Really Good News!

This was snipped without permission from an email I received this week. Almost the same day our friend Pam found out that her biopsy was clean after a "bad" breast x-ray. It seems we hear a lot of bad news from friends and relatives. There is good news too. Today let us celebrate the good news!

"Well, I'm back home, none the worse for wear except for a healing hole in my femoral artery. Brenda got me checked in this morning at the unholy hour of 6:00 a.m. and all the little staffers poked me and briefed me on the impending journey into geezerhood. The head nurse for the cardiac unit, Shane, pulled me aside in the hall on the way down to the table and put it all into language I could understand. Then he pointed out the rack and told me to hop aboard. On the second try I said to hell with modesty, let my bare ass hang out, and climbed aboard without problem. Its funny how dressing all those young lovelies in baggy scrub suits de-sexualizes a room.

Shane administered a drug cocktail that would put the best street pushers to shame and I coasted into the procedure conscious, but not giving a damn. I recall minimal conversation, very little of which was directed at me, and a poking sensation in my groin area. Suddenly, the Doc snaps off his gloves and says we're all done. Remarkable, an hour and a half procedure apparently took only 25 minutes.

Shane approaches my head, grins, and says I'm fine. No blockage anywhere, nothing to push or scaffold out of the way, I can go home. Then a nurse comes over, slaps both of her hands on the hole in my groin and pushes for 10 minutes. I inquired why she didn't have some stainless steel surgical devise to do this for her and she tells me that such a device exists, but the old armstrong method is still the best way to do it. (Deep down I knew that she couldn't have been interested in my groin for 10 consecutive minutes.)

I was put in a side room for the next 4 hours and told that I had to remain flat on my back and not move my right leg; the implication being that if I did it would be on pain of death. Shane's cocktail was still working, so I got about 2 hours of sleep logged before I got bored and fidgety.

So, there's nothing wrong with my pump or plumbing. As the resident that stole my chart to read said when he returned it, "You've got a really boring health history." Brenda showed me a sampling of the photos they took of the arteries around my heart and explained what the Doc told her after I woke up. He was prepared to implant stints, but couldn't find any place that needed them. I'm sound and can head for the Colorado high country.

After puzzling on this for another half hour it dawns on me that either this Doc has made a big mistake, which is doubtful since he's got photographs and Shane was watching him; or the dipshit that read the readout from my stress test and interpreted a spot of starved heart muscle was dead wrong in his interpretation and report. I'm going with the latter guess. Next month I get to go see my friendly GP that started this carnival and I plan to be sarcastic. Unfortunately he'll just grin and tell me I should be glad we have all this baseline data to mark my eventual decline against.

Worst of all, I'll spend the next few years having to listen to Brenda tell me and everyone in ear-shot, "I knew there wasn't anything wrong with you. Now you can go back to sitting in front of the TV."

Florentines

More Nelson reunion:

The son and daughters of Florence Nelson Hanson and Bob.

'Nita, Diane, Kristy(Silver Vixen), and Judijudijudi.

Fritz and Lorna. Telling lies and laughing.

Chuck and Patty. Chuck's a little intense - hard to get him to shut his mouth for a photo.

Lorna, 'Nita, and an itinerant blogger who showed up for free food and beer.

If you haven't figure it out yet, I love these people. These are the people I grew up with. For instance, one time in the far past, the Nelson brothers and the Bergs combined to field a fastpitch softball team. We only needed to go out of the families to pick up a pitcher. They's all my folks.

Brother Can You Spare a Dime?

1931. This a perfect song. It starts out out proud, even optimistic and as it goes along, more desperate and with a key change becomes angry. Subtle things like the change from Brother, we're all in this together - then to, don't you remember me? "Everybody called me Al", and finally to the angry, "Hey Buddy can you spare a dime".

I like the Dr. John - Odetta version as music, but truly believe Odetta missed the subtleness of it, she just drags it out sad, and it gets a little long. Al Jolson just nailed it, in the over the top style of the day. Rudy Vallee also did a version that just seems sappy, maybe that was style too. Of course my favorite will aways be my daughter Addy's version. She memorized the piano music for it and sang it for me as a gift. The perfect song.

It's too bad this song has to be so appropriate again. Why hasn't Steve Earle, today's voice of the laboring man, done it? Steve, if you're out there, get with it.

Royal Enfield Revelation

Lorna and I spent yesterday with Jane and Mark "Bikesmith" Stonich on a "Home Architecture Tour", that is, we leisurely rode around Fountain Lake on our bicycles looking at neat old houses and flower gardens, even to the point of surprising Tom and Tammy Stalker, who had no idea they would be giving a tour of their home. (a shout out thanks to them).

Mark builds his own frames and yesterday he and Jane were on a pair of metallic copper beauties, his a road bike and Jane's a lovely fillet brazed mixte. Jane was in a bad bicycle accident on the http://3speedtour.com/ a few years ago and due to damage to her leg she has a problem mounting even a mixte. Once on, she rolls really well, but getting on board is a problem, even on a step-through frame, a "girl's bike". (Per Mark: it's only an issue with a mixte.) During an Enchilada break and around our kitchen table later we discussed his next project - an ultimate bike for Jane to replace her Dahon. (Per Mark,it will not replace the Dahon. And she already has other "ultimate" city bikes)

He wants to build it in the style of the Royal Enfield Revelation, a British bicycle made in the mid 1960s in Reddich, Worchestershire. Designed by Vic Bott, the Revelation was Enfield's last gasp, and less than 100, possibly as few as 50 ever made. They are all apparently in England, although there are rumors of some being imported to Holland under the Simplex name and the Dutch Batavus New Fashion is an apparent knockoff. But I digress. Mark has some large diameter lightweight tubing, a recumbent fork (Per Mark: s/b MiniVelo fork), new brazing material, and various other pieces he has ratholed. We discussed the feasibly of internal cable routing, bilaminate lugs to eliminate the triangular webs and other improvements. With an internal geared rear hub (Mark sez: s/b 1x9) and a SON20R dynamo front hub and this could be killer town bike. Or add a SRAM DualDrive with an 9-speed derailleur and it would be a 27 speed ambush special! - a wolf in sheep's clothing! Maybe he'll built two.

Cassel

I got this out of a scrapbook that James Paulson kept. Sorry it's trimmed off on the left. I know what it would have said. It would of said that Ella Lewis was an educated young school marm who married a big raw-boned hard-ass man who spent his life farming bad dirt, but always had enough money for pretty horses. Cassel ran about 6'2', wide and tough, at a time when 6' was a tall man. I knew him as a a crippled old man, his big hands swollen like baseball mitts, still trying to work. He only quit when he couldn't hold the reins of his horses, his true joy in life. His brother Jack was even taller and wider, a giant in his day. I remember them talking about growing up in Boone, Iowa when it was a coal mining town - a tough town with tough men. It was hard to imagine those two crippled old men leveling all comers in a bar room brawl. They grinned and clenched their big arthritic fists just thinking about it. 50 years later the memories of kicking someone's ass still brought joy to their hearts. I think it was all downhill after that. Life had no more asses to kick.

My grandparents lived in a rundown old house with no plumbing except one coldwater tap. It was heated with wood and oil stoves, insulated with Zane Grey paperbacks and held together with paint. But Mart (nobody ever called him Lawrence) always had good looking horses.

Nelson Re-union

Fifteen grandchildren of Harry D. and Adena Nelson came together this past weekend at Fritz and Margaret's farm from all over the U.S. and Mexico to celebrate their shared past and common gene pool. As you can see from the photos they were all freshly washed and wearing their best T-shirts and bibs to impress the relatives. The weather was gorgeous and sitting on the crest of a hill on the old Louie Herth place, the locale is stunning, with rambling perennial gardens and a five mile vista. Earlier I said it was Fritz and Margaret's farm. It's not. Judging by the restored horse barn and a enormous hippodrome, it belongs to Margaret, her horses and the pack of dachshunds who guard the farm against rabbits, squirrels and other interlopers. Fritz is allowed to live there only as long as he performs his services in a satisfactory manner.

After milling around talking, drinking dark, hoppy beer and picnic wine, Chuck Shaw's finest, we moved to the open garage for a little food - a potluck of traditional picnic dishes - barbecued pork, Clarks Grove salad, and various wonderful desserts. When you assemble a group of older (can I say that?) Danish ladies, all giving it their best shot, you can really eat well.

After having "a little lunch" people pulled the chairs into a circle and talked smart, shared memories and passed around old albums, snapshots and scrapbooks. A high point was Chuck Nelson and Patty announcing their pending marriage, which of course surprised no one, but was still touching. An nice advantage for the family was a standing invitation for free room and board at their home in Baja. I think we should surprise them en masse. As eyelids started getting heavier we went into the house for a book exchange. Now, I have to tell you, it's wonderful marrying into a family that has book exchanges. These are not prearranged. When they get together they just all bring stacks of books to share. There were more books there than a small library, all with personal reviews. Just wonderful!

Late in the evening people drifted off to their homes or hosts, only to reassemble in the morning at our home for "a little breakfast'', consisting of a baked egg, cheese, onion, sausage, etc dish, assorted fresh fruit and ABELESKIVER! with Hope Creamery butter and maple syrup...and more coffee and talking.

Monday morning Fritz and his sister, Judijudijudi climbed on his BMW and headed for L.A. where he will drop her off and then motor back to Minnesota. Lorna and I took her brother, Kurt and sister, Joy to the airport in Minneapolis and returned home to a life finally winding back to normal again.

Clarks Grove Salad

1 7 oz pkg shell macaroni

1 can peas

I can French style green beans

2 c shredded carrots

1 can kidney beans

Drain & marinate 1 hr in 1 c wt vinegar

Mix : 2 c mayonnaise

1/2 pt whipping cream

½ c sugar

1 jar mustard

Pour over drained vegetables and add macaroni.

Add: 1 sm diced onion

1 green pepper

1 c celery

Make one day ahead. Keeps for 2 to 3 weeks.

Fresh vegetables may be substituted…then referred to as Geneva Salad.

Abeleskiver (including penciled margin notes)

2 cups flour

½ tsp salt

1 tsp sugar

2 cups buttermilk

2 eggs, separated

1 tsp baking soda

Melted butter

Pre-heat pan for 15 minutes on medium heat.

Beat egg yolks until they’re light. Add sugar and beat until thickened. Sift dry ingredients and add, alternating with butter and milk. Beat egg whites until soft and fold into batter. Fill iron pan cups 2/3 full. Cook medium until bubbly and turn over with a fork. Cook until they are golden brown.

If using apples or other fruit, pre-cook fruit and push in little pieces before turning over.

Make 3x or 4x for Christmas, depending on how many are coming.

Reading

The other day a friend sent me something he thought I would be interested in. I was. Who could not be interested in: Regional Climate Change Adaptation Strategies for Biodiversity Conservation in a Mid Continental Region of North America. This is the kind of stuff I love and Jim knows it. I used to fly through these papers, sucking in information, devouring it, then go back and hit the high spots I didn't quite process the first time through. The goal was information which I could convert into knowledge, then ideally package it with other knowledge into that nebulous thing we call wisdom.

As I have been working my way through this little nugget it has dawned on me that I have become a plodder. I have to go back and re-read and re-read things that don't stick. It's strange, I used to read one line per sight grab, or even two or three per click; now it's short phrases, even 3 or 4 words chunks. But hey, I have time and I'm learning to enjoy the process rather than the result. I don't have any goddamned choice. Mother nature is a really tough reading instructor.

Joe Mauer

I am not as rabid

a baseball fan as my wife (who was also a better ballplayer than I was). Our home team, the Twins are a very good Major League baseball team, with minor league pitchers, with the exception of closer Joe Nathan. The only way I can watch them is to concentrate on the play of Justin Morneau on first base, and more specifically catcher Joe Mauer, who is just an amazing ball player. I have followed baseball for 50 years and I've never seen a better player, certainly not a catcher.

He calls a nearly perfect game. When he guns the throw down to second the shortstop doesn't even have to move his glove. The ball is delivered 3" off the ground just to the first base side of the bag. At first you think that it is a fortune throw, but he does it time after time. Eventually they've pretty much stopped trying to steal. Defensively he's good enough that last year he was the Rawlins Gold Glove winner.

This year he started late, missing the first month and a half with a strained back. Still his numbers are pretty good, as he's finally delivering the power that was expected of him. As of last night this is the way it stands. If he had played in the early season, he might be running the board.

• 1st AL AVG (.383)
• 10th AL RBI (77)
• 1st AL SLG (.653)
• 9th AL HR (25)
• 1st AL OBP (.448)
• 1st AL OPS (1.101)

Incidently he was not only the top rated high school baseball player, he also was the top ranked football player, throwing 42 touchdown passes his senior year. Go Joe.

Old Oaks and John Prine

Cheri R. and I were corresponding today about landmarks and a particular old oak. I am not a sophisticated person. I do not live in the world of the vagueries of poetry. It's plain song lyrics that run through my mind. "...old trees just grow stronger, and old rivers grow wilder every day", - an amazingly perceptive song written by a then young John Prine. With age he has grown into his song.

Then, he turns it around and gives us the perspective of an older woman pining for what might have been, "If dreams were lightning, thunder was desire, this old house would have burnt down a long time ago". Now ain't that a great line?

And last, a short story of awkward, even ugly, young "love". I heard Prine say he can always tell the newcomers, because they laugh...and the old regulars turn to them and glare their disapproval.

It's tough to narrow it down to three songs of John Prine. There are a dozen that should be here. Sam Stone? Paradise? The Speed of Loneliness? Souveniors? How could I leave any of them off? Eh? Oh, and how about Jesus Christ, the Missing Years?

You Know You're Rural If...

From the A.L. Tribune:

WELLS — A few years ago it was illegal. Cow plop bingo returned to Kernel Days in Wells after event organizers learned it was legal with stipulations. In cow plop bingo, a cow grazes of an area divided into boxes, and the object is to pick the square the cow does its business onto.

The Wells Chamber of Commerce board received a letter from the Minnesota Gambling Control Board after the event in 2006 stating such gambling was not allowed because participants could sway the animal toward a square. “We just got a letter warning us that can’t be done because it’s not a game of chance, so to speak. They thought the potential for manipulation was there,” said Rick Herman, who was on the chamber board at the time. More here.

Neighborhood Barred Owls

Lynn Koza, down the street on Cedar Avenue, took this photo of a juvenile Barred Owl, one of three fledged in her backyard. It is a prime candidate for my owl house.

The Great FLYdini

Barb Wagner, a very funny lady, tells the filthiest, most tasteless jokes imaginable. She toned it down a notch with this classic - one I could actually post. Thanks Barb, I hope to see you soon.