REPLENISHING ONE'S SPIRIT!

 

A prolific American writer named Gladys Taber once said, “We need time to dream, time to remember, and time to reach the infinite.  Time to be.”  During the past week, because of the incredible generosity of a friend of thirty-six years, I’ve been granted that time.  I just returned to Minneapolis from a delightful week along the North Shore of Lake Superior.  Listening to the endless waves outside our cabin was mesmerizing and meditative.  Sitting amongst the trees with an enchanting new book or chatting with my friend reminded me of how simple and joyous our lives can be when we’re granted the opportunity to slow down.  Now the challenge is to integrate those simple joys into everyday city life.  No easy task!  As I approach the age of 65, I’ve become more reflective in my own life, but less tolerant of those in the frantic, “hurry, scurry world,” especially when it jeopardizes the safety of others, including children. 

 

For me it’s the age old question of finding the balance in life.  But for now, I’ll just stay

 

 

 

 

in the moment and visualize the majestic grandeur of my favorite waterway in the world—Lake Superior!

A SECRET LIFE

At the end of the 1994 high school year the staff of Brooklyn Junior High had a farewell luncheon for departing teachers.  I was new to the school that year and didn’t know what to expect.  Being more of an introvert, I would gladly have foregone the whole ordeal.  I had made several friends on the staff—Ann, the English teacher who graciously shared her room with me, and Pat, the warm-hearted social studies teacher across the hall.  They were the only ones who’d really gotten to know me.  I was a part-time teacher working with ninth grade German students during the last hour of the day, so there wasn’t much time for social interaction.

During orientation the previous fall, the Spanish teacher John didn’t endear himself to me by “sharing” that I wouldn’t be around BJ for more than a year.  German, he assured me, was definitely going to be cut the following year.  I didn’t like his condescending attitude and was a little shocked and miffed.  It dampened my excitement about finding a teaching job.  My student loan bill hadn’t even arrived yet.  In the end he was right and probably had prior knowledge about the language study plans, but I didn’t have to like it or him.

I felt increasingly nervous and anxious at the luncheon and my mind started to wander as departing teachers were introduced.  Where would I be in a year?  Were my student loans a waste?  Had I been crazy to return to school after 25 years to get a teaching degree in German?  How would our family make it financially?  I’d felt so good returning to my old college campus, proving that I could get good grades and make new friends.  I’d made it through nine nervous weeks of intern teaching and then landed a job.  Even if it was part-time, I was ecstatic.

Then I heard Pat, in a slightly mischievous tone, call my name.  Not the introduction I’d expected.

                “Now Lynda Richter, our German teacher, you’d just never guess.  She’s lived a real secret life this year.”

Oh my god, what’s she going to say, I wondered.  Maybe I shouldn’t have shared some of my thoughts and feelings with her.  I felt a second swirl of emotions.  And then to have to conjure up a smile one last time!  “What are you doing to me, Pat?”  I questioned her intentions.  But then I realized that she was just relaying to others, in a humorous way, what a difficult year it had been for me.  We had gone on a memorable day trip along the Mississippi River earlier in the year and gotten to know one another on a more personal level.  I really enjoyed her company.

She continued on:  “None of you is aware that once Lynda left BJ when the school day ended, another part of her work life was just beginning.  She’d race home, change into her uniform, drive 45 minutes to Mystic Lake Casino, and work until 4 a.m. making change for customers.  While pushing her little cart around, she’d dream up lesson plans that could interest ninth graders in learning German.  No small task!  Then she’d drive home, sleep a few hours, finish her lesson plans, and head back to school the next day for another go round in seventh period.  She did this the whole year.”

I could hear the laughter and wondered what people thought.  Was I being undignified as a teacher?  Pat obviously didn’t think so.  She knew how I’d struggled to make ends meet that year.  A part-time teaching job for a first year teacher didn’t contribute much to the family income.  A second job was essential and the casino job fit well with my time frame.  The trouble was my body didn’t react well to chasing the clock and getting three or four hours of sleep a night.  I was a wreck, emotionally and physically.  It took me a long time to realize it.  On the drive home I’d roll down the windows, blast the radio, and slap my face to stay awake.  It barely worked, and one morning at 4:30 a.m. I drove past Golden Valley, where I lived, on my way to downtown Minneapolis and the nearby Institute of Arts.  I had no idea how I got there.  It was frightening!  I’d obviously dozed off, but woke up enough to steer myself in the opposite direction towards home.  Fifteen minutes later I headed up the hill to our house, hit the side of the road, and put a bubble in the left front tire, which remained there for nearly a year.  It was a scary episode.  What I’d done was just as bad as if I’d been driving drunk and I doubt that any police officer would have had much sympathy.  I got lucky in many ways, above all that I hadn’t injured others.

I learned a lot about my needs that year, including the importance of getting a minimum of six hours of sleep a night, doing my lesson plans a week in advance, not taking myself and others so seriously, and trusting those who want to reveal your secret life—IT’S ALL GOOD!

 

*A postscript—I went on to do substitute teaching for another four years, in German, English, social studies, history, and ironically, Spanish.

"AND IT WAS GOOD TO BE A LITTLE ISLAND."

Margaret Wise Brown, the children’s author I’ve idolized for decades, once wrote a

 

 

fascinating and delightful book for children called The Little Island.  The book was about Maine and the coastal islands, which she loved.  As Leonard Marcus expressed in his book, Awakened By the Moon, “The Little Island

 

points to a sense of the world as a vast and various place in which one needs never feel dwarfed or over-shadowed.  And it was good to be a little island.  A part of the world and a world of its own all surrounded by the bright blue sea.”

Margaret easily made friends with the fishermen of Maine, who admired her physical strength and tenacity.  The only home she ever owned she called The Only House.  It was an abandoned quarry master’s house on an island. 

Born in the spring of 1910 in Brooklyn, New York, Margaret was always a daydreamer.  She loved animals and had many pets as a child—rabbits, squirrels, guinea pigs, goldfish, cats, and dogs.  She and her siblings once buried a small animal they found.  In her early children’s book, The Dead Bird, Margaret wrote, “And every day, until they forgot, the children went and sang to their little dead bird and put fresh flowers on his grave.” 

One of the unique things about Margaret Wise Brown is that she told stories about the child’s world from the child’s point of view.  Her words were often like poetry—simple, emotional, meaningful and tender with some added mystery and intrigue.  In her brief life of 42 years, she wrote over 100 books.  She was unique, whimsical, extremely creative, and original—an individualist who wasn’t afraid to test the “norms” of children’s literature at the time.  She understood young children and was an imaginative storyteller, even at the age of six.  She once wrote, “There is a loving way with words and an unloving way, and it is only with the loving way that the simplicity of language becomes beautiful.”

In a December 1946 Life magazine article Margaret revealed that she often wrote drafts of stories on shopping lists and scraps of paper.  I could definitely relate to that, and it’s often easier to write on those small scraps; the difficulty is finding where you put them.  Still, I try to cut myself a little slack, knowing that a brilliant children’s author frequently did the same.

Margaret was sometimes restless and impatient and felt like she was wasting time if she waited to write a book.  She was often not predictable and was known to use many different illustrators, but she used Clement Hurd often.  He understood the needs of children for safety and security.  If you read her classic children’s books, Goodnight Moon and Runaway Bunny, you can’t help but fall in love with the wonderful illustrations.

Margaret Wise Brown died in 1952 at the age of 42.  Leonard Marcus, in his biography of her, wrote:  “Nearly everyone spoke of her in heartfelt superlatives, as an “irreplaceable” friend and the most creative person they had ever met.”  She was charming and a one-of-a-kind author.  She could be complicated and even complex, but as one who’s spent hundreds of hours reading stories to young children, I find her absolutely fascinating and a child’s best friend.  Her stories are full of simple wisdom and playfulness, as well as an understanding of the way children view the world.  They’re valued reading on their own, even if you don’t have young children in your life.  They’re absolute joy and pure magic.  What a fascinating author and woman; how I wish I could have met her!

LAUGH, EVEN WHEN IT HURTS!

 In my profile description on this blog I mentioned that I’ve learned to laugh at myself a lot more as I’ve gotten older.  Those words were put to the test about a week ago and to be honest, it’s a lot funnier now than it was on that Monday.

Here’s where it all started.  I was having a routine day after dropping my grandchildren off at school—errands, reading, writing, laundry—you know, rather mundane stuff.  By mid-afternoon I was about to head out the door and drive to their school to pick them up.  I went to my usual place in the house to retrieve the car keys, but they weren’t there.  I checked my jeans pockets, my fleece jacket, the counters, the porch, the top of the washing machine, and any other obscure place I could think of.  NO KEYS!  And then the dreaded thought—could I have left them in the car ignition?  I was feeling what I might otherwise have thought were menopausal symptoms—serious hot flashes! I was in a mid-afternoon state of panic on a normal weekday.  Except, it wasn’t normal!!!  The keys were definitely in the ignition, turned to the “on” position.  No engine running, but a dead battery nonetheless.  The car wouldn’t even pretend to start. My first thought was to put it in neutral and try to slide far enough down the driveway so I could get the other vehicle—the BEAST-- out of the garage.  There was only one problem with that--the dead battery car had a normal shifting lever that would not budge unless the engine was running. Just this one time, I longed for one of my car relics of the past. These new-fangled vehicles sometimes just did not comply. So then I obviously needed to ‘fess up,’ call my son at work, and admit that I couldn’t resolve this problem on my own.  He listened, offered suggestions, asked questions, and then realized that this needed quick action.  Call the school and get at least one child home on the bus.  I, the normally reliable one, had failed—in my mind, not his.  But leaving the keys in the ignition for six hours?   I’d never done that before.  However, it does bring up another odd thing.  Now and then it’s just my nature to get distracted, but that may have been doubly so because my driver’s door has required some concentration lately to get it open.  For some strange reason, and for a number of days, it had refused to open the normal, customary way.  Each time I wanted to get out of the car and go somewhere, I had to turn the ignition on, push the metal lever that makes the window go down, hit the unlock button, and reach my arm outside the car to grab the handle and unlock the door.  Plenty of thought processes involved, and I kept telling myself that it was good for me at my age.  But on that day I seemed more obsessed with the door than with remembering to take the key out, even though I had been doing that very thing for days.

My next step, as I told my son, was to try to angle the SUV past the big boat in the garage and at least manage to pick up my grandson at school at 6, after my granddaughter arrived home on the bus. I can’t even begin to say how valiantly I tried to get the BEAST out of the garage.  I kept getting out of it every few feet because I was worried about hitting the car behind it. I didn’t have sense enough to realize that I could move a small part of the boat to make more room for the BEAST—maybe just the space I needed. I finally got the vehicle partly out of the garage, only to be confronted with a bush that was not offering to budge.  In the meantime I had knocked over something, but didn’t think that it was a big deal.  Oh, but it was!  However, I’ll offer more about that later. Still continuing on that illogical theme, I thought maybe I could angle the beast through the small garage door on the other side.  I finally decided that I didn’t want to chance taking the top of the vehicle off.  Good choice!  Then I thought of moving the large basketball stand to angle the SUV around on the other side.  Thankfully it didn’t want to cooperate.  My son later told me that it wasn’t meant to be moved and I could really have hurt myself.  At times my stubbornness and determination is incomprehensible, I realize, and agonizing too!  It was time to admit that I couldn’t resolve this alone.  A call to my son was necessary again.  He called his dad to ask if he could pick up our grandson at the community center parking lot, where the bus would now drop him off after chess.  Thankfully, he obliged, but the time told to him by my son was 5, not 6, which was too early.  Enter another family member’s involvement.  My daughter-in-law Z called the community center receptionist to ask if someone could go out to the far end of the parking lot to tell her father-in-law that his grandson would not be there until 6, not 5. My son had tried to call him and tell him the correct time, but the battery went dead on the phone right in the middle of the conversation.  So naturally Z had to get involved; it seemed every family member needed to be involved in my crazy escapade. She explained that her father-in-law was driving a white VW.  The receptionist must have thought she was talking to someone from another planet.  Dead silence at her end for a while, and then an emphatic NO.  The receptionist did not even realize that a school bus was arriving in the lot every day about 6 to drop kids off after school activities.

As you might guess, it all got resolved—eventually. The kids made it home safely, the battery got recharged, and the car functioned again.  Never have I appreciated that simple fact so much.

But one last thing I alluded to—that thing I knocked over while trying to get the SUV out just happened to be something belonging to my son. So when he came home from work, I thanked him for his understanding and patience earlier in the day.  However, I told him I had one more embarrassing admission.  I have something to show you, I said.  Gulp, gulp!  I explained that as I was attempting to back the SUV out, something fell, but I was so nervous and involved in trying to get the big beast out that I only focused on that end of things.  I also didn’t think that anything major had fallen. Boy, was I wrong!  I discovered that it was my son’s nice, somewhat expensive bike, which was parked right inside the garage door.  When I first looked at it, I thought maybe it had been damaged before.  No such luck—I was the culprit!  Amazingly though, when I showed my son his bike and explained how badly I felt, this was his response:

“So, you trashed my bike, Mom, and you had a bad day, but tomorrow will be a better day. No big deal!  Don’t worry about it.” 

I felt a little emotional after all that, but with those kind words, he put everything in perspective.  And guess what?  The next day WAS a much better day, and when coming back home from school with the kids, I checked my e-mails and learned that I had won $100 in a sweepstakes.  I offered to pay my son back for his bike, but he never considered it. 

The next day as we were driving to school I told my grandchildren how understanding and kind their dad had been.  Rather than showing anger or disgust, I said that he had made me feel at ease after a day when I had screwed up royally.  And at long last I could laugh about it and remember that I needed to practice what I sometimes preached—LAUGH AT YOURSELF EVEN WHEN IT HURTS!  

MIGHT AS WELL MAKE IT A RECORD!

This morning my eight-year old grandson and I were watching the Weather Channel before school and he informed me that Duluth, Minnesota had set a record for the snowiest month EVER in Minnesota—50.2 inches, and no, that was not in February, but in April!  Together in March and April Duluth had a combined total of 95 inches of snow.  Another record!  Here in the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, we’re a little less extreme, but we will never take the month of April for granted again.  The last few years we’ve rarely seen snow even in March.  Last night when I looked at the temperature in Milwaukee, one of my favorite Wisconsin cities, it said it was 50 degrees; I thought it was a misprint. But alas, upon hearing that the temperature will be in the 70’s here by the weekend, I’m giving winter its “due” one more time and thinking, YOU BETCHA, (Minnesota talk),  MIGHT AS WELL MAKE IT A RECORD—FOR POSTERITY!  Here then are a few photos of winter’s last fling, (I think), from my home front. Oh, and by the way, the Minnesota Twins are playing two baseball games today since yesterday’s got postponed.  Their opponents, the Miami Marlins are about to be schooled as to the meaning of patience and endurance.  By the time the second game ends about 10 p.m., the temperature will be in the 20’s F.  But as I stepped outside this morning, I got caught up in the moment and reminded myself that although it’s an unusual Spring day, it’s still incredibly beautiful and not to be wasted.  Care to join me for a walk?

 

Rocky on his perch

 

 

Gnomely, the all-season gnome!

 

 

Guarding his post!

 

Snarled branches, an alternative to snarled traffic!

 

 

 

A WISCONSIN TREASURE--GAYLORD NELSON, EARTH DAY FOUNDER!

There are extraordinary people around the world who have made major contributions to improving our environment and the lives of people everywhere, but one who stands out the most for me is a humble, dedicated man from Clear Lake, Wisconsin—Gaylord Nelson.  I especially think of him on this day every year—EARTH DAY—April 22.  He was the principal founder of Earth Day in 1970, and from the time he became a Wisconsin senator in 1962, he worked diligently to get Washington involved in the environment.  He once said, “It was truly an astonishing grassroots explosion . . . The objective was to get a nationwide demonstration of concern for the environment so large that it would shake the political establishment out of its lethargy.” And indeed it did.  Earth Day is now celebrated in 192 countries.

Gaylord Nelson was born in 1916, and by the time he died in 2005, he had served his

 

 

country in many different ways—as Wisconsin governor, senator, and in the U.S. army during World War II.  He was called the “Conservation Governor.”  When he helped establish the first Earth Day on April 22, 1970 he wanted “a national day for the environment.”  His efforts were significant in bringing about the modern environmental movement. He helped President Kennedy start a national tour for conservation and the environment.  He worked tirelessly in his efforts to establish environmental protection legislation, including the Clean Waters Act, the National Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, the Clean Air Act, the Environmental Education Act, the National Hiking Trails, and the National Scenic Trails Act, as well as establishing the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore, which includes 20 islands. Eighty percent of the area of the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore is named after him. There’s also a Gaylord Nelson Institute for Environmental Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.  He received the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Clinton in 1995.

Photo of sandy beach on Apostle Islands by Bobak Ha'Eri

 

Gaylord Nelson was a visionary man who was passionate about the environment and nature and the plight of less fortunate people everywhere.  Below I’ve included some of his most famous quotes. He was truly a Wisconsin treasure, but more than that, a gift to the world.

“The wealth of the nation is its air, water, soil, forests, minerals, rivers, lakes and oceans, scenic beauty, wildlife habitats, and biodiversity . . . that’s all there is.  That’s the whole economy.  That’s where all the economic activity and jobs come from.  These biological systems are the sustaining wealth of the world.”

“We must realize that we’re all part of a web of life around the world.  Anytime you extinguish a species, the consequences are serious.”

“The ultimate test of a man’s conscience may be his willingness to sacrifice something today for future generations whose words of thanks will not be heard.”

WILL IT EVER WARM UP?

O spring, where are you hiding, I wonder on this day, April 15.  Winter officially starts at the end of December, as most of us know, but in Minnesota, there’s nothing official about it.  It might throw snow our way at the end of October, and then compound the insult by lingering darned near through April.  The last few years have been teasers, with little snow in March and even an 80 degree day in April. This year we had one weekend teaser in April and people in Minnesota were out in full force, biking, hiking, playing ball, walking around lakes, and thinking that spring had finally arrived. Perhaps Victor Hugo said it best, as he put it all in perspective, “winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.”

Last Friday night our local baseball heroes, the Minnesota Twins took the field to attempt to play a baseball game against the New York Mets.  Television sets in New York that were glued to the game must have thought they had turned to the Comedy Channel, for amused and confused players were looking to the snow filled skies with great amazement.  And the fans in the stands were bundled up in winter coats and scarves, comical hats, and thick, colorful blankets.  Free hot chocolate and coffee was offered to entice the brave-hearted, ”true-blue” fans to show up and offer their support. It turns out that watching the fans was far more entertaining than the game itself. 

Over the weekend the snows fell again, and my ever-adventurous son decided that it’s better to get out and play in the snow than sit and grumble about it.  He and his family headed four hours away to northern Minnesota for a skiing weekend.  As I looked at the kids this Monday morning and heard about their escapades, I smiled and wondered about the major sunburn both of them displayed.  Minnesota definitely has its own special charm.

Tonight offers another evening of outdoor baseball in downtown Minneapolis, with the high temperature right around the freezing mark and snow in abundance outside the stadium.  Fans will again be challenged to find the right blend of fashion and warmth to cheer on their heroes.  These are the true baseball fans!  I must confess that I’m trending towards the opposite direction—a cozy spot next to the fireplace with the television tuned to the local sports channel; I  might even make my own hot beverage.

This morning I heard about a rare occurrence—a frozen turkey vulture falling from the sky in South Dakota and landing on the porch of a surprised couple.  Its wings had frozen during the blizzard and when they thawed out again, that lucky bird left in the middle of the night.  There were numerous calls to Animal Control about that very thing in other parts of the city.  A Sioux Falls Animal Control officer told the newspaper, the Argus Leader that “when wild birds are covered in ice, they are unable to roost in trees and will stay on the ground until they thaw out and the storm passes.” The lucky vultures who survive must also be asking, “Will it ever warm up?” The latest word is that there might be a 60-degree day by the weekend, just as our Minnesota Twins head to another part of the country, and the stalwart fans have pangs of withdrawal for baseball’s unpredictable nature.

Perhaps I’ve given the false impression that I’ve had it with winter--for good.  That’s

 

 

 

 

 

 

not the case, but as with everything else, “all in moderation.”  It still is one of my favorite times of the year, believe it or not. My simple little camera doesn’t really do it justice, but still, here are a few photos to share.  No more grumbling, I promise!

“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.” (Anne Bradstreet)

“Perhaps I am a bear, or some hibernating animal underneath, for the instinct to be half asleep all winter is so strong in me.”  (Anne Morrow Lindbergh)

A SURPRISING THIRD GRADE ROAD TRIP!

 

Two nights ago I went on a wonderful musical road trip with my eight-year old grandson and his fellow third graders.  The background music to over 800 miles of Minnesota history and fascinating people with Minnesota connections was the well-known children’s song WHEELS ON THE BUS.  I’ve sung it hundreds of times over the years, but never imagined it being sung to an auditorium full of adults.  The slide show accompanying the excited singers and musicians added to the charm.  I truly didn’t want the program to end, and it made me Minnesota proud, even though I was born and raised in the neighboring state of Wisconsin.  Here are some of the people we were introduced to and sights we visited on our delightful road trip.

            Charles Lindbergh, who is perhaps better known as Lucky Lindy and the Lone

Eagle.  He was the first person to fly non-stop from New York to Paris in a single-seat, single-engine plane called the Spirit of St. Louis.  He was born in 1902 and spent most of his childhood in Little Falls, Minnesota, where you can take a fascinating tour of his boyhood home.

 

Bob Dylan, singer-songwriter extraordinaire, as well as artist, poet, and record producer.  He was born in Hibbing, Minnesota in 1941 and has recorded songs for over 50 years.  I was excited to hear one of my favorites—“Blowin’ in the Wind,” sung masterfully by proud third graders.  Bob Dylan received the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Obama in 2012.  Perhaps unknown to many is that he has also produced drawings and paintings which are currently in major art galleries.

            At different times of the year children and adults are treated to the movie classic THE WIZARD OF OZ, in which Judy Garland, a Minnesota native from Grand Rapids, Minnesota mesmerizes us with her portrayal of Dorothy, the young girl from

Kansas.  I never get tired of hearing Dorothy sing Over the Rainbow.  Judy once said, “I’ve always taken ‘The Wizard of Oz’ very seriously, you know.  I believe in the idea of the rainbow.  And I’ve spent my entire life trying to get over it.”  Fred Astaire, the famous actor and dancer paid tribute to her by saying, “She was the greatest entertainer who ever lived.”

 

            Of course a trip around Minnesota would never be complete without visiting Paul Bunyan, the lumberjack figure who remains a popular North American folklore hero.  Paul Bunyan’s pal is Babe the Blue Ox.

            And not to be forgotten is Francis A. Johnson who put Darwin, Minnesota on the map by creating the largest ball of twine ever developed by one man.  Starting in

 

1950, he worked for four hours a day over 29 years.  What we don’t know is why he chose this invention, but the people of the small town of Darwin are thrilled that he did.  Every August they proudly celebrate Twine Ball Day.  When I wrote a story about it a month or so ago I had no idea that my son’s third grade would celebrate this Minnesota novelty by singing Weird Al Yankovich’s song The Biggest Ball Of Twine.  The folks of Darwin will be happy to tell you that Weird Al even came to visit their town.

            Francis Johnson was no doubt a recent discovery for the third graders, but I’m

sure Prince, the singer-songwriter was more familiar.  As they sang Purple Rain, I thought of what a Minnesota legend he is, having produced 30 Top 40 Singles.  Born in Minneapolis in 1958, he wrote his first song at age seven, just a little younger than the majority of these kids.

            Another Twin Cities native known the world over is Charles Schulz, who

created the cartoon strip Peanuts and won five Emmy awards.  Nearly every day I drive by statues of Lucy and Charlie Brown.  Today, April 11, Lucy had an unexpected snow-topped crown adorning her head.  As the kids sang part of the Linus and Lucy song, they were especially spirited.

 

Before my road trip I didn’t know much about the Andrews Sisters from Mound, Minnesota, but the third graders reminded me of the song “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy,” a big hit in 1941 and still sung with gusto today.  The Andrews Sisters were a popular national vocal group of their time.

            Nearly every Minnesota third grader is familiar with the port city of Duluth, Minnesota, on Lake Superior’s North Shore.  Explore Minnesota and the tourist

board do a great job of promoting the spectacular scenery surrounding the beautiful and mysterious Great Lake, and it’s amazing how proudly and joyously the eight and nine-year olds sang the commercial about their state. 

            Most Minnesota kids are familiar with Minnesota sports teams and can tell you

 

 

plenty about the Minnesota Twins, so it was no surprise to hear a raucous rendition of We’re Gonna Win Twins, the fight song of our local baseball heroes.

            The night ended with the Andrew Lloyd Webber song Already Home.  I don’t always want to admit it, but after 43 years, I am truly at home in my adopted state of Minnesota.  Hearing these young kids proudly and loudly sing about their home state brought tears to my eyes.  Guess I’ve come of age.  Thought it would never happen!

"A HOTDOG AT THE BALL PARK IS BETTER THAN . . ."

Humphrey Bogart, the classic American actor once said, “A hotdog at the ball park is better than a steak at the Ritz.”  Many people around the world would disagree with that, but baseball and hotdogs at the game are inseparable.  In fact, the Minnesota Twins just announced that Wednesdays are “dollar a dog night.”  How good is that! 

And then there’s the classic baseball song TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME.  It’s sung by those of us who love baseball, during the “seventh inning stretch”—near the

end of the game, when folks are getting a little antsy and want to get up and sing and go a little crazy, regardless of the score.  Jack Norworth, the man who wrote the song would no doubt be thrilled to see how popular it’s become.  He wrote the original song in 1908 and revised it years later.  He wrote many songs, but the “baseball national anthem” is probably his most famous.  In addition to being a songwriter, he was also a singer and a vaudeville performer.  He even performed in some Broadway theater productions.  Interestingly, he didn’t see his first major league baseball game until 1940, when he was over 60. 

Baseball has had many interesting stories and oddities through the years, but here are a few uniquely interesting ones.  A book called BASEBALL GOLD included a few gems:

            Under the heading “NO KIDDING”—“A wire service once reported that actress Marilyn Monroe had joined husband Joe DiMaggio (a baseball legend) for a few days at spring training.  The last paragraph said, “DiMaggio missed the workout.”

            Jim Leyland, former Pittsburgh manager was quite upset with his team after a sloppy game and found a unique way to convey that to his players. He bounded into the clubhouse and said, “You got ten minutes to get dressed and get out of here before the cops come in and arrest you for impersonating professional ballplayers.”  My guess is that his message stayed with his players for some time.

Showing his love for the game many years ago, Rogers Hornsby, a baseball legend once said, “People always ask me what I do in the winter when there’s no baseball.  I’ll tell you what I do.  I stare out the window and wait for spring.”  I almost feel the same way.

A wonderful historian and writer, Doris Kearns Goodwin wrote a delightful baseball memoir-- Wait Till Next Year-- about her love for the Brooklyn Dodgers as she was growing up.  Her father taught her the art of baseball scorekeeping, and when he came home from work at night they would go over the scorecard.  I’m guessing that even her father would have had a difficult time scoring a game between the Chicago White Sox and Kansas City in 1959.  Imagine scoring 11 runs on only one hit, as Chicago did.  That’s because there were 10 walks, three errors, and one hit batsman in just one inning.  Chicago won 20-6.  

Doris also wrote about her baseball hero, Jackie Robinson.  According to her, his great
 

 

base running often caused the opposing pitcher to become distracted.  He’d frequently throw the ball away or throw a bad pitch to the hitter. Of course Jackie played for the Brooklyn Dodgers, but at that time New York also had the Giants and Yankees.

Here are some additional stories and statistics about baseball that fascinate me, along with countless other baseball followers from different countries:

Abraham Lincoln played in a baseball game in 1860.  He must have been quite enamored with it because when a message arrived for him, he told the messenger that he didn’t want to be interrupted during the game.  When it was finally over, he learned that he had been nominated for president by the Republican Party.

The first umpires sat on rocking chairs about 20 feet behind home plate.  There were no visiting clubhouses until 1906, so teams dressed at their hotels and rode horse-drawn wagons to ballparks.  Of course if you were a St. Louis Browns player in 1933, you didn’t need to worry about much of anything since one game was seen by a mere 34 fans. What could be worse than that?  How about the 1899 Cleveland Spiders who managed only 20 wins, along with 134 losses? 

The immortal Ty Cobb used tobacco juice to keep baseball bats from getting damp.  He often rubbed the bats for four hours.  It obviously worked because he was one of the most prolific hitters in baseball.

Of course baseball is also about pitching, and I’m so glad that I got to watch some outstanding pitchers.  Sandy Koufax finished his last season with the Dodgers with a
 

 

27-9 record and 27 complete games.  Unheard of today with all the specialization of pitchers!  He won the Cy Young award that year.  Cy Young ended his career with 511 wins, 749 complete games, and over 7,000 innings pitched.  He pitched until he was 44.  To accomplish what he did in today’s game, you’d need to reach 26 wins a year and do it for over 20 years.  There are some remarkable pitchers in baseball today, but that’s one record I’m confident will never be broken. As one who loves baseball statistics and memories, I’m going to mark October 13 on my calendar.  That’s the day every year Pittsburgh Pirates fans party exactly where
 

 

Bill Mazeroski hit a ninth inning home run in game seven of the 1960 World Series.  Fans even listen to taped game replays while enjoying hotdogs and sodas.

The first baseball card appeared in 1881. Lou Brock, the super star left fielder and base stealer for many years with the St. Louis Cardinals once said, “I don’t remember my first baseball card as much as I do the gift for being on the card.  No one had ever given me a gift in baseball before, so that was very rewarding.  I got a $25 gift certificate and I used it to buy a radio.”

When I dream of owning a baseball bat that belonged to one of my heroes, I’m reminded of the cost involved.  Babe Ruth’s Louisville Slugger sold for over 1.25 million dollars.  It’s the one he used to hit his first homer in Yankee Stadium.

I’m ecstatic that baseball is the “talk of the town” again. In her baseball memoir Doris Kearns Goodwin wrote, “When I listened to the stories my father told, I could see the great players of the past—Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig and Zack Wheat—knock the mud from their cleats, settle into the batter’s box, narrow their eyes on the pitcher, and unleash their majestic swings.” For me that’s what baseball is all about, and so much more!

AN EARLY MORNING WALK . . . AND THE LOVELINESS OF SPRING!

 

A nearby waterfall with the exquisite rushing sound of nature!

 

An entrance to a little home--

I had just come back from my own short Easter morning walk when my son challenged me to go on a little nature hike.  I wasn’t sure I was up for it, but what a memorable experience it was!  It’s rare that we have a chance to spend one-on-one time, and as I age, the joy of those times is magnified and becomes very poignant.  I will always remember

this Easter morning because of the unexpected natural beauty so close to home and the wonderful connectedness with my son. Here are some photos of a delightful Easter morning.

And here are a few memorable quotes about nature--

"We are united with all life that is in nature.  Man can no longer live his life for himself alone."  (Albert Schweitzer)

"I love to think of nature as an unlimited broadcasting station, through which God speaks to us every hour, if we only tune in."  (George Washington Carver)

"An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day."  (Henry David Thoreau)