A RARE TIME AND MAN!

In the spring of 1969 I was newly married and excited about showing my German husband things about my little hometown in central Wisconsin that were unique.  It couldn’t begin to compare to the beautiful scenery in and around his hometown in Germany, but I was eager for him to see some of the things that made it different. One of the first places we visited was the little root beer stand in town.  Since he had just arrived from Germany, he had never heard of a root beer stand.  He thought it sounded like a fun idea and was anxious to try the root beer.  Of course he expected that it was some kind of American beer.  What a rude awakening he had!  Not only was it not a beer, but to him it was this awful concoction that tasted like toothpaste.  I doubt that he’s ever tried it again.  The memory no doubt still haunts him. Of course it’s one of my favorite drinks, so I’m perplexed.  Different strokes for different folks, as they say.

One thing we totally agree on, however, is the charming little gas station that stood behind my dad’s furniture store.  We loved stopping there to buy gas because of the proprietor who ran it for many years.  Chet was a delightful man who obviously loved his work and wanted you to drive away feeling satisfied and important as a customer.  He always came out smiling and pumped your gas, washed your windows inside and outside, and then amazingly, handed you a gift—a little dish or glass or some other useful item.  And would you believe, during the gas wars in town at that time, you could buy gas for less than 20 cents a gallon. What a deal!

Even now when I pump gas, I often think of that wonderful man.  He was definitely from another era and I’m so glad that I had the opportunity to get to know and appreciate him.

Chet, in front of his gas station, riding a pedicab from Taiwan.

A SIMPLY GRAND LADY ON COURT STREET!

MYRTLE TUTTLE.  Her name is a tongue twister and her date of birth, October 31 (Halloween) is a date full of fun and mischief for kids and adults.  But my Grandma Olson (Tuttle) is easy to remember.  I recall magical Christmas Eve celebrations  at her home on Court Street in Neillsville, Wisconsin.  My family made the one-hour drive from my hometown to gather with my grandparents and a houseful of aunts and uncles and cousins. Grandma made delicious popcorn balls and candies and the house smelled of wonderful breads baking.  Of course she had plenty of help at Christmas.

Grandma Olson was born October 31, 1875 near Colby, Wisconsin.  She married March 27, 1901.  The local newspaper wished her and my grandfather a “happy and prosperous voyage on the matrimonial sea.”  Grandma was very close to her younger sister Sarah and ironically, Myrtie and Sarah married two Olson brothers, Oluf and Fred.  I often wondered how they met and if they double dated.  I know that in Grandma’s later years, Sarah was always nearby.  She was a kind, gentle woman and was devoted to Grandma.

Grandma and Grandpa Olson had ten children.  Eight of them lived into their 70’s and 80’s.  Although they grew up very poor, almost all of my grandparent’s children graduated from college, helping one another with expenses along the way.

Grandma and Grandpa Olson in later years

Grandma Olson followed her husband’s work pursuits through the years, from sawmill worker to farmer, village marshal and lamplighter, deputy sheriff, and janitor.  For over sixty years they were a team—the trusty Norwegian and the English lassie with the long lineage dating back to 1635.  Grandma often accompanied her husband around the village (my hometown) in the evening as he lit the kerosene lamps.  They moved to Neillsville in 1916 and were able to buy a house two years later.  Although it was a home for their large family, it didn’t offer many amenities.  In fact, it had a dirt basement which allowed rodents equal access to the house.  In later years my Aunt Ellen completely remodeled the house and my grandparents had a warm, cozy home for the rest of their lives.

The old 1905 Edison phonograph; Grandma used the horn for a planter

I remember my grandma’s love of birds.  There were often little parakeets taking up residence in the corner of the dining room, close to the window.  I can still picture her saying goodnight to her little friends and covering the cage with a cloth so they could sleep well.  She loved nature and birds, as well as flowers and plants.  Lacking a planter, she used the horn of an old Edison phonograph, which I now am proud to own. I think my grandmother, mother, and I share a few quirky traits. 

It’s still hard for me to drive by that little green house on Court Street.  A part of me still thinks Grandma is there sitting on the porch and waiting for us.  She lived a long life (94 years) and will always be affectionately remembered.  Within the pages of a Bible she often read, my aunt showed me the note Grandma had written telling her children how much she loved them and wanted the best for them.  She was a dedicated mother and grandmother who overcame many hardships.  She’s one special lady I won’t ever forget.

SLEEPOVER FUN AND MEMORIES!

My eight-year old grandson had his first sleepover last night with some school friends celebrating a birthday.  When his sister and I picked him up we got into a big discussion about how boys’ and girls’ sleepovers differ.  My ten-year old granddaughter said that girls just want to gossip and talk about dates, at which point I completely misunderstood and then spoke up ignorantly, wondering why she was talking about aches. I guess my advancing age (63) is diminishing my hearing and getting the best of me. She soon set me straight, but I was having fun picturing women in their 60’s-80’s having a raucous time at an adult sleepover.  A novel idea, although mistaken.  I’d love to have photos of that unusual adventure.  Morgan thought I was just being silly, goofy grandma again.  She still reminds me of my second grade skirmish with Eloise and time spent after school as punishment.  Her words, “Who DOES that Grandma?” make me laugh and want to apologize every time she brings it up. 

Ethan can’t believe that girls waste time gossiping, when they could be busy playing games or talking about sports.  He was happy to come home with first and second place ribbons from bike races.  He thinks that boys are a notch above because they don’t get into that silly gossip stuff, but Morgan argues her case well, as usual.

Today it’s Morgan’s turn for a sleepover with a friend.  Such excitement and anticipation, and I get caught up in it too.  I remember a few sleepovers from my own childhood.  My brother’s room had a cozy, unique closet, and although it was small, it was long and easy and fun to hang out in and read or play games or crawl through the closet to my room.  There was an old bear rug that we could rest on while snacking on yummy treats.  It was a magical hideout for sure. I’d give anything to see that one-of-a-kind closet again.

Spending major time with my grandchildren not only reminds me of the spontaneous joy of laughing out loud, but also the childhood memories that had been long tucked away.  And what fun to be able to share those memories and take a little kidding in stride.  I do believe I’m getting younger every day, at least on this particular day.  Thank goodness for sleepovers, even though there's not much sleep involved, whether it's girls or boys!

COLLECTING--A PASSION!

Seeing how much my granddaughter loves collecting snow globes from around the world reminds me of my own passion for collecting things over the years.  I’ve loved watching her excitement at every new addition to her collection.  Most of the colorful globes have been gifts brought back from different cities by her dad. Some of them have also been purchased by friends and relatives traveling to different countries—Australia, Canada, Greece, Scotland, and Turkey.  What started out as a few simple snow globes from a variety of U.S. cities has expanded to twenty-five from around the world.  Who knows how many she’ll acquire by the time she leaves home and starts the next phase of her life.  One thing I’m almost certain of though--those unique and colorful globes will follow her everywhere, along with the joy and memories of unpacking them. 

My own early collecting days mostly centered on cards of famous baseball players.  I’m sure I drove my mother crazy with the hundreds of cards lying around and all the statistical analysis, even though she loved baseball too.  I wish I’d taken the cards with me when I moved out because they eventually disappeared.  I remember feeling quite heartbroken, but I shouldn’t have assumed that my parents had the same attachment to them that I did, as well as the space for preserving them.  But oh, how I’d love to have them to show my grandson today.  Watching him sort through his own baseball cards is like a walk back in time.  In addition, he gets really wrapped up in making elaborate statistical charts.  Sometimes he’s surprised that his grandma knows the latest stats on current stars, and not just in baseball.

The pin my Australian pen pal sent me fifty-one years ago

Another area of collecting that I’ve really enjoyed started when I was 12, inspired by an Australian pen pal.  She sent me a special pin, which I’ve treasured through the years.  I no longer have her letters or a current connection with her, but I’ll never give up that unique pin.  It also gave me an interest in collecting pins from other parts of the world. I just re-discovered my I LOVE LONDON pin, which seems especially fun now with the current London Olympics.  Wish I could be there and add to my collection.

And of course, being a book lover, I’m mad about bookmarks, especially leather ones. I love the kangaroo bookmark my special Australian friend recently sent me; I doubt that I would find it anywhere in the U.S.  There are two other bookmarks that are also very special.  One of them my English friend Angie bought for me inside Windsor Castle more than 20 years ago.  And the most unique U.S. bookmark I own is from the Redwood Library in Newport, Rhode Island.  That beautiful, historical library was established in 1747 and is the oldest lending library in the U.S. and still occupies the original building.  When you walk inside you feel surrounded by history.  To add to the charm, there was an absolutely delightful and gracious lady who was a volunteer in the small gift shop.  I think of her every time I use that bookmark. 

Finally, one of my favorite things in life is collecting quotes.  You could say I’m QUOTABLY HAPPY.  Here are a few to share, including my favorite, listed right below.

My mom and her lifelong friend Verna

            “Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved.  The real milestones are less prepossessing, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit, and never leave.  Our lives are measured by these.”  (Susan B. Anthony)

            “Don’t compromise yourself.  You are all you’ve got.”  (Janis Joplin, American singer).

            “Why not seize the pleasure at once?  How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!”  (Jane Austin, English writer)

            “Expect trouble as an inevitable part of life and repeat to yourself the most comforting words of all:  This too shall pass.”  (Ann Landers, former American newspaper columnist)

            “Your children need your presence more than your presents.”  (Jesse Jackson)

            “I am part of all I have read.”  (John Kieran, American author)

            “When I was a ten-year old book worm and used to kiss the dust jacket pictures of authors as if they were icons, it used to amaze me that these remote people could provoke me to love.”  (Erica Jong, American author)

            “It is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education.”  (Albert Einstein)

            “Age is a question of mind over matter.  If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”  (Satchel Page, former legendary American baseball player)

            “In the end, nothing we do or say in this lifetime will matter as much as the way we have loved one another.”  (Daphne Rose Kingma, writer)

            “All my life I have tried to pluck a thistle and plant a flower, wherever the flower would grow in thought and mind.”  (Abraham Lincoln)

            “Everyone can be great because everyone can serve.”  (Martin Luther King)

            “There are never enough I LOVE YOU’S.  (Lenny Bruce)

            “Find something you’re passionate about and keep tremendously interested in it.”  (Julia Child)

And finally, here is one I especially love because it helps me view my own sometimes disorganized, chaotic life in a different manner:

            “Whenever there is chaos, it creates wonderful thinking.  I consider chaos a gift.”  (Septima Poinsette  Clark, educator and civil rights leader)

So whatever it might be that you enjoy collecting or feel passionate about, feel blessed and grateful and remember what the truly unique American actress Mae West once said, “Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.”

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.”

"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!”

"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!

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)

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!

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.   

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.”