Helmer and Leroy

November 11 was a red letter day in Luverne this year. Helmer and Leroy, the two remaining members of the Last Man Club opened the bottle of Bourbon, took a swig, and named  and honored their deceased friends in a last ceremony.

Helmer Haakenson is 98,  and Leroy Luitjens was 93, I believe. Helmer is the thinner man. Leroy died a couple of weeks later in November.  The club was started in 2010, comprised of Second World War veterans who met every day at the grocery store for coffee and mutual support.  My dad was a member. Every guy had a coffee cup with his name on it. Glen, the grocery store owner, provided free doughnuts. When you died, they turned your cup upside down and placed it in the cup rack on the wall.  The rack also contained a huge bottle of expensive bourbon. The bottle was to be opened by the last man, who then was to name his fallen comrades and drink a toast to their memory.

After the founder of the club died earlier this year, Helmer and Leroy decided to open the bottle at the town Veteran’s Day Ceremony. Former Governor Pawlenty’s wife was a special friend to the group, and she participated in the ceremony. Ken Burns, who featured Luverne in his documentary The War, wrote a congratulatory letter, which was read aloud.  Then they opened the bottle, drank a toast, and the name of every member was read and a passing bell was rung.

Helmer insisted that the remaining members in 2014 be honorary pall bearers at my dad’s funeral. He is a hero to me, along with Leroy. I have known them both since my childhood.  I need to write to Helmer.

Who are your heroes?

 

The Pajama Proliferation

YA and I spent Christmas Eve at my friends’ home (Alan and Julie). They have 11 grandkids, age 8 and under.  It’s chaos.  As if having that many kids hopped up on holiday sweets and anticipating gifts together in an enclosed space isn’t enough, Alan is just a big kid himself and eggs them on.

Just before we opened gifts (one at a time starting with the youngest), the pajamas were brought out. This has been a tradition for many years, complete with paparazzi-style photo session once all the kids are jammied up.  As much fun as it is, I do think about the cost of this tradition.  Everybody gets new pajamas for the occasion.  Then the next year everybody gets a new pair.  None of these pajamas gets handed down or worn the next year.  Of course, considering how fast all these kids are growing, they probably need new pajamas every year anyway!

What’s your favorite tradition?

Coping with the Cold

We drove 500 miles Tuesday straight into wind chills of -30 F.  The van performed admirably, not kicking up a fuss until we got home. The Check Engine and You are Skidding lights came on and wouldn’t turn off.  Tonight the temperature soared to 11, and the lights went off.  I don’t blame the van for the protest.  I am grateful I don’t have to take the van in for repairs.

Husband traveled to the Fort Berthold reservation tonight to find that the pipes are frozen in his tribal housing. He got tons of bottled water,  turned on the space heater, opened the cupboard doors, and prayed that the pipes thaw in the night. If not, he stays at the casino tomorrow. We remain grateful, cheerful,  and hopeful. After all, what else is there to do?

What are good ways to cope with the cold?

Second Chances

Today’s post comes from Crystalbay.

I can’t recall if I shared that my new Ragdoll kitten tragically died of cardiac arrest during a routine neutering a month ago. I read that one out of every 1100 kittens have a fatal reaction to anesthetic. “Trouble” drew the unlucky number. My vet was so devastated that he said he wanted to pay for half of the $850 cost for another Ragdoll. I searched everywhere for a kitten my remaining kitten’s age (they were littermates) and found one just two weeks older. This poor, young vet was so distraught by losing an adorable healthy young kitten that he’s called several times to see how I was doing. It’s been pretty clear that he’s the one who most needs consoling.  The breeder drove the replacement kitten here, and when she let him emerge from the carrier, I was stunned by the large size of him.  He weighs three times what my female Ragdoll does. She then said that his mom is 20 pounds and his dad 26 pounds. My expectations of replacing Trouble with another small kitten were immediately dashed!

I wrestled for two weeks deciding whether or not to keep him, and ultimately decided I would make the 15-year commitment. I landed on the perfect name for my giant kitten: Buddha. He sits around like Buddha on his throne. 

Today, I had to take him in for his pre-op exam. Tomorrow he’s being neutered and laser declawed (he’s already torn up some upholstery). First, I tried putting him in the carrier. He splayed his back legs and I couldn’t get him in. He’s so large that he can only be put in a carrier head first. A couple of tries and I gave up. My next ploy was to put him in a pillowcase – something that’s worked with 18 previous cats. He squirmed and he rolled and he fought to escape in the car, so I ended up literally trying to hold the opening shut with one hand while driving with the other. He succeeded in pushing his head up through my grip anyway, and commenced to yowl and crawl around.

Here I thought getting him to the vet would only be a problem when he’s full grown, but it appears that there may be no way to corral him for future vet visits in the future! I ended up leaving him at the clinic instead of bringing him back in the morning for his surgery. The staff said they’ll help me shove him into the carrier to come home.

This photo was taken the first time he laid on my lap a week ago. All two feet of him. I’ll also post a picture of my little girl, Sweetie.

Tell about some of your second chances.

Child-proofing

Today’s post comes from Barbara in Rivertown

It’s time to child-proof the house. We have a 22-month-old child visiting between Christmas and New Years, with her grandma (my sis) and her dad (my nephew). Although they will be sleeping at an air.bnb nearby (bless their hearts), they will still spend much time here in our little house. I’ve been trying to look around the place with “toddler eyes” and have discovered several problematic spots where Lela Ann might have a field day (and/or be in danger).

Husband and I are very used to our adult, somewhat “open and cluttered” lifestyle. I like “see through” furniture that appears to take up less space than closed cabinets, and many of the open shelves are at toddler level. Here are some potential hazards…

So I’m trying to replace breakable things on lower shelves with soft and plastic toddler-friendly things. I’ll get out my toy box, my kids’ books (at least the stiff-paged board books), and the musical instrument basket. I hope to clear one corner so she can have one place to create and leave a “mess”. I’ll try camouflaging some problematic spaces with fabric, like this on the electronics shelf:

 

When have you had to kid proof your place?

Are you having any Christmas visitors (whether you have to child-proof or not) this year?

Elusive Darkness

Today’s post comes from Barbara in Rivertown

Just as “sound pollution” makes it difficult in most of our country to find a place where there is complete quiet, “light pollution” means it’s difficult to find a place that is totally dark. You may have seen a map like this of the United States, showing our light-polluted spaces. Some of the ramifications in my life:

– The only time I have really seen the Milky Way was on a trip to Utah in 1995.

– I’ve learned to use an eyeshade in the times of more daylight, allowing me to sleep better. And when I get up in middle lf night, I don’t really need a night-light to find my way to the bathroom.

A dancer friend writes a couple of blog posts a month, and her November 28 post is about what she calls “holy darkness”.    I quote:

– “Darkness is the absence of light but it is not the absence of the Divine.”

– “Years ago friends told me about a lecture exploring how electric lights have completely changed our relationship to night and experience with darkness. Our conversation inspired us to experiment with fasting from electric lights for an entire night. We call it our holy darkness practice. We bring out candles and get very cozy. “

I hope to find a night soon, at this darkest time of year, when I can spend at least a couple of hours with just candle light, and experience what I can of darkness. How long I will last without my lamps, lighted screens, and phones I cannot say. I might read a book by candle light, or find someone to tell stories with. I will be sure to do this AFTER supper… I don’t feel like cooking over a candle flame.

What would you do with an evening of “total” darkness, except for candle light?

Christmas Fun

Today’s post comes from  Crystalbay.

I always look for inexpensive gifts for all my grand kids, then buy 12 of them. Last year, I found little attachments for iPhones to enhance the quality of pix. Only $10 each. This year, I found something called, “Flashing Disco Ball”. This amazed me on video tape. It’s a golf ball sized ball with LED lights inside it and has two sets of helicopter-like rotor blades. It senses any object within six inches, so just putting your hand or your foot within this distance, the ball rises over and over and over.

I thought I’d try using it to make sure that it even worked as advertised, then turned it on. Boy, did it ever work. The damn thing flew all over the room every time my palm approached it!! YEAH!! A great gift!! Then, things turned ugly as I decided to bring it in for a landing. I moved all over the room trying to retrieve it but each effort just sent it off in a different direction. It’d gone up and wouldn’t come down. I tried sneaking up on it with the intention of grabbing it. I did this with reservations, thinking either I’d break the rotors, or the rotors would slice my fingers. Again, it darted away.

By this time, I was desperate to bring it home, so I grabbed a broom to just whack it. It sensed the broom and made a beeline to the other corner of the room. Eventually, it just disappeared on the floor. I’ve yet to find it. It later occurred to me that if I’d just refrained from trying to catch it and it had no more resistance to something 6″ away from it, it would’ve come down on its own!

Now then, I plan to charge up all 12 (minus the one I can’t find) so that all of them can fill Steve’s living room at one time. Just try to imagine that!

What are some of your more memorable holiday gifts?

A Good Soak

I was just thinking the other day how sad it is that our ancestors went thousands and thousands of years without the joy of a long hot shower.

If you went back in time, what wouldn’t you want to do without?

A Simple Misunderstanding

I have a dear friend at work who has the most delightfully quirky elderly relatives.  They are, by and large, aunts and uncles in their 80’s and 90’s, all who speak in thick, German-Hungarian accents with very local idioms.  My friend, I will call her Donna, can relate their conversations with great accuracy, even down to the accent. She recently had two priceless conversations.

The first was with an uncle who told her “Sweetie, I have to tell you, I’m not doing so good”.  He apparently had some sort of “spell” and totaled his car after running into three others after going into reverse when he meant to go forward.  He didn’t go to the doctor since he had just been there two weeks before.  He then told Donna “Don’t be surprised if you get a call one of these days to tell you that I woke up dead”.  ” Waking up dead” happens a lot out here.  It is a one of my favorite phrases.

The other conversation was equally serious. Donna sent out a short, humorous Christmas letter this year letting people know that her oldest son and his wife had another child. Donna put photos of the two grandchildren on the page, and ended her letter with “I never thought I would be sleeping with a grandpa!” referring, of course to her husband.

Donna got a phone call from a very elderly aunt and uncle, both in their 90’s, after she sent out the letter.

Her aunt told her “We got that Christmas letter, then. That was pretty dirty. You shouldn’t talk like that. We prayed for you.”

Donna realized that her aunt and uncle missed entirely the news that she and her husband were grandparents, and thought she was bragging about sexual exploits. She patiently told them about the new grandchildren and that she was referring to her husband in the last sentence.  She told them, “You know,  I’m not one of them runaround girls “,  another lovely local phrase.  Her uncle then said:

“That is pretty funny!  Oh!! You!!” accompanied by a quick, sharp, wave of the hand to emphasize the silliness and loving exasperation he felt.   As Donna always says, you can’t make this stuff up.

When have you been misunderstood?