, I remember hearing that she headed east to Yale after Bethel. (She was always winning awards and I think she won a Fulbright Scholarship [I didn’t know what that was at the time]).

But I was amazed at how our senses come through for us in different ways and at different times. I could have stared for hours and never come up with her name, yet a few short words (without even seeing her) and there was her name in my head. And I don’t even pride myself on being an auditory learner.

It was good to be back. It was familiar, but yet different. The new classrooms had stadium style seating with real comfy chairs (almost like a movie theater) and slick audio visual gadgets and huge screens hooked up to the internet. And during the middle of the lecture we even got to hear the ubiquitous ring of someone’s cell phone, a sound we never would have dreamed of in the late 1970s. Maybe it was someone calling from Uganda. The world is flattening.

keeping people out of the parking lot of the church in our back yard 

Good-bye Summer (a late season pruning)

It was an odd day as we sweated into the 90s for one final time. Of course what better way to spend a hot, humid day than lug dozens of sheets of drywall from the lumber yard to my truck to the house?

Earlier in the day as we tried to finish up a job (with the painter rolling on paint just inches behind us), the four of us were complaining about remodeling jobs and the endless repairs and cleanup. We joked that our lives were starting to sound like country music songs. This prompted the painter to turn on a (maybe the only) country music station. About three songs into its playlist we were all struck by the very type of song that we all claimed to despise. I don’t know the name of the song, but its lyrics went something like this: I hate my job, I hate my life, if it we’re for my two kids, I’d hate my ex-wife. What a classic! This brought tears of joy to all of our eyes. Maybe life isn’t so bad—ah the power of country music.

After rush, rush, rushing all day long, I got home just in time to sit down in front of the tube and watch the upcoming storm reports. When it got pitch black and the winds started blowing and the TV started beeping we decided to hit the basement. We later found out that the winds at a local (three miles away) airport were reported at 68 MPH. No wonder it was hard to open the front door for our daughter as she and her friend rain for our house. (I can’t imagine what 100 + MPH winds must feel like.) We haven’t noticed any damage to our house or vehicles, but our trees got a good pruning. There are a fair share of two plus inch branches laying around the yard.

As we looked out the windows after surfacing from the basement, we noticed that most of our neighbors were without power. Our small island of three houses was the fortunate one. A fire truck showed up at the end of the block. Since the rain was letting up I ventured out to check things out. It was parked near a power pole that had a wire dangling through a tall tree. The firemen were standing near the base of the tree and across the street just watching. I don’t know if they were waiting for the power company to show up or just waiting for the wire to burn up. It appeared as a line of fire with ashes raining down below. Cars would drive down the street, move to the middle of the road to avoid the fire truck, and then veer right again, only to have ashes bounce off their tops and trunks. If the ashes were falling in front of the vehicles, so they could be seen, most would slam on their breaks. It was very odd.

Now I’m back inside and a second wave (or maybe third) is coming through. Upstairs the thunder is a lot louder. I haven’t listened to many of the news reports yet, but preliminary reports mentioned a few tornadoes, a lot of strong straight line winds, some good size hail, and some serious damage to a few homes and businesses.

Welcome autumn.

Short Blogs

Short blogs are easier to read, and to paraphrase a line from Steve Turner, you know right away whether you like them or not.

Small blessings

Thankfully I don’t have to meet a quota with my blog each day.

Raven found this buried in my closet recently. I rescued it from his jaws. 

Up in the Air Junior Birdsman

I cut down some dead branches at my parents’ house on Saturday. They were hanging over our RV trailer. My dad became concerned about a week ago as he watched the winds bend the branches awfully close, so he strongly suggested that I do something soon. Armed with an extendable 24’ pole that has a saw pointing one way and a branch cutter pointing the other, I spent about an hour sawing and snipping, taking all that were within my reach as I tip-toed on top of our camper.

While working on this project, my cousin, who has been working with me for weeks now, was inside working on an old Toyota truck, trying to get the alternator working. (How’s that for a “working” sentence?) After making it safely back to ground level, I was looking up at some of the other old trees in my parents’ back yard. Lodged between two old oaks was some wire edging that must have been a part of my long-gone tree house. It was built back in the 60s by my mom’s dad, the grandpa that my cousin and I share. He was a high energy, driven, skillful mechanic and handyman, who could figure out anything, out-cuss a sailor, and “put ‘em down” faster than most. One of his hobbies was building forts, and I think most of the grandkids got a personalized tree house or fort. It was a fairly simple design, but we spent many hours up there with the birds and squirrels, throwing things down on younger siblings and unsuspecting neighbors. OSHA would have never approved it, but we all outlived the tree house, which my dad finally dismantled after we kids moved out. All that’s left is that wire, which the tree must have enveloped as it grew, making it too tough to take down. But it makes for a nice reminder of simpler, but not necessarily safer times.

the last remains

Saturday’s post actually written and posted on Sunday

I was up early this morning (Saturday) reading the Star Tribune newspaper. It is a clear baby-blue sky day and the sun is starting to rise. I glance at the comics page and break out laughing. I ask myself if my condition (or my relation to a certain fad) puts me 20 years behind the times. I decide that this cartoon will be my re-entry into blogdom. But I wait to post. I go on reading. I find a compelling essay on the op-ed page by Sven (located just below Erik’s piece—it is the Minneapolis paper after all). I tell myself that I will also comment on Sven’s remarks. But then reality hits. I start to think about my day and number the things that need to be done. This will have to wait.

Later in the day I am interrogated by the Warden. She wants to know if I’ve read her blog. I answer in the negative, so she proceeds to tell me about it. She has posted a cartoon. I stand startled. Did she see the cartoon that I had seen? And was she so impressed that she had to post it? Probably not, since the comic below is not that great. But then I began to wonder if I actually posted it, and forgot about it, and she was responding in kind. No, I guess I’m not that forgetful yet.

But enough mindless chatter, below sits a cartoon that brought me joy and might bring me motivation to get with the latest fad. I hope others will also get a chuckle out of it.

from Saturday's Star Tribune

I guess it’s Fair

Ah, the great Minnesota Get Together, there’s nothing like it—to make one feel thin. I guess I’ve realized this for many years now. I knew that an annual trip there was as good as a couple trips to a psychologist or a few dozen self help tapes. I always leave that place feeling pretty svelte.

But this year I noticed a few more things, a few more observations that added to my self esteem. Of course comfort is always my number one goal as I head to a place like the state fair. So a pair of over worn, under washed, slightly stained, loosely fitting, quite faded denim cargo shorts was just the ticket. Matched with them was an outdated, all blue (a little lighter than the shorts), short-sleeved, cotton shirt with a small, almost unrecognizable CK logo (also in blue) on it. (I think it stands for Calvin Klein, whoever that is.) They didn’t really clash, but they sure didn’t complement each other either. On top of my bald head sat a Cubs baseball cap. On my feet were big brown hiking boots with long white socks sticking out the top reaching half way to my knees. A fashion statement I was not.

However, (and isn’t this how it usually goes) by comparison to the other attendees (the unwashed, and I mean that literally, masses) I should have been on the cover of GQ. My shirt actually covered my slightly exaggerated belly and it lacked any rips or tears or tacky declarations to the world. I guess Calvin Klein never thought to put a big arrow on his shirts with the words “I’m with stupid.”

And I suppose I would also score points for not sporting those near-necessary fair accessories like a basket of deep-fried cheese curds in one hand and a large diet Coke in the other. And I didn’t catch any mustard dripping from a corn dog or pronto pup on the front of my shirt. Nor did I have any cinnamon sugar surrounding my lips from forcing too many mini donuts into mouth at one time. (I actually practiced unusual restraint and limited myself to a few egg rolls and some iced tea today.)

So as I sit here and type with a renewed healthy self image, I’m once again grateful for the Minnesota State Fair. It helped me to accept my underdeveloped beer (less) belly and ever expanding (if not already completed) forehead. Relatively speaking, I'm one above average-looking dude.

And I thank the fair for improving my grasp on the world of commerce. It always shows me millions of things that I don’t need. This year we actually walked through an ice fishing house that has wheels, a steering wheel, and an engine. You drive the thing!!! If the fish aren’t biting on one end of the lake, you start up the hydraulics, raising the house and exposing the snowmobile-like tracks and away you drive to greener (make that whiter) pastures.

Ah the state fair, what a great place to over-eat, over-drink, and over-spend. And as we joined in with the rest of the “fair community” we could all feel good about things, because all the thousands of us still smell better and look better and act better than the numerous humungous swine that let their presence be known throughout most of the grounds. Boy have we evolved.

Perspective

I had to walk to work today, sort of. The house we were taping is in the middle of a block which has the street torn apart. It was unusable for all motorized traffic. We all had to make a half dozen trips between van and house with our arms fully loaded. We spent the first hour of the day doing what normally would take about five minutes. And on top of that the house still does not have power, so we listened to the whine of the generator for the fifth straight day. And not all the windows have arrived, and the electricians and insulators and plumbers have not completely finished, so we’re not able to finish various sections all around the house. We feel like we’re spinning our wheels or moving in slow motion.

But none of us was complaining today. A quick glance at today’s newspaper cured us of any feeling sorry for ourselves. We were all grateful to leave a dry home and drive on dry roads (although under construction) and work at a dry house. May those circumstances come quickly to our neighbors to the south.