cocoa, cottage cheese, ice cream and Jergen's

My youngest son is home on Christmas break from college. He just completed his first semester and all indications are that he has been asked to return for another. One down, 7 to go. In preparation for his return home I stocked up on the essentials: Chocolate milk, egg nog, and Yoo Hoo. You are probably familiar with the first two. The third is a drink, a dairy by-product that looks like chocolate milk, tastes like chocolate milk, has the consistency of water and a shelf life equal to plutonium 239. But, my little boy was coming home, and after they have been gone awhile you tend to forget how much they drive you crazy and want to give them the creature comforts they miss at college: clean sheets, a full refrigerator and Yoo Hoo. Stocking up the fridge, I was reminded of how my grandparents would do the same for me when I came to visit. As one of the very youngest of dozens of grandchildren, my grandparents, especially my grandma, would dote on me. At the time, I did not recognize this as doting, but rather as them being cool adults that didn't constantly tell me what to do like those pesky parents. They would always have, as grandma called it, 'Nestlie's Coco', cottage cheese, and ice cream on hand for me. It's safe to say my sweet tooth was in high gear during my stays there. Grandma was blind, she lost her sight about the time I was born. She was diabetic, and glaucoma took her sight and one of her eyes. She had a glass eye and every once in awhile we'd tell her, 'Grandma, your eye is crooked'. She would then adjust it and asked how it looked. Better now. Since she never really saw me, when I would arrive at their house, she would use her hands to 'see' me, determining how much I had grown, how long my hair was (not a chance of that, if you knew my dad), and how much tummy I had, always ample. Without fail, she would feel my elbows, always dry, chapped and scarred. She would note how rough they were and then lead me to the kitchen where she kept her Jergen's lotion. Grandma would then apply the first of many coats of Jergen's and at the end of my stay, they were softer and definitely greasier. Grandma knew precisely where everything was in her house. Often, she would have to tell Grandpa (whose eyes worked just fine) where something was. Grandma always hummed and sang, and could put a record on the record player, set the needle, and listen to music all day. When she was younger and still had her sight, she would play the organ and accompany my uncle Palmer, who played the guitar and mandolin. When my dad was young, he and my grandma would hire out to harvest potatoes, working side by side in the fields during harvest time.It was the depression, and there was a family to feed. My dad was always very close to his mother, or 'mum' as he called her. I suspect this closeness was formed during those potato harvests, when they would spend very long days together. Despite her blindness, grandma never complained. her glass was always full. She loved to dress up and go out to dinner or just 'visiting'. When I would stay with my grandparents, they would get me all cleaned up and we would go out 'visiting' the relatives. I sat between them in the front seat of their '57 Chevy, and grandma would ask me how many cars grandpa passed. I don't think that endeared me to grandpa, but it was just part of the day with them. Grandma passed away at the age of 80, the first close relative of mine to die. I think she would be pleased that I get the things my son likes for his visits. She would approve of my son too, feeling his face, his tummy, his elbows. She might make a comment about his hair, but that would not stop her from pouring him a glass of chocolate milk. And maybe a little Jergen's on his elbows.

Adios Colonel Potter

A week or two ago actor Harry Morgan died. He had acted in movies and TV shows for years and was best known for playing the character Col. Sherman T. Potter on the TV show MASH. Col. Potter came from the Midwest, so the writers gave him a homespun feel and attitude. He had a plethora of sayings he would utter in times of amazment, joy, anger, frustration, you name the mood and there was a 'Sherman Potterism' to fit the occasion. I remember such Potterisms as "buffalo bagels", "galloping horse flesh", "suffering saddle soap", "horse hockey", "what in the name of sweet fanny adams" and countless others. My favorite Potterism was Potter telling Hawkeye that when he was made a Colonel, the bone in his head that makes him explain orders was removed. I took license from that and would tell people that when I was 35, I had the operation. What operation? The operation to remove the bone in my head that makes me explain everything I do. Over the years, this has earned a few laughs and allowed me to avoid going into depth when I did not feel like it. At times, this has also caused some frustration for others. Once such instance was just this week, when I failed to provide more attention to a situation. As a matter of fact, I was somewhat inattentive and it hurt and pissed off a person I have known for years. I went blithely on my way, doing the daily work of life, and thinking I was on top of things. Well I was not, and was called on it, as I should have been. Although I did not verbally apply my Potterism to this person, it happened at a sub or semi conscience level. Not a good decision. I cannot change what happened; the best I can do is apologize and try to do better. I hope Colonel Potter would approve of that. Rest in Peace Harry Morgan. Thanks for all the laughs. If you see Dad and Gene, tell them I said hi. Holy Hemostat!

happy birthday dad

Today would have been my dad's 90th birthday. Of course I cannot say he would have lived to be ninety. His father, my grandpa, lived to 95, and dad's two older sisters lived into their nineties, so long lived genes would have been on his side. But, he took up the habit of smoking, probably in his teens, and didn't stop until he had a heart attack at the age of 55. It was a big one, and a couple years later he had another, forcing him to retire. He did not live a long life, as he died at 63. He certainly lived a life of variety. He was born at home in 1921, the fourth of 8 kids. At age 12 or 13 he quit school and went to work, it was the Great Depression and there were a lot of mouths to feed. He never had a Christmas as we know it, as poverty was a way of life. He grew up in rural Minnesota, worked hard, and played hard. At age 21 we was drafted into the Army, and was sent off to win World War II, the first time he ever left home. It would be almost 4 years before he came home again. During that time his big brother was killed in the war, and Dad saw and experienced things that he never, if ever, spoke of. He came back a changed man, according to my aunts and uncles. He was in the Battle of the Bulge, spending the brutal winter of 1944 - 45 in the Bastogne. He occupied Bergtesgarden after the end of the war. He was destined to be part of the invasion of Japan, but the atom bomb changed that. After the war, he came home, married my mom, and resumed a normal life. He was a chicken farmer, saw mill worker, deputy sheriff, bread truck driver, loading dock foreman, maintenance man, locksmith. He had a keen mind and liked his beer. He never laid a hand on me, although when he raised his voice, I would pay attention. He never made a lot of money, but we always had food on the table, a home, and clothes to wear. He loved my mom, his kids, and adored his grandchildren. Dad loved to fish, play cards, watch wrestling and soap operas (The Young and the Reckless, as he called them). He was an excellent marksman. He could fix anything and loved to build. In the late 70's I bought Dad a train set for Christmas. He never had toys as a kid, so I thought he might get a kick out of it. He loved setting up his little train set and showing it off, then placing it carefully in the little box he built to keep it in. He loved to go for drives and take off  with my mom in their camper trailer. Sometimes I would look at Dad and see a faraway look in his eyes, I wondered what he was thinking about, where he was in his, was he thinking about the war, his brother, the things he saw? In my life I have few regrets, but I do regret Dad did not live to see my boys. They would have loved him, and he would have doted and spoiled them. In my boys I see dad. I see the mischievous side in my youngest son. I see the intensity in my oldest. Dad really missed out on two great kids, not to mention the other grandkids and what exceptional people they grew to be. I also see Dad in my brother, and I suppose he sees Dad in me. The same, and different. And sometimes, I catch myself lost in thought, with a faraway look in my eyes. I would do that as a kid too, and Dad would say, " are you alright son? You look so lonesome.." Well, yes I am. I am lonesome for you Dad. Happy Birthday.

and that, as they say, is that

I have been working on my Master's Degree for almost 5 years. One class at a time, I have been reading, writing papers, doing presentations and preparing research. Next week, I will finish the last class. After that, all (all?) I have to do is my capstone, or thesis. This means attending 2 more classes, one to choose the topic, one to write and present. In August of 2012 I will be all done. At that time, I could add a couple initials after my name on my email signature and business cards. I don't know if I will do that, as I am Norwegian and we generally don't like to call attention to ourselves. In the past 5 years, almost everyone I know, or am related to, asks me, "what is the Master's in?", meaning, what is the degree in, or for? The answer to that, if you are curious, is a Master of Science in Information Technology Management. What I find curious, though, is that no one has ever asked me why I am in pursuit of this degree, what do I need this piece of paper for? The answer: because I can. That may seem arrogant, perhaps even self centered.The thing is, I never, ever, thought I would be a college graduate, let alone finish graduate school. I grew up in a blue collar family, my dad had an eighth grade education, my mom finished high school, but no college. I fully expected to graduate high school, get a job doing something, have a life. College was for the other kids, the kids who took the advanced classes in high school, the ones whose families had money. I graduated 25th out of 100 in my high school. No algebra, no biology, no chemistry or physics, no foreign language. But I did learn 2 things in high school: I learned how to weld, and I learned how to write a paper. Thanks Sherrill. The first thing got me my first job, the second got me through my undergraduate and graduate school. My career path in life has not been linear, there have been many stops and detours along the way. Jobs, but no careers. Learning, but no education. The pieces of paper I earned along the way don't make me a better person, or smarter than the next guy, they are just part of the journey. The word career was not in my lexicon until 17 years ago. Neither was the word lexicon.