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THE WAVES OF OUR LIVES!

Having recently been invited by a dear friend to spend a week at a beautiful cabin on the North Shore of Lake Superior, I’m reminding ...

Friday, July 27, 2012

SMALL TOWNS, HOMETOWNS


There are times when I contemplate what it would be like to live in a small town again.  The Wisconsin town I grew up in had a population of only 1,013 in the 1960’s.  It didn’t seem small at the time, maybe because much larger cities like Milwaukee and Chicago were far away and my family rarely got there.  Those cities seemed drastically different and scared me in some ways—the houses were often close together, the traffic impossible, and people everywhere.  At least when we drove to Milwaukee to watch the Braves play, we had a purpose—to enjoy professional baseball. 

The street I lived on was called Butternut Street.  I’ve always had a fascination with how streets were named, but I’ve never figured that one out.  Across the street was an empty field where I played ball for hours at a time. A block away was a neat and well-maintained ball field with an old grandstand that was simply grand.  Driving back the 150 miles now to my hometown and Butternut Street, I can still visualize that wonderful old grandstand, which was torn down long ago.  The town has since doubled in size, and it has many beautiful new homes, but most of my old landmarks are gone.  Across from my father’s downtown furniture store, where I sometimes helped out, was a charming old drugstore.  I’d often sit at the counter with my friends after school and have a delicious cherry phosphate, which was a combination of sweet cherry flavor and sparkling water.  I don’t know if you can still buy a cherry phosphate, but  I can almost conjure up the taste now.

In many ways I had an idyllic childhood in that little town.  One year my dad paid the miniscule amount of $40 for a year’s membership at a small country golf course 13 miles away, and my friends and I played there often.  Of course we rarely missed a stop at the root beer stand afterwards. 


Me on the left with friends and fellow skaters

And in the winter there was ice skating at the rink near the Boy Scout cabin, just a block away.  I remember having sprint races there and warming up by the fireplace inside the cabin with a hot chocolate in hand.

But of course not all was perfect.  I recall sitting by the floor register when I came home and waiting for my feet to thaw out, a painful process.  I always vowed not to stay out so long the next time, but it was rarely different.  A passage of childhood, I guess. 


And then I remember my mother, feeling obliged because of her Norwegian heritage, to make Lutefisk and Lefse, our once a year treat.  My oldest brother and I thought it was delicious, but my dad and younger brother were less enthusiastic, and for days afterwards, our house had a distinct fish smell. The little Norwegian plates made by a neighbor adorned our kitchen and made that special Norwegian food seem even more authentic. I still have the plates, but have held off on the Norwegian delicacy for a while.

In 1966, when I graduated from high school, there were 44 students in my class.  Fast forward 25 years, when my oldest son graduated from a suburban Minneapolis high school with over 2,000 students in his class alone—twice the size of my hometown.  How different our experiences of growing up have been, along with different perspectives.  He’s lived his entire life in large metropolitan areas, but thankfully he does have an appreciation of small towns and their unique and different way of life.

I do feel truly blessed to have experienced two different life paths.  Minneapolis has been my home for over 40 years and it’s still fun and exciting for me, with wonderful lakes and parks, sporting venues, theater, shopping, and opportunities to meet new people nearly every day.  But I find myself sometimes yearning for a quieter place, with fewer cars and people, and more time to relax and reflect.  My wandering spirit has returned.  The grass is looking a bit greener on the other side, but I’m sure it’s only temporary.  Cher, the famous American singer and actress, once said, “If grass can grow through cement, love can find you at every time in your life.”  I take my cue from that piece of advice and vow to stay open to different possibilities—whatever that may entail—new adventures to embrace, new places to discover, or new ways to fully love all that life has to offer.  As President Lincoln long ago remarked, “And in the end, it’s not the years in your life that count.  It’s the life in your years.”

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

"LEFTIES HAVE RIGHTS TOO!"


When I was six years old my first grade teacher was determined to make me write right-handed.  I felt like there was definitely something wrong with me.  It was my first year of school and it wasn’t much fun, at least to start.  My mother must have sensed that something was wrong because she had a hard time getting me out the door.  She had to follow me to school and there were plenty of tears.  When I finally told her that Mrs. S. didn’t like me being left-handed and was trying to change me, my mother got mad.  She had been a teacher, extremely well-liked and respected and she didn’t want my first experience with school to be a negative one.  She met with my teacher and let her know that she would not allow me to be changed from writing left-handed.  I don’t remember any big problems in first grade after that.  Second grade was another story, but not because I was left-handed.  I loved my teacher, but my friend Kandyce and I picked a fight with another girl and spent some time in the classroom after school.  Maybe I still had a “chip on my shoulder” from first grade.

When I recently discovered the existence of an International Left-Handers Day every year on August 13, I was thrilled.  Finally lefties were getting some recognition.  After all, “lefties have rights too.”  That day is a celebration of left-handers uniqueness, but also a chance to emphasize the difficulties southpaws have faced through the years in a world that is much more adapted to right-handers.  It’s also a recognition that many more people would have been left-handed if they had not been forced to write right-handed.

Patty Berg, an exceptional right-handed golfer; I loved having clubs named after her.

The little bank I won nearly 50 years ago playing golf with my left-handed clubs.

James Garfield may have been the first U.S. left-handed president.  Some people said that he could write with both hands simultaneously, even in Greek and Latin.  I tried that once (only in English) and the result was quite amusing; the words were up and down and all over the page.  I can do a few things with my right hand, but writing is not one of them.  I learned to play golf left-handed when I was about 12. I was proud of my Patty Berg golf clubs, which I kept for over 40 years.   I might have looked awkward to others with my swing, but I felt confident and unique in my ability to play left-handed.  The ball didn’t always go where I wanted it to, but often enough.  I still have a little bank that I won nearly 50 years ago in a golf tournament.  It’s rusted and weathered, but it reminds me of happy teenage years spent playing golf with my special left-handed Patty Berg clubs, along with good friends. Those clubs have been replaced by some newer, fancier ones that my son bought me when I turned 50.  I’ve rarely used them because of leg problems, but one day I’m confident the old southpaw swing will return. 

Over the years there have been plenty of expressions used that relate to lefties.  How about “being out in left field” (implying being clueless) or having “two left feet,” meaning clumsy? I doubt that righties have thought much about those phrases, but the labeling implies awkwardness.  I’m sure that watching me sew left-handed looks as awkward to others as it does to me doing the actual sewing, but that’s not because of my left-handedness.  I just can’t sew worth a darn-- (no pun intended).

I’m aware that many lefties can also do things right-handed, but most righties are almost entirely right-handed.  I know that bowling is something I’d never attempt left-handed.  I throw enough gutter balls the way it is.

I’d still like to know why left-handed items are much more expensive and why tools are mostly made for right-handers.  It’s not a big deal, but it bothers me a little. I’d also like to know how Left Hand, West Virginia, a small town of less than 500 people got its name.  It’s definitely original and something I can relate to.

I know there are a lot of phobias in the world, but I’d never heard of sinistrophobia before.  It’s the fear of left-handedness or things on the body’s left side.

Sandy Koufax, an amazing left-handed pitcher who dominated baseball.

It was fascinating to learn that we’ve had eight left-handed presidents—Garfield, Hoover, Truman, Ford, Reagan, George H.W. Bush, Clinton, and Obama.  Considering that the general population only has about 10 percent left-handers, I found it interesting that nearly 20 percent of our presidents have been left-handed.  Many experts point to the left-handers ability to multi-task.  Lefties are often creative, good in sports, and artistic.  Here are some famous left-handers from all walks of life:  Prince Charles, Queen Elizabeth II, Prince William, Prime Minister David Cameron, John McCain, Henry Ford, Bill Gates, Ty Cobb, Sandy Koufax, “Shoeless” Joe Jackson, Martina Navratilova, Marilyn Monroe, Caroline Kennedy, Jerry Seinfeld, Tom Cruise, Paul McCartney, John F. Kennedy Jr., Jay Leno, Vin Scully, Bill Russell, and my favorite—Kermit the Frog. 

Whether you’re left or right-handed, keep Aug. 13—International Left Handers Day in mind and remember all those lefties, famous or not, who’ve made a difference in the world—“ those lefties have rights too!”

Friday, July 20, 2012

"I HOPE I'M NOT AGING TOO FAST!"


This morning I was taking my ten-year old granddaughter to her fun and unusual class, DUCT TAPE II.  As we were walking into the school, I spotted a little white spec of lint in her hair and brushed it off.  She got me laughing when she said, “I hope I’m not aging too fast.”  We often banter back and forth and I know that she likes to tease me about my age, but it got me thinking once again about that whole darned aging process.  How seriously should I take it anyway?  Mostly I’m happy at my current life stage (pushing 64), but there are times when I get a little melancholy and think back a few decades when I had more energy and got a lot more looks and attention than I do now.  I’m coming around to accepting that as part of LIFE and aging, but it doesn’t always come naturally.  As George Carlin once said, “Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we’re kids?  If you’re less than 10 years old, you’re so excited that you think about fractions.

Me and my youngest brother


Me and my two brothers

“How old are you? “  “I’m four and a half!”  You’re never thirty-six and a half.  You’re four and a half, going on five!”



Of course there are times when I make light of it all and decide to celebrate my half- birthday, even though it’s not as much fun as when I celebrated my kids’ half-birthdays. They loved it! 

Some years ago there was a Pennsylvania study done with 172 school kids to determine their views on aging and elderly people.  About half of the kids had contact with senior citizens.  Kids often started the year with stereotypical ideas about aging, but the more classroom contact they had with elderly people, the more their views changed.  I’d like to think that my grandchildren (ten and eight) don’t have me “boxed in” as typical of how someone over 60 might act.  I’m a little quirky and they know it.  I’m not a raving beauty and I often feel like “the invisible woman,” but at least I’ve got my wits about me and they appreciate it.  That matters more than anything.

Twenty years ago in England

Earlier today I asked my grandson what age he would choose to be if he could.  Without hesitation he said 25.  The logic to that, he said, was because it was one-fourth of 100.  He added that someday he’d like to be 100 because it was triple digits.  A budding mathematician, no doubt!  I think I’ll opt for something less than 100 since I have sufficient wrinkles already.  But there’s even a flip side to that, if you listen to the words of President Garfield years ago—“If wrinkles must be written upon our brows, let them not be written upon the heart.  The spirit should never grow old.”  I know that my spirit is still alive and kicking and not about to grow old.  Julia Child, the famous American chef once said, “Find something you’re passionate about and keep tremendously interested in it.”  That’s what I’ve endeavored to do over the last few years and I know the aging process will take care of itself.  No worries!


Friday, July 13, 2012

AND THE GLASS IS. . .



An anonymous person, who perhaps didn't want to be labeled as an optimist or a pessimist once said, "A pessimist is one who feels bad when he feels good for fear he'll feel worse when he feels better."  I had to think that one over a few times; perhaps that means that I'm more of an optimist.  Most of the time I'd call myself a glass half-full person, but there are times when I'm not so sure.  Recently I was visiting a website where that very question was asked.  The glass half-full version seemed to suit me best, but the more I thought about it, WELL, YOU KNOW!

Here are some thoughts to ponder about how you might view yourself on the half-full, half-empty glass scale.


Two wonderful friends and optimists with sparkling personalities--Doris and Wilbur

“A pessimist is one who makes difficulties of his opportunities and an optimist is one who makes opportunities of his difficulties.”  (Harry Truman, thirty-third U.S. President.)

            “An optimist may see a light where there is none, but why must the pessimist always run to blow it out?”  (Rene Descartes, French philosopher)

            “I’m sort of a pessimist about tomorrow and an optimist about the day after tomorrow.”  (Eric Sevareid, former U.S. television commentator)

            “In my last year of school, I was voted Class Optimist and Class Pessimist.  Looking back, I realize I was only half right.”  (Jack Nicholson, U.S. actor)

            “I’ve never seen a monument erected to a pessimist.”  (Paul Harvey, former radio commentator)

            “There are moments when everything goes well; don’t be frightened, it won’t last.”  (Jules Renard, French author)

            “The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds; and the pessimist fears this is true.”  (James Branch Cabell, American author)

           

            ‘Twixt the optimist and pessimist

            The difference is droll:

            The optimist sees the doughnut

            But the pessimist sees the hole.”   (McLandburgh Wilson)



Last January when I was reveling in the thought of my favorite college football team, the University of Wisconsin Badgers appearing in the prestigious Rose Bowl game, I remembered back to the 1960’s when as a young person I’d listen until the bitter end of their games, feeling certain they’d score eventually.  The sound on the radio would fade in and out and it would have been a lot less painful to just shut it off, but I guess a part of me must have been the eternal optimist. The scores often reached 56-0, 62-7, 69-14, but I was definitely not giving up.  So when my beloved team lost the Rose Bowl game earlier this year, I was optimistic that they’d be a factor the next year.

And here are a few final optimistic thoughts from some of my most admired Americans, past and present.

            “Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadows.”  (Helen Keller)

photo by Heinz Richter

            “The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.”  (Dolly Parton)


My grandparents, who often found a way to make it through the dark days and lived their lives hopefully and lovingly--

            “I have become my own version of an optimist.  If I can’t make it through one door, I’ll go through another door—or I’ll make a door. Something terrific will come no matter how dark the present.”  (Joan Rivers)

            “You don’t get to choose how you’re going to die, or when.  You can only decide how you’re going to live.  Now!” (Joan Baez, American folksinger)

I wonder how these kids grew up to perceive the world.

            “Thoughts are energy, and you can make your world or break your world by your thinking.”  (Susan Taylor, American journalist)

Monday, July 9, 2012

PELE--THE KING OF FOOTBALL!


Pele's retirement photo in 1977

The most famous soccer (football) player of the century, and one of my heroes, Pele, played an important role in developing the sport in the U.S.  After he retired from an illustrious career in Brazil and led his country to three World Cup championships, he returned to play for the New York Cosmos of the North American Soccer League for two seasons.  He said that more than the millions of dollars he earned for playing in this country, “he wanted to make soccer truly popular in the U.S.”  As I’ve watched my ten-year old granddaughter play the sport with great determination and enthusiasm, I think of Pele and how he influenced the development of soccer in this country.  His infectious smile and grace won many of us over, along with his passion for the game. It was an absolute delight to watch him play, and my husband and I were fortunate to see him play with the Cosmos when they took on the Minnesota Kicks professional team in Bloomington, Minnesota. I don’t remember the score, but I do remember the excitement before and during the game, knowing that The King of Football was in town.  No one could come close to a player of Pele’s status. 

It wasn’t always that way however.  As a child growing up in a very poor Brazilian family, Pele shined shoes to earn a little money. He played soccer with his friends because he loved the sport.  His real name was Edson, but gradually he came to like his new nickname—Pele.  When the Brazilian star player Waldemar de Brito discovered Pele in 1951 at age 11, he said, “This boy will be the greatest soccer player in the world.”  And indeed he was.  He played for his national team at age 16 and helped win a World Cup at 17, the youngest player ever to do so.  He made spectacular and seemingly impossible goals and was an enormous star world-wide.  As a forward he had tremendous athletic ability, excelling in dribbling and passing, as well as high-powered scoring.  When he scored goal number 1,000,  he dedicated it to the poor children of Brazil.  Having grown up in poverty, he wanted to improve the lives of children in his country and around the world.  Over the years he’s done a great deal of work for UNICEF children’s causes. 


Giving President Clinton a few lessons in Brazil


During the course of his soccer career, Pele averaged nearly one goal a match, which was unheard of.  He scored nearly 1,300 goals in his career and was voted Football Player of the Century by the International Olympic Committee.  His team, Santos, toured around the world.  He’s still considered a national treasure in Brazil. His #10 shirt has added meaning for me since my granddaughter is 10 years old now and loves soccer.

Pele was always quick to credit his father as being a great soccer player, although his knee injury cut short his dreams of being a top player.  He and his father used to listen to soccer matches on the radio.  Pele once said, “My father was a soccer player and once scored five goals in a game, all with his head.  That was one record I was never able to break.”  Amazingly though, he scored over 90 hat tricks in his career—quite astonishing!  At his last match for the Cosmos he met up with Muhammad Ali in the Cosmos locker room.  Ali embraced him and said, “Now there are two of the greatest.”

After Pele’s retirement in 1977, he wrote several autobiographies and appeared in documentaries and films, and even wrote musical compositions.  Check out the sound track for the 1977 film PELE.  In 1992 he was appointed a United Nations ambassador for the environment.  Five years later he was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II in Buckingham Palace. 

Perhaps one of the greatest compliments paid to him was by an Italian defender who played against him in the World Cup final.  He said, “I told myself before the game, he’s made of skin and bones just like everyone else, but I was wrong.”

Pele at 71

I know that the sport of soccer has had incredibly gifted players throughout the years, but to me, Pele will always represent the spirit of the game.  He seemed to play effortlessly and with great passion and always remembered the children.  He’s a real treasure around the world and I would be truly excited if he came to the U.S. again and my granddaughter had the chance to meet him. What a day for the memory book that would be!

Sunday, July 8, 2012

YELLOWSTONE PARK ADVENTURES

AN EARLY TRIP TO YELLOWSTONE PARK WITH MY PARENTS




MY BROTHER AND A FRIEND ON OUR TRIP

As a child I was fortunate to go on many camping trips around the U.S. with my parents and two brothers and occasional friends.  For many years we had the simple, basic pop-up campers.  My parents weren’t wealthy, but they loved to travel, even if it was for only a week or two a year.  One of my favorite places that we visited was Yellowstone Park.  I loved everything about it—the campsites, the bears, hiking and exploring the enormous park, making new friends, and of course Old Faithful, the famous geyser. 

A FIRE CLOSE TO OLD FAITHFUL



Nearly twenty years after we were married, my husband and I planned a fun family trip to Yellowstone with our own pop-up camper. The only thing that we didn’t count on was having a challenge we’d never experienced before—major fires that were ravaging the park.  It was 1988 and I’m sure that we didn’t comprehend how severe and widespread those fires were.  Our vacation was planned and even more anticipated because we had our friend Nick visiting from England; we were eager to show him an area of the U.S. that was unique and different from what he might have experienced in England.  We decided to go ahead with our trip, even though the news about Yellowstone was unsettling.  The area was experiencing a drought and it wasn’t long before fires started, some by lightning and others by humans.  In all, seven major fires did almost all of the damage. 

There were more than 25,000 fire fighters from states across the U.S. that tried to control the fires.  I remember our driving through the park and seeing fires all around us; it was an unbelievably scary and sad sight.  We were diverted hundreds of miles out of our way just to get back to our campsite.  At one point a buffalo suddenly appeared in front of our orange van.  It felt like we were in a movie that had an uncertain ending.  At that point I truly felt that our safety was in jeopardy and I just wanted to head home. I was sure that we had made a foolish and hasty decision to go ahead with our plans to visit Yellowstone. 

On September 8, 1988 the park was closed for the first time in history.  It was late fall before the fires finally ended.  The cold and wet weather were a huge relief.  Nearly 800,000 acres had been affected and millions of trees destroyed.  Amazingly, most large animals survived and no fire fighters were killed inside the park.  And after the fires ended, plants and trees were re-established.  It was frightening at the time to see the fires spreading so rapidly among the tree tops and jumping from one area to another.  I had never seen anything remotely like it.  When we finally returned home I remember reading about the fires in the latest edition of National Geographic; it seemed surreal.

I would love to return to Yellowstone again one day.  It’s a magnificent park abounding in natural beauty. It has a long history and I’m glad that I’ve been a small part of it.   

Thursday, July 5, 2012

MAGNIFICENT LAKE SUPERIOR!







me photographing the lake


May Sarton, an exceptional American writer once said, “Whatever peace I know rests in the natural world, in feeling myself a part of it in a small way.” On various travels to Lake Superior and northern Minnesota, I’ve felt more at peace with myself than anywhere else in the world.  It’s vast and serene, rugged and scary at times, and yet a magnificent and joyous place to read and reflect and be part of nature.  I cherish the opportunities to get away from the busyness and sometimes craziness of city life.  There are times when I visualize myself being lucky enough to live near this lovely Great Lake, far away from masses of people and the constant bombardment of news, which seems so important at any given moment.  The truth is that when I stand on the shores of that magnificent lake, I don’t care about anything else.  At that moment it’s a perfect world, mesmerizing and beautiful and glorious and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.  It’s always difficult to leave, but I try to carry a part of it with me and remember what Walt Whitman once wrote:  “To me the sea is a continual miracle, the fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships with men in them.  What stranger miracles are there?”  Lake Superior is a miracle of nature and I'm supremely blessed to live within a day's drive of its shores. 






Remembering the words of another famous American writer of the 1800’s, Ralph Waldo Emerson, I’m happy to share some photos of earlier times visiting Lake Superior and recording some of its beauty and splendor.





my little chipmunk buddy


            “Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful; for beauty is God’s handwriting—a wayside sacrament.”

Monday, July 2, 2012

COUNTING THE DAYS!


It’s been blazing hot here in Minneapolis, like much of the rest of the country and today my mind was racing to think of those “lovely” frigid winter days that Minnesota is so well known for.  One particular day in 1992 stood out.  It was on a Saturday evening in January. My family and Vicente, a young friend from Ecuador traveled to St. Paul to experience the splendor of  the St. Paul Winter Carnival.  Vicente was used to the mild climate of Ecuador and had never experienced winter cold and snow before, let alone frigid temperatures.  I doubt that he would have come for a visit, had he known the reality of the average Minnesota winter—several weeks of below zero temperatures, especially in January.

But residents of St. Paul and Minnesota are always up for a challenge and that weekend was just another reminder of how the winter carnival originated.  In 1885 a New York reporter who had visited St. Paul during the coldest time of the year referred to it as “another Siberia, unfit for human habitation.”  That didn’t go over well with St. Paul business leaders, so they established The St. Paul Winter Carnival, to prove that St. Paul was indeed alive and thriving.  The first carnival started in 1886 and became permanent in 1946.  In more recent years ice palaces have been built, using ice from Minnesota lakes.  The first one was 106 feet high.  The 1992 palace was 166 feet high and was the largest ice structure in the world.  Eighteen thousand giant blocks of ice were used and at night there was a light show with changing colors and sound track.  It was absolutely beautiful and mesmerizing and unforgettable.  As bitterly cold as it was, I would go there again in a flash. 


If you look closely at the tallest spire, the black spot about one third from the top is actually a large fish frozen in one of the blocks of ice.
Photograph by Heinz Richter
The St. Paul Winter Carnival is unique in other ways as well. At least 350,000 visitors attend nearly every year during the week it’s held.  There’s a Royal Coronation and Grand Day Parade, as well as snow sculpting, ice sculpture carving, dogsled races, and the Torchlight Parade.  There’s even a treasure hunt for a medallion, a tradition since 1952.  The lucky individual who finds the medallion, with the help of clues provided by the St. Paul newspaper for 12 days wins nearly $10,000 and a ride in the Torchlight Parade. 

This afternoon, as the temperature reached close to 100 degrees with a dew point near 70, it was entertaining to listen to my grandchildren discuss whether they’d rather be too hot or too cold.  They both opted for the heat, which surprised me, but I didn’t have to give it much thought, maybe because I grew up in the Midwest, where snow and cold are the “norm” in winter.  I’m fascinated with the St. Paul Winter Carnival and the people who celebrate the uniqueness and beauty of that week in January.  The New York writer who called St. Paul “unfit for human habitation” in winter had no idea of the stir he created.  Over one hundred twenty-five years later the St. Paul Winter Carnival is more popular than ever.  And this morning when I stepped outside and felt the jungle-like air, I was almost counting the days until the next one.