"IN WITH A PARKA, OUT WITH A T-SHIRT"--CRAZY MINNESOTA WEATHER! OBSERVATIONS FROM THE NORTH STAR STATE!!!

This morning, as I was driving my grandchildren to school, following an eight-inch snowstorm yesterday in a northwestern suburb of Minneapolis, my granddaughter made an observation that made me laugh out loud.  She said, "Minnesota weather is crazy.  Go to school in a parka, come out with a t-shirt."  Not many places in the U.S. where it snows like crazy all day one day and the next day the local professional baseball team schedules a double header.  With a high temperature today of 42 degrees Fahrenheit, it might be a bit chilly in those seats in the upper deck.  But then, how else do you weed out the true blue baseball fans?

One day last week, when the temperature reached 72 degrees F., I sat near a lake for a couple of hours with a friend and came home with a sunburn. I remember thinking that the long winter was finally over and wondrous days stretched ahead. But alas, Minnesota is always filled with reminders that you'd better not get too comfortable!  The winter boots may be in the garage, but just maybe I'll pull them out one last time.  I did notice today that a number of neighbors had rebelled and avoided shoveling their driveways. Smart folks indeed!

The forecast for the next week is for temperatures in the 50's and 60's, along with a balmy 70 or two thrown in.  I'm sure the confused little animals will entertain thoughts of wintering somewhere else next year. At times I wish I could say the same!

JUST A NORMAL DAY?

A few days ago I was waiting for my grandchildren in the commons area of their school.  There were plenty of interesting discussions going on around me, but one in particular caught my attention.  A young dad and his preschool daughter were having a presumably typical after-school chat, which started with, "How was your day?" To which the preschooler responded--"Just a normal day."  Her dad laughed, as did I, and answered, "Just a normal day?  You can't complain about a normal day."

That made me think about what constitutes a normal day in my own life, and if I appreciate it enough.  This winter's been more difficult weather-wise because we've had 50+ days of below zero weather in Minnesota.  That bone-chilling cold became the "norm" too often, and I did complain vehemently.  Even so, I've been lucky to have a warm, cozy home to return to at the end of the day.  I don't take that for granted, no matter how routine.

A normal day for me involves a lengthy morning drive to my grandchildren's school, various errands and projects to work on, for myself as well as a friend, and a return trip to school and back home. There's often not much that's eventful, but every day is filled with interesting and delightful discussions with my grandchildren (9 & 12), and we laugh uncontrollably at times.  We're good observers of the daily life of others along the way, as well as good listeners of one another and topics on the radio.  There's a normal routine to our day, but it's never boring.  As I'm pondering my future and realizing that within a year, my life may be very different, I feel more than a little sadness.  I've been taking care of children--my own three, my grandchildren, and others for more than 41 years, in addition to working other jobs.  It's soon time to move on with my life and discover what a different kind of "normal" entails. 

   Photo by Heinrich Richter, Barntrup, Germany

Our lives are filled with normal, everyday activities, which may or may not give us reason to complain, but sometimes it's not a bad idea to check ourselves and listen to the wisdom of the young dad--"Just a normal day?  Well, you can't complain about a normal day."  After all, as Rose Kennedy once said, "Life isn't a matter of milestones, but moments."

Manhattan folks, busy with normal, everyday activities

        

Here are a few pictures of others, young and old, and those in between, doing normal things in the course of a day.

WHAT WOULD AMELIA THINK?

I've always loved reading children's stories, and some of them have reminded me of myself and my own comic actions and misinterpretations.  My family and friends could tell you

 
endless stories about my knack for taking things literally.  Maybe that's why the stories about Amelia Bedelia particularly resonate with me and have me laughing out loud most of the time.
Amelia Bedelia, the character created by Peggy Parish over 50 years ago is a delightful maid and housekeeper, as well as an exceptional cook, which literally saves her from being fired on a nearly daily basis. Amelia always has the best of intentions and works diligently, but her efforts often have disastrous results.  Through the years, her wealthy employers known as Mr. and Mrs. Rogers learned to adapt to Amelia's miscues and often rewrote instructions, remembering Amelia's literal-minded thinking. Initially told to "dress the chicken," Amelia proceeded to dress the chicken in tiny clothes, no doubt wondering why anyone would need to do such a thing. When Amelia was told to dust the furniture, she proceeded to throw dusting powder on various furniture items, which totally exasperated the Rogers when they came home.  Instructed to change the towels, Amelia used scissors to change the looks of the towels, in her own creative way.  It wasn't quite what Mr. and Mrs. Rogers had envisioned. As time went on, however, they came to appreciate Amelia and her well-meaning ways, as well as her delicious pies, which never required her use of recipes.

 

Through the years, the beloved stories of Amelia Bedelia have sold over thirty-five million copies.  Peggy Parish, the author, based her character on a maid that she had come to know when she lived in Africa for some time.  Even the unusual hats that Amelia wears were based on Peggy's recollections. 

Following Peggy's sudden, untimely death, her nephew Herman continued the stories of Amelia.  Peggy had often stayed with his family in South Carolina and Herman had come to admire and appreciate his aunt.  Not wanting the stories to continue to be written by other authors outside the family, Herman studied Peggy's writings of Amelia and has since written many wonderful books about her.

If you're ever fortunate enough to travel to South Carolina, make a point of visiting Manning, South Carolina, Peggy Parish's home, where you'll find a statue of the one-of-a-kind Amelia Bedelia.  Better yet, check out some of the delightful Amelia Bedelia books at almost any library or bookstore.  You'll enjoy being a kid again and the laughter just might be infectious.

MAYBE IN JUNE . . .

Lately I've been giving some thought to leaving Minnesota, at least in my dreams.  You see, last night I dreamed that we were about to be bombarded with another 21 inches of snow.  I woke up in a

 
panic.  Even my favorite meteorologist had called this "a horrific winter."  How could we possibly get another two feet of snow, on top of the 70 inches we had already, I wondered. It seemed ridiculous, but yet so real.  I called my friend Angela, who was in disbelief.  We had often commiserated on the test of a Minnesota winter, but I assured her, that however real it seemed, IT WAS ONLY A DREAM--we would be spared this time around!

Ah yes, winter--the season of endurance, frustration, natural beauty beyond compare, and squealing delight, as one witnesses children

 
rollicking in snow, totally oblivious to the subzero temperatures.  After 65 years of living in snow and cold, I shake my head, but admire their love of what many children think is the most wonderful season of all.  My granddaughter takes great pride in being one of those kids.

In summing up my varied feelings about winter, I discovered others who expressed their thoughts much more eloquently, and often with good humor.  Mae West was one of those:  "I used to be Snow White, but I drifted." Carl Reiner said it another way, "A lot of people like snow.  I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water."

And then there were those who wrote about snow and cold in a much more serious vein.  Samuel Taylor Coleridge was one of those:  "Advice is like snow--the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the mind."  Langston Hughes put it another way--"Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go, Life is a barren field Frozen with snow."

Tonight as I walked gingerly across treacherous patches of ice, I thought of Yoko Ono's words about the seasons, and winter in particular: 

     "Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.
     Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance.
     Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence.
     Winter passes and one remembers one's PERSEVERENCE."

Realizing that another six weeks of snow and cold may yet be part of our landscape, I'm challenged to remember the words of Stephen Cosgrove: 

     "So when you're cold from the inside out
     And don't know what to do
     Remember love and friendship
     And warmth will come to you."
    

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER!

     Sometimes an unexpected whirlwind adventure comes knocking at your door in the form of an intriguing new friend, and you jump at the opportunity to meet.  Rarely do people look at me and expect bold initiatives.  I seem to have that "settled in, accept what life has to offer look."  But looks are deceiving.  The truth is often, that although I can do routine things as well as anyone, I yearn for a whole lot more.  So, when the opportunity presented itself to spend six days hanging out with a new friend I'd only met months before, I jumped at it.  As crazy as some of my friends might have thought me to be, although never expressed, I knew intuitively that it would be a wise and wonderful choice, and it was.  The laughs were never ending and the chats were priceless.  The poignant and humorous book shared and read out loud late at night and early in the morning was a new and gratifying experience.  It brought up thought-provoking discussions about life and choices we make. We read the last chapter on the morning of my friend's departure.
    
     From trips to the Mall of America, Minnehaha Falls, the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum, nature centers and beautiful parks, thrift stores, a boat ride on the St. Croix River, and a stroll down main street of a historic Minnesota town, it was one of the most treasured weeks of my life.  Of course I shouldn't forget to mention the "lost" factor.  At times I know my friend Sandy thought I was perpetually lost, and not just in direction--sometimes in focus as well.  Otherwise how could I explain a trip to a professional baseball game that never existed?  I had talked the week before about the Minnesota Twins playing Cleveland at Target Field during Sandy's visit.  Not even close!  Not only did the Twins game at Target Field not exist, but they were playing against the Yankees in New York.  How could that be?  I had even checked the paper for the time.  So sure I was!  So we ventured to downtown Minneapolis and found ourselves wondering how it could be so quiet if there was a Twins game.  Sandy figured it out, but I came around slowly, and a little too stubbornly.  They wouldn't postpone the game, I said.  It was a perfectly beautiful day.  Pulling into the ramp parking lot told a different story.  We could have parked anywhere we wanted since there were only three other cars visible. I was still in disbelief.  As we walked the short distance to the stadium, we couldn't stop laughing, wondering how this was truly happening.  But Sandy had already figured out that I was more than a little quirky, and definitely not as organized as she had once thought.  Real life meetings tell far more than online stories.  But there was more . . . As we looked at the empty stadium seats and former Twins stars, we spotted two ticket windows.  The one gentleman we noticed confirmed the obvious--there was no Twins game; they were in New York.  He must have thought we'd been drinking heavily because our laughter had reached a fever pitch, and all that time both of us were desperately in need of a bathroom.  Thankfully there was one still open on the premises.  Saved in one respect, at least.  On the way back to the car, Sandy found a bright red hat just lying aimlessly on the grass.  It matched her colorful shirt perfectly.  A nice, unexpected memento from an unexpectedly non-existent game.  The statues on the plaza of famous former Twins made inviting poses for the zany, mischievous friend from North Carolina.  Even Calvin Griffith, the former Twins owner, was pose-worthy.  At one point, Sandy, fully joking, said to me, "Lynda, you're going to owe me all day for this."  Knowing I could never live down the embarrassment, I decided to embrace that part of me that's sometimes hard to explain.  Luckily, Sandy took it all in stride and had plenty to tell when she returned home.  That story merits countless retelling.  We filled up the afternoon with trips to thrift stores and a fine Italian restaurant.  It was almost comforting to see that our waiter was also in the midst of an error-prone day, for which he offered numerous apologies.  He completely forgot my entrée and never bothered to check back with us after taking our order.  I didn't complain much, knowing that I had screwed up more than anyone that day. 

     And now it's all a wonderful, treasured memory of six delightful days with a newfound friend.  And that special friend sometimes reminds me that "life is an ever changing canvas."  We proved it that week.
    

THROUGH THE MAIL. . .

"Lynda, can you see the red in my face?" Those were the opening words in a letter from my longtime friend and pen pal Ellen. She went on to say, "I found your letter of April 2 that I thought I had answered. See, the mind does go first!"  Although I didn't write nearly as often as I would have liked, I truly looked forward to her letters, and she responded much more quickly than I did.  To this day, I have real regrets about that.

I was thinking about Ellen recently because it was near the time of her sudden death three years ago. I was on my way to a library with my grandchildren for a fun summer event, and picked up the mail as we were about to leave.  I saw that it came from Connecticut, but noticed that the handwriting was different from hers, which confused me.  When I opened it, I was heartbroken, and so was the person who wrote to me.  It was her husband of over four decades, telling me that she'd had a massive stroke and died a few weeks earlier.  I just stared at the letter and cried for several long minutes. She had always seemed very healthy and full of life, and then suddenly everything changed.  I couldn't believe that I would never hear from her again.  How quickly life sometimes changes, and how cruel and difficult it is to adapt.  I had a hard time focusing on my grandchildren's activity, but somehow I needed to.  I told them about the loss of my friend and they understood as well as they could. 

Now I want to share some thoughts about Ellen and what made her unique and memorable.  I saved all her letters over the last twenty plus years and re-read them once again.  How I wish I could go back and respond quicker and more fully to her letters, but I can't, so this is my tribute to her. 

Several years after we first started writing, my oldest son attended college in New Hampshire.  During that time my

former husband and I drove through Connecticut on our way to visit our son.  Twice we stopped at Ellen's home in Milford, Connecticut, which was right near Long Island Sound.  She loved showing us around, and when we were back home, she wrote to me:  "I'm so glad that we met, even if it was for just a little while.  I just felt as if I'd known you for years.  And we have--through the mail.  So pen pals really are valuable friendships.  I'm looking forward to hearing from you again.  Take care." Those kind words mean even more to me now.

Ellen was a quiet, reserved person with a wonderful sense of humor.  She was also incredibly kind, and always seemed to find the right words as I was going through my divorce.  She was always full of questions and curious about how I was getting through life, and I appreciated that. She was very curious about life in general.  And boy, did we 
share common interests!  She lived near New Haven, Ct., where my ancestors had first arrived in 1636.  She was very interested in genealogy, as was I, and offered to go to New Haven to gather more information about my family.  She loved history, and we often talked about famous people and places that fascinated us.  We also loved sending postcards back and forth, and I still have many beautiful ones of Connecticut.  I once sent her a postcard from 1926, and she was thrilled!

Ellen was an avid reader, and did something quite amazing to share her love of books.  She started the first and only volunteer library in Connecticut.  It still uses the old card catalogue system.  I can remember how she loved talking about the children's books and activities that the library had added. Although she had no children of her own, she enjoyed sharing her love of reading with the children at the library.  One day I'm going to go there, take some photos, and pay tribute to Ellen in my own way.  That small, wonderful library has now been named after her.  I cried when I read that, because somehow I knew that Ellen was smiling somewhere.

Ellen also had a passion for history, and was proud of being a member of the local historical society.  She often wrote about it and spent many hours helping organize different events.  She once told me about an incredible experience that she'd had at a historic home nearby, which had been empty since the 18th century.  It was owned by the local historical society.

Although she had no prior beliefs in ghosts or spirits, Ellen, following a day of cleaning on the second floor of that historic house, told me that one day she heard her name called, and there was no one around.  She also wrote that several times something brushed her hand when she started to close doors.  She said, "I looked all over for who it might be, but there was nobody in the house."  Other members of the historical society spoke of unusual experiences at that house as well. Ellen mentioned the experience several times in subsequent letters and was quite curious and perplexed.

I loved telling Ellen things about Minnesota since she had never been here.  And of course she shared many things about the state she loved--Connecticut.  In one letter she wrote, "Gee, is everyone in Minnesota "happy go lucky?  Send some of those people to Connecticut."  Perhaps I'd spoken a little too much about "Minnesota Nice," which isn't always true anymore.

In looking back over the letters Ellen wrote, she talked about someday wanting to give me a private tour of the houses in the area from the 17th and 18th century.  How I would have loved that, especially knowing that my ancestors, (the Tuttles), had lived in that area nearly four centuries ago.

Milford, the city where Ellen resided in Connecticut, is known as "The Small City with the Big Heart." That must be why Ellen lived there.  She had a huge heart and a curious mind, and I will always think of her, whether I'm passing through Connecticut or entering a library that she would have loved.  What a gift she was to many, and how fortunate I am to have known her!

LOOKING BACK, MOVING FORWARD!

This winter's often bitterly cold and snowy weather hasn't exactly inspired me to get out and go on long walks, or test my endurance levels, but yesterday (Super Bowl Sunday) was an unusually bright and beautiful day. So, bucking my own recent tradition of laying

 

low on weekends, I opted to check out some regional parks and trails.  What I discovered was a blend of unique and different and thoroughly enjoyable experiences.  Fish Lake Regional Park in Maple Grove, Minnesota is beautiful any time of year, but the recent seven inches of snow showed the splendor and elegance of winter that I often forget about.  It was also an important time to spend by myself, at my own pace, and think about the direction of my life.  I think of myself as an introvert, but I'm also one who believes in the value of solitude.  Thoreau once said, "I never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude."  Words that speak to my heart!

After I left Fish Lake Park, I wanted to continue my little adventure, so I headed to West Medicine Lake Park.  I had myself psyched up to follow the trail near the lake and beyond, but there was one minor problem.  The trail that I searched for didn't exist, because of huge snow drifts.  I would have been testing my leg strength and jumping ability, but my balance isn't quite what it used to be, so I imagined that I'd spend more time lying in snow banks, rather than walking alongside them.  I found plenty of humor in that thought, but left it at that.  Ironically, the large lake had plenty of paths, but these "roadways" were for cars and trucks traveling about on their way to fishing splendor.  And of course there were plenty of cross country skiers who seemed thrilled at the new batch of snow.  Reluctantly I left that area and moved on to French Park.

French Park had several hundred people who appeared to be euphoric about the recent and substantial new snow.  When I got out of the car, I discovered skiers everywhere.  I couldn't take my usual trail to the lake because it didn't exist, except for those who'd waited a long time for a superb skiing day like this. I felt a little left out, but if I'd truly been in shape, there were plenty of long trails that led to the lake.  As I said, MOVING FORWARD. . .that's my goal--to get in better shape and make that trek easily, instead of whimpering about it. 

What brought back memories for me was discovering a giant hill nearby, which was perfect for anyone who loves sledding.  That included children and adults on this day.  The joyful squeals could

 

 

be heard from hundreds of yards away.  It reminded me of my own childhood and how much fun it was growing up near a skating rink and going on sledding adventures with my friends and family.  I realize more than ever what treasured times those were.  Looking back, I'm grateful--for a glorious day like I'd just experienced, for rich memories of magical times over 50 years ago, and for LIFE itself. Gabrielle Roth once wrote, "It's really not that hard to stop and luxuriate in the joy and wonder of being.  Children do it all the time.  It's a natural human gift that should be at the heart of our lives."  Well said!

 

Me (on left), skating with my friends over 50 years ago--

IT WAS SO COLD THAT . . .

I often hear stories about "age," starting out saying, "Because people are living longer and taking better care of themselves, 60 has become the new 40."  Well, I don't quite subscribe to that, but it did make me think about redefining my ideas about weather and recent temperatures.  I used to rationalize more often about winter in the Midwest, but lately I just feel like screaming a little.  Of course to no one in particular, but no doubt I'd feel like I have control over something, and it would prove that my vocal cords are still functioning.  There have been times lately when I wasn't sure that I could make a coherent sentence.  Maybe that should have been a comforting thought, but it was actually quite scary.

So here's to hearty Minnesotans and Wisconsinites, who've endured one of the coldest winters on record, at time more than 30 degrees below normal.  The next couple of days reflect that once again, with actual temperatures hovering around -20 F. and wind chills at -40 to -50.  That's how it actually feels on our bodies.  Some of us are experts at that kind of talk.  Those brutal temperatures seem unimaginable, but it's reality, and the winds can be brutal, as they are today.  Hail to school closings and a good sense of humor! And then when it's all over, we can declare stories like this:

     It was so cold that. . . my favorite DJ on a local radio station reported that he'd gotten a call from his local school district announcing that schools would be closed the next day, which he thought was quite humorous since his child was nearly four years away from attending her first day.

     It was so cold that I was mad at the sun for playing a deceiving

 

trick on me.  It looked warm and enticing inside, but once outside, I wondered if I could make it to the mailbox at the bottom of the driveway.  It was painful just to breathe and an instant head throb. 

     It was so cold that I only saw one person wandering around in shorts outdoors.  Often when it reaches 20 degrees Fahrenheit in the Twin Cities, some people declare on their own that Spring has definitely arrived and Summer is on the horizon.

No wonder that Sinclair Lewis, a well-known Minnesota author once said, "Winter is not a season; it's an occupation."  This year that's truer than ever. 

Here are a few pertinent and uplifting quotes about weather, and winter in particular.

     "Whether the weather be fine,

     Whether the weather be not,

     Whether the weather be cold,

     Whether the weather be not,

     We'll weather the weather,

     Whatever the weather,

     Whether we like it or not."  (unknown author)


     "Wherever you go, no matter what the weather, always bring your own sunshine.  (Anthony J. D'Angelo)

     And one question to ponder--"Where does the white go when the snow melts?"

 

 

 

 

Perhaps one day I'll move to a warmer climate, but the memories of the winter shuffle and the beauty of a fresh snowfall will forever stay with me.

LITTLE LAMBEAU and MILLIE MAY!

Nearly a century ago my mother, a very kind and caring woman, who had plenty of spunk and feistiness, entered the world via small town Wisconsin.  Despite having multiple childhood illnesses and spending months in various hospitals, she became an avid sports fan.  My family might scoff at that and say WHAT A MAJOR

 

UNDERSTATEMENT! Above all, she lived and breathed everything about the Green Bay Packers.  She wouldn’t miss a Packers game for anything, which brings me to the Ice Bowl NFL championship game in Green Bay against the Dallas Cowboys in 1967. My mom was there to the bitter, freezing end and went home ecstatic as the Packers pulled off an incredible win, moments before the final seconds ticked away. Game time temperature was -13 and the wind chill was -48. My mother talked about it endlessly.  I’m especially thinking about her today because tomorrow, January 5, the Packers play in another Ice Bowl game, rivaling and perhaps surpassing the original one. San Francisco can only imagine what they’re in for.  My mother could tell the 49ers stories! 

But that simply delightful lady who would turn one hundred on January 15, was much more than an unusual woman who loved sports and her team.  She taught me about

 

treasuring the simple joys of life, showing kindness, and making a difference, in whatever meaningful way possible.

Her high school classmate, George, once wrote about her in the 1931 yearbook I still have, “When you get to be a senator or something like that, sometime I’ll come and listen to you debate.”  And debate she could, very convincingly.  She taught me well!

So here’s to you Millie May.  I’m sure you’ll be counting on a Packers victory tomorrow, wherever you are!  Thank you for the rich memories!

FOR THE LOVE OF THE GAME--and FAMILY!

I’ve been watching American football games for decades, but until I came to visit my son and his wife in Alabama recently, I had no clue about the intensity of college sports rivalries.  I learned QUICKLY!  Auburn University and the University of Alabama play against each other at the end of the football season every year, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t think they like each other very much.  This year the game was of historic proportions because Alabama was rated number one in the country and Auburn number four.  Yesterday’s game was played in Auburn.  The pageantry and interest in the game was “off the charts.”  Even the New York Times featured it.  Because my son teaches at Auburn, I became an instant fan.  I felt like they had been “my team” forever.  The game started out well, with Auburn scoring the first touchdown.  But Alabama, the perennial power and winner of the last two national championships, didn’t wait long to even the score.  And before halftime they had a

 

 

 

two-touchdown lead.  But Auburn, fresh from recent cardiac finishes, and still remembering the 49-0 drubbing they received from Alabama the previous year, were not about to fold.  The constant roar of the crowd, more than 80,000 of them, kept them energized and focused.  By halftime they had cut the lead to seven points.  The second half of the game was a mixture of exciting runs, phenomenal passes, and comedic errors.  In the end, Auburn prevailed, turning a near last second loss into a win unequalled in Auburn history.  It will be forever remembered by its wild finish, a 100-yard race to the end zone by Auburn return man Chris Davis, following a failed field goal attempt by Alabama with one second left on the clock.  There was jubilation everywhere in Auburn land.  My son and I were laughing and running through the house doing high 5’s.  My hand is still sore from one of them.  Phone calls came in from around the country.  Shouts were heard from the outside deck, including my son’s.  Normally subdued streets were packed.  Auburn was overjoyed, and so were we!

Soon I’ll be heading home, back to the land of Minnesota Nice, but I’ll remember fondly Auburn, Alabama, where the Tigers play with passion and zeal, and on one November 30 in 2013, they stemmed the tide of history and overcame the Crimson Tide of the University of Alabama.  I’m now a believer—forever locked in Auburn folklore and the joy of college football.  GO TIGERS!!

DOG ON A LEDGE!

Recently I missed my turn for a favorite breakfast spot, and wound up in a completely different area, which is nothing new for me.  Something tells me that I thrive on detours, whether through roadway construction or my own ineptitude.  Funny though, those excursions often lead to interesting discoveries and new learning experiences, as well as some good laughs.  My latest adventure was just such an example!

As I walked through the first door to the restaurant, I spotted a very sweet and

 

 

beautiful dog just sitting comfortably on the ledge.  He seemed quite happy and deep in his own “dog thoughts.”  I just stood and observed him for a little while, and let myself wonder who his rightful owner was and if he came there often.  Instead of bemoaning my detour experience, I just enjoyed the moment.  I found the owner nearby.  He was also resting comfortably and within clear sight of his delightful dog.  I asked him if I could take a picture of his special pal, and he was happy to oblige.  I learned that CALVIN came with him to the restaurant quite often and enjoyed seeing people come and go.  Often they stopped to pet him, and he was happy to get the attention.  But as his owner said proudly, people seemed to get excited to see Calvin and also quite surprised to see a dog on a ledge inside a restaurant.  I noticed that nearly everyone who walked past him had to stop and talk to him, and it made them smile almost instantly.  That included restaurant employees. Calvin was a special dog with a real gift.  His owner, I learned, was hopeful that Calvin might become a regular at nursing homes, where he could entertain and delight the residents.  The elderly owner had spent many hours observing how Calvin related with people of all ages.  Calvin’s job was to make people happy.  And indeed he did!

FROSTING ON THE LANDSCAPE!

As many of us in Minnesota know, drastic weather changes can happen overnight.  The unexpected is often the norm, and we never get too comfortable, considering all the possibilities, especially in winter.  Yesterday was a calm, sunny day and I relished my solitary trek through the autumn woods of Camelot Park. But as the day went on, the snow arrived and the atmosphere changed.  This morning I was reminded that after a fresh snowfall, and with the absence of snow plows and treatments on the roadways, the brakes on the car are not quite as reliable as usual. Despite that, I decided to embrace winter, at least for today, and headed out to a unique wooded park in Golden Valley, a suburb of Minneapolis.  I encountered no one, but I felt energized and elated as I walked along the trail and experienced the first burst of winter.  Sure feels a lot better at the beginning of November than in May.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here are a few photos from this gem of a morning and my newfound interest in

 

SNOW—unimaginable just a few months ago!!!

ONE LAST AUTUMN FLING, WITH SPECIAL THANKS TO A DEAR FRIEND!

With predictions of a possible 3-5 inches of snow in the Twin Cities tomorrow, I’m thinking AARGH—HERE WE GO AGAIN, and savoring the last delightful days of autumn.  I heard on the news a few days ago that the leaf color has lasted two weeks longer than usual in Minnesota.  After hearing that, I coaxed myself into taking one last long autumn walk through the woods of one of my favorite parks, which just happens to be named CAMELOT.  It fits the name perfectly.  I couldn’t believe that I was the only person following the trail my first time around.  It was just gorgeous, and such an invigorating romp through the woods.  I savored the moment, as well as the memories of many times my friend Leanne shared that walk with me.  Because of a serious injury sustained by her, that has rarely been possible anymore.  I truly miss that, but think of her often, and her love of nature.  She’s taught me a great deal through the years about savoring those special moments and appreciating the beauty of nature, including the little animals that surround us. 

 

 

 

 

 

Here are some simple photos I took that remind me of my friend and the natural joys that we find everywhere.

ARE YOU THERE, ELOISE?

It’s me, Lynda.  I guess you would remember me as Linda with an i, living on Butternut Street in our little Wisconsin town.  I remember the fun times we had in second grade.  I loved riding my bike over to your house in the summer, and hanging out in your little outdoor pool.  You were a good friend and I liked playing with you often.  So I don’t know why we got into an argument at school recess one day.  It wasn’t even just me—our good friend Kandyce got in on the action too.  We picked a fight with you, and nothing justifies that, not even in second grade.  Kandyce and I spent an hour after school writing on the blackboard and paying for our misdeeds.  Our second grade teacher was a real “gem” too, which made it all a hundred times worse. I hated disappointing her!

When my granddaughter entered second grade four years ago, I told her what a “tomboy” I was at her age, and how I had gotten into trouble decades before as a second grader.  So I teasingly said to her, “Don’t follow your grandmother’s example.”  And of course she sensibly replied, “I can’t believe you did that, Grandma.”

And yet I think she’s always known about my occasional mischievous deeds; they still pop up in different ways, although now it’s more often about doing unconventional things, just because that’s a strong part of who I am.  From that day on, we established the name Eloise as our secret password as Morgan headed out the door to school.  A wink from Grandma, a smile and a kiss from Morgan, and our shared password started our day off in a unique, silly way.

Occasionally I’ve told Morgan that I still wish I could apologize to Eloise, even after 58 years.  So here goes-- Wherever you are, my second grade friend, I’m sorry for being the bully that day.  I’ve grown up a lot since then, and my granddaughter can finally be proud of me for making amends.

 

** “That is what learning is.  You suddenly understand something you’ve understood all your life, but in a new way.”  (Doris Lessing)

THE PASSIONATE PONDERER!

Some time ago a friend referred to me as “the passionate ponderer” because ideas would often come to me unexpectedly.  I’d say, “ooh, ooh, I’ve got to jot that down.”  It quickly became a running joke.  I have notebooks filled with little tidbits of wisdom, random thoughts that lay dormant for years.  I’ve often heaped judgment on myself, as I’ve revisited those pages, wondering why I could generate promising, creative ideas, but not possess any follow-through.  Years ago when I loved golf and played it passionately, I often reminded myself to keep my head down and follow through with my swing.  If I did that, the ball would occasionally soar and land approximately where I hoped it would. 

Funny how I can now see a correlation between current anxieties about taking up golf again and tackling those once-important ideas still languishing in old, outdated notebooks.  I don’t view the golf game as critical anymore; it’s just the thought that it was one area long ago where I felt confident and proud; that wasn’t often the case in other areas of my life as I was growing up. 

And now I need to embrace those “random notebooks” from the past and appreciate their very existence.  Maybe it’s enough to know that those simple, random thoughts excited me at one point!  They don’t always have to have a destination.

 

Footnote—in a quote—“The more I wonder . . . the more I love.”  (Alice Walker)

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.