The Waiting Is The Worst

Five weeks seems like a long time.

Five weeks.

Thirty-five days.

Eight hundred and fifty two and one-half hours from the time this entry posts.

That's a very long time when waiting for what ranks among the best days of the year. I speak, of course, of the St. Louis Blues regular season opener.

Almost all other activities in our home will take a backseat on the evening of October 3rd to the puck dropping on the new season. While I love the St. Louis Cardinals Baseball Club; even they can't compare to the passion I have for St. Louis Blues Hockey.

It seems like such a long time ago that we were eliminated from the playoffs; dashing my hopes once and for all of this being "The Year" for us to hoist the coveted Stanley Cup. Last year is behind us now. The moment the puck touches the ice on October 3rd provides renewed hope that this will truly be "The Year."

I am ready.

There is nothing left for me to do but wait.

The waiting is the worst...

Reflection

My birthday came and went earlier this week. I make it a point to ignore my birthday; not out of some false sense of pride about growing older, but because my birthday can never live up to my past.

I was born on Dad's 27th birthday.

An only son born to an only son.

The one who would carry on the Brader name.

All kids love their birthdays, but mine were extra special because they were a day I shared with Dad. Birthdays were something to be celebrated together; an only son sharing the special day with his only son.

Dad and I always looked at the Cardinals' schedule and picked a baseball game to attend for our birthday celebration. We picked doubleheaders whenever there was one close to the actual day. We bought cheap seats way up near the top of the old Busch Stadium where we watched the game, ate hot dogs and shared a root beer.

We also went to IHOP on the Saturday closest to our birthday to get hot fudge sundaes together. We told the waitress about our shared birthday and she always brought the sundaes with a candle in the top of each one. They didn't make a big show of our birthday like restaurants do today; it was just a simple candle in recognition of our special day.

Birthdays were something to be celebrated together; an only son sharing the special day with his only son.

Dad left us far too soon. Mom tried to make my 13th birthday special, but nothing she could do would be able to replace the gaping hole left by Dad's death. For years I put on outward appearances for Mom; after all, it was a birthday she struggled with, too, I'm sure. Eventually, though, I just did away with appearances and tried to let my birthday pass like any other day. It still hurt inside, but I did my best to ignore it all and move on.

That all changed once Diane and the boys were in the picture. While I still wish I could just ignore the day; they want to celebrate my birthday. So I go through the motions. It's not the same, though, because birthdays were something to be celebrated together; an only son sharing the special day with his only son.

Return of an Old Friend...

My Monday morning walk with Sadie was a special day. It marked the first time this season that I have been able to see the constellation Orion in the morning sky.

Orion is my favorite constellation. Its appearance in the Northern Hemisphere is a harbinger of the coming of Winter; and the multitude of hunting opportunities it brings with it.

I was able to see constellations in the predawn sky for the first time in a long time Monday morning. It is that time of the year that the nights grow longer and the darkness refuses to unleash its hold on the Earth until later into each morning. It is that time of the year that I can once again marvel at the beauty of the Creation that is our Universe.

I realize that I am one of the few people who yearns for the days each year when sunlight is at its shortest and the darkness is long. I love those few days each year when I drive both to and from work in darkness.

Orion's reappearance reminds me that those days are drawing near. Even the forecast of a miserably hot and humid day could not dampen the excitement that came with my first glimpse of Orion in the Eastern sky. 

Soon, our planet's annual pilgrimage around the sun will allow Orion to rule the night. It is then that I will revel in the long, dark, cold nights of a Wisconsin Winter.

Welcome back, Orion! I have missed you.

A Week At Nana and Papa's!!!

There was always something special about my week at Nana and Papa's house. I have no idea what the girls did on their week, but my week was pretty much the best week of the summer.

Nana and I typically spent one day shopping at either at Maplewood or Hampton Village. A trip to Maplewood invariably included a stop for a hot dog at the Woolworth's lunch counter. Other than that outing, most of my outings were much more fun for Nana, I'm sure.

One of my favorite activities was riding the bus downtown to play on the USS Inaugural minesweeper moored at the riverfront. Nana and I spent hours cranking the antiaircraft guns to shoot down the helicopters that flew overhead, or prowling through the depths of the ship. Nana patiently went along; even climbing the ladders between the various decks.

We also spent at least a couple of afternoons on the abandoned bridge at the end of Flyer Avenue that looked out over the Frisco Railroad yard. Nana brought a lawn chair and her crochet bag and sat there crocheting for hours as I watched the switching engines in the yard build and move trains in preparation for their journeys to who knows where.

Yes, Nana and I had a wonderful time during my week with them. I'm sure she enjoyed the outings with me much more than the girlie things she did with Debbie, Kim and Beth.

Nana always had lunch ready for all of us so we were ready to eat at precisely 12:05 when Papa got home for his half-hour lunch break each day. Papa ate lunch and headed back to work while Nana and I got back to our important activities like watching trains, playing Wiffle ball in the back yard or practicing my flycasting as Sammy the cat chased the line around the yard.

Yes, I'm sure Nana enjoyed my week there much more than a week with any of the girls. The girls probably slept in in the morning and shopped a lot - except for Debbie, of course, who probably sat and read most of the time during her week at Nana and Papa's!

One of the best parts of my week with Nana and Papa was the nightly visits to Wilmore Park to go fishing. Nana packed sandwiches, chips and cans of Vess sodas for our dinner and we left as soon as Papa cleaned up after work and headed to the park for an evening of fishing. Papa normally took a lawn chair and the newspaper. Nana took a lawn chair and her crochet bag. I fished until the gathering darkness sent us back to the car to head back home for the night.

Papa and I watched television together while Nana cleaned up from the picnic. Most nights, Papa and I took that opportunity to "secretly" munch on Indian brand Corn Chips. Papa wasn't supposed to have them because the salt set off his Gout, but that never seemed to stop him during my week there.

Yes, as I think back on it, spending a week with Nana and Papa was the highlight of the summer. I'm sure they were thrilled to pick me up to start my week with them and I'm sure they were equally thrilled to drop me off at the end of the week. Probably not as thrilled as they were to drop off the girls, though...

Timeless...

Counting birthdays stops being a big deal at some point in our lives. It's not that we don't remember and, perhaps, even celebrate; it's merely that the day marks an anniversary of our birth and not some big event. I think the change in attitude really happened in our lives when we had kids. Celebrating their birthdays became the focus.

That being said, Diane celebrates a birthday this weekend. Age doesn't really matter in our relationship any more, so mentioning her age is pointless. What matters is that Sunday will mark a day that is very special to me because it marks the anniversary of the birth of the most wonderful woman on Earth.

No one would ever guess that she is older than me. In fact, most people are convinced that she is much younger than me. Perhaps it's because she continues to grow more beautiful while I just grow older. Perhaps it's because she is so mature and I'm, let's just say not so mature.

I think, though, it's just because everyone realizes how timeless a woman like Diane is.

Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. (Prov. 31:29)

Happy Birthday, Diane.

Not This Year, Though

It's the time of year when we would normally be deep into preparations for sending one or both of the boys back to school.

Not this year, though.

It feels odd to be doing something different after six years of the same routine.

No scrambling to make sure they had everything they would need for laundry and classes. No getting boxes loaded with their belongings together to ship so they will be waiting in their room when they check into the dorm.

Not this year, though.

They have both graduated and moved on to the next stage of their lives. College is behind them and "real life" is staring them in the face.

Maybe the day will come in their futures when they spend this time in August preparing their own children to head off to college and Diane and I, if we're still around, will relive those days vicariously through our boys.

Not this year, though.

The Silo

Silos are a great place to hide. Okay, not the silo itself, but the small connector between the silo and the barn provides a great hiding spot for a game of hide and seek. I know this because I spent a long time hiding in the silo connector on Sauerman's farm. It was such a good hiding spot that I used it more than once.

The Sauerman's farm was one of the best places on Earth to play hide and seek. Their yard and barn overflowed with great hiding places. A single game of hide and seek seemed to take forever; especially if you were "it" and were trying to find everyone else.

Dick was usually the hardest to find because he knew every hiding place. In fact, teaming up with one of the Sauerman kids provided the best chance of finding a good hiding spot.

I teamed up with Nancy one day to find the best spot. I don't remember who was "it" at the time, but we took off for the silo as soon as they started counting. We sneaked into the silo connector to hide; and there we stayed. There were gaps in the wall boards that someone could peek through to see the inside of the connector, so we couldn't just stand on the ground. We had to hide better than that!

The solution was to climb partway up the ladder that scaled the side of the silo. A few rungs were all that was necessary to be invisible to anyone who didn't want to crawl through the opening in the barn but, instead, just peeked through the gaps in the wall.

No one ever thought to go in there and look up.

As a result, it was the perfect hiding place. Nancy and I hid in there together more than once until, eventually, our hiding place was revealed. Debbie, Kim and Beth teased me relentlessly that we had hid in there so I could kiss her. We didn't kiss, though. In fact, it would have been kind of hard since whichever one of us was lower on the ladder could, at best, only be able to kiss the other one's ankles because they were on higher rungs.

That didn't stop the speculation and teasing, though.

The only thing that bothered me about the teasing was that it wasn't true.

Work Weekend

One weekend each year; normally right around this time of the year, we head out for an annual working day on Mike's farm where we deer hunt. The work is hard but the camaraderie around the campfire and as we work lightens the load significantly. Work day includes running brush mowers through the various trails, cleaning up deadfall and clearing shooting lanes around our stands. Our main goal is to take back the trails from the summer growth of underbrush and the seemingly ubiquitous multiflora rose.

The work was made a bit easier this year since Mike bought a brush mower to complement mine. We also had Matthew along this year and put his 22 year old might to work! There's a certain excitement that goes with the work day. It's our first step to get ready for this year's deer hunting season.

We headed up to the farm after work Friday. We were a bit surprised to learn that we had - unbeknownst to us - selected the same weekend as the 2013 Cannon Run Party; a massive camping and music festival hosted at the small saloon just 1/8 mile from Mike's farm. The Cannon Run Party attracts thousands of bikers and campers. We were told there were 7,000 people at last year's party and they expected 10,000 at this year's event. The thirty, or so, acres behind the saloon were completely packed with campers and tents. The surrounding fields were filled with the cars and motorcycles of those who came to party but not stay at the temporary campground.

There were people everywhere. We learned that people started arriving Tuesday. The actual party started Wednesday and ran through Saturday night.

Did I mention that it was also a music festival? The stage was positioned to pretty much throw all of the sound directly at Mike's farm where we were camping Friday night. The music (really bad music, I might add) was very loud and ran until Midnight. I guess they figured most folks would be too liquored up to notice how talentless the bands were so they didn't want to waste money on a band with talent

We snuffed out our campfire and headed to the barn to sleep at around quarter after ten. I can pretty much sleep through anything so I was sound asleep by 10:20. Apparently Matthew has the same ability because the other guy bunking in the barn reported that we were both out and snoring in nothing flat. Apparently, Mike and Scott did not get a wink of sleep until after the bands finally stopped playing shortly after Midnight.

I was up at 4:45 - after all, I had fallen asleep quickly. The other three were lazy bums and didn't roll out of bed for another two hours (more in Mike's case).

We stoked up the fire, made breakfast and got to work. For the next six hours we mowed, cut trees, mowed some more and cut some more trees. It was brutal work that left all of us bleeding from our contact with the brambles and thorns. It didn't help matters that my asthma decided to flare up in major fashion.

We finally finished the hard work around 3:00 and headed up for lunch. The rest of the day was "fun time" as we picked a spot for a new treestand for Matthew and me this season and took to the field for a little shooting fun! Matthew had a chance to shoot his new rifle; putting multiple bullets through the same ragged hole. It's a nice rifle - and his shooting wasn't too bad, either.

Dinner at Burger King and the long drive home wrapped up our workday. We headed back home to our own beds and bathrooms; ready for to sleep like babies after the day.

The good part of workday is that we get a lot of work done to be ready for hunting. The bad part of workday is that I will be obsessed with thinking about deer season from now until November 23.

It can't come soon enough!!!!

The Lodge

Some of my most treasured childhood memories were formed at the magical place known as The Lodge.

The Lodge was a working turkey farm owned by Banquet Foods; for which Dad worked for many years. The Lodge had turkey rearing areas, of course, but there was also a beautiful guest home that sat on the highest point on the grounds. The Lodge had three bedrooms furnished to handle two people in each room along with a sleeper sofa in the grand living room that had glass walls on three sides overlooking the expanse of the grounds.

The grounds included two fishing lakes. They seemed massive at the time, but in retrospect, they were relatively small.

Dad, as a Banquet Foods executive, was allowed to reserve The Lodge for our family's use for week-long or long-weekend vacations. We had some wonderful times at The Lodge.

Our trips to The Lodge usually began with a stop to see the Flemings in Moberly. The Flemings were an elderly couple who, many years earlier, had somehow been involved in starting the company that had become Banquet Foods. Their chairs were set upon small platforms to get in and out of the chairs more easily.

They were royalty on thrones to my young mind.

Mr. Fleming had a wonderful collection of mechanical iron banks; some of which he would bring out, load a penny and let us activate. I remember being amazed at seeing the hunter shoot a penny into a hole in the tree behind a ducking bear. I think Mr. Fleming was always glad for a chance to show off his banks.

Mrs. Fleming, on the other hand, had filled most of the house with a collection of knick knacks; most of which were extremely fragile and, I'm sure, quite expensive. Their home was like a museum.

We were always strongly admonished to sit quietly on the floor in the Fleming's living room without touching anything. Back then, children visiting an elderly couple only spoke when spoken to. Dad once told me that we were among the few children Mr. and Mrs. Fleming welcomed into their home because we were so polite and well behaved. I'm sure they realized that our behavior was largely influenced by the fear of suffering a slow and painful death at the hands of our parents if we were out of line at their home, but we were welcomed nonetheless.

After our visit with Mr. and Mrs. Fleming we would climb back into our station wagon and head to The Lodge.

A long gravel drive snaked its way between the two lakes and up the hill toward The Lodge. We were finally there!

A display case sat just inside the front door; filled with a collection of fishing equipment. The bedrooms sat off the hallway leading back to the living room. It was from that living room that we would look out over the grounds; nearly overflowing with excitement for what the days ahead would bring.

We watched the farmhands care for the turkeys, of course. The turkeys were white and they were large. There were hundreds of them in the yard and barns. The noise in the turkey barn was deafening, but we didn't care.

We used to play on the LP tank in the yard, too. It was such fun to climb to the top of the tank and play King Of The Hill, or just straddle the large tank; hitting it to hear the booming resonance of our blows on the hollow tank.

The best times, of course, were the times we spent fishing on the lakes. We usually just fished from shore; casting our lines out into the lake and waiting patiently for a passing fish to grab the worm dangling from the hook. We caught many bluegills, as well as a few bass. The real treat, though, was when Kim hooked a MONSTER!!! Her rod bent almost in half as she struggled to reel in what must certainly have been the biggest fish in the lake. Her excitement instantly changed to sheer terror as she caught a glimpse of the large Common Snapping Turtle on the end of her line.

Kim - who was never all that fond of the long grass, bugs, ticks, snakes or other wildlife around The Lodge anyway - let loose with a shriek certain to be heard throughout the entire county, dropped her fishing rod and ran from the gap in the long grass where she had been fishing. Dad rescued her fishing rod, but that was largely unnecessary; Kim was finished fishing. I doubt that Kim has ever picked up a fishing rod again.

We spent many wonderful days at The Lodge through the years; each one another block in the mighty wall of memories that made up our youth.

The Sunshine House

It takes a lot to get thrown out of The Sunshine House. Although the quaint little building was technically named the House Of Sunshine, it was known as The Sunshine House; and it was there that a small group of us made our mark the summer that I turned ten years old.

The Montgomery County Historical Society describes the Sunshine House as,

"THE HOUSE OF SUNSHINE is a symbol of goodwill.

It was in the early 1920's that a small publishing business was started in Litchfield, based on the theory that goodwill is more surely the basis of success for the business and professional man today than it was two thousand years ago, when the Man of Galilee went about spreading sunshine."

This little shrine of goodwill was situated in a small park in Litchfield, Illinois; a location that I never had any real cause to visit had it not been for a broken down bus.

The St Louis Bruins Hockey Club scheduled an outing to see the Lincoln sites in Springfield, Illinois as a fun summer activity for any families who wanted to go. Our family quickly signed up to go.

We loaded everyone onto the hockey club's old school bus and headed out for Springfield early one morning. The bus was filled with families enjoying the day together. Mr. Rancillio drove while the rest of us participated in various activities in the back. I'm not sure what the adults or girls were doing, but the group of hockey players were having a great time!

Everything was going great until the bus broke down on Interstate 55 just North of the city of Litchfield, Illinois. There we sat on the shoulder; stuck. While I'm sure the adults were busily working to figure out how to handle the situation, the rest of us were having a dandy time in the back. So we had a minor change of plans. We could live with that.

Mr. Rancillio managed to arrange to have the bus and passengers towed back to Litchfield where a small garage opened and allowed him to use their facilities to work on the bus. The rest of us unloaded the picnic supplies from the bus and made our way to Sunshine Park on the eastern edge of town.

There really wasn't a lot for us to do in this park. None of us had brought baseball gloves or balls or other recreational equipment because this trip was supposed to be somewhat "educational" in nature. So we were stuck in the park.

It wasn't a large park. In fact, you could stand in one spot and see the entire park; including this building in the middle known as The Sunshine House.

The Sunshine House had been the headquarters of  Sunshine Publications; a company dedicated to producing newsletters designed to encourage people and promote love and goodwill. The house was no longer serving as the publisher's office, but was open to the public for free tours where their message of goodwill and encouragement was espoused by the elderly woman who served as the tour guide. Having nothing else to do, we made our way to The Sunshine House for a tour or two or three.

The Sunshine House was filled with knick-knacks and trinkets that the tour guide took very seriously - way too seriously, if you ask me. Now you can probably imagine what a small group of hockey players anywhere from six years old to sixteen years old would do when put into such a situation. The Coon twins, Danny and Dennis, and I decided to visit The Sunshine House.

We were little angels.

Well, perhaps we may have been counted among the number of the fallen angels that summer. We laughed and joked and generally entertained ourselves in The Sunshine House to the point where the elderly woman whose whole life was devoted to spreading love, cheer and goodwill threw us out of the place. She pointed us right out the door and sent us back into the park.

That certainly wasn't very Sunshine-y of her.

We were not a group to be easily dissuaded, so we did what every group of boys would do in the same situation - we went back. It did not take very long for her to decide that we had not repented of our ways during our absence so she threw us out of the house again.

Now she was really beginning to get on our nerves!!! She was, after all, the self-appointed ambassador of goodwill! How could she not be tolerant of the horrible fate of being trapped in this park with nothing to do but visit The Sunshine House?

Our return visit was not met with much love, cheer or goodwill, I'm afraid. Danny, Dennis and I were thrown out of The Sunshine House for a third time. We were beginning to think that she really didn't like us very much.

Our transportation situation eventually resolved and we loaded up to return to St. Louis; our plans to visit the Lincoln sites in Springfield ruined for that day. I'm sure the elderly woman in The Sunshine House was never so happy to see a group leave the park as when she watched us make our way out.

We were able to reschedule our visit to Springfield at a later date, but we never made it back to Litchfield or that monument to goodwill, The Sunshine House. The Sunshine House is still there; although it is no longer part of the park. It now operates as a coffee house and religious bookstore. I wouldn't be surprised if, hidden somewhere in the bowels of that building, there are pictures of Danny, Dennis and me with a warning to never allow us to set foot in the building again.

Captain Kangaroo - In The Flesh!

Milwaukee used to host the annual Great Circus Parade through the streets of downtown. It was a wonderful event that encompassed many days leading up to the big day. The antique circus wagons would be loaded onto a train at Circus World Museum in Baraboo, Wisconsin and take a circuitous route through the state before reaching the Milwaukee lakefront to prepare for the parade. They would set up a small circus on the staging grounds in the days leading up to the parade.

The parade itself was always a spectacle; dozens of completely restored antique circus wagons being pulled by teams of horses through downtown Milwaukee. Tens of thousands of people lined the streets; some staking out their prime viewing spot days in advance of the big day. PBS broadcast the parade for several years. Their broadcast was hosted by none other than Bob Keeshan; Captain Kangaroo himself!

Diane's brother worked in one of the office buildings along the parade route. The building owners set up bleachers and offered reserved tickets to their tenants. Dick managed to get six tickets so Diane and I went with her parents and Dick and Carol.

Having reserved seats meant we could wander around before the parade without fear of losing our coveted viewing spot. One year, I took Diane down to the PBS broadcast truck to see if any of the folks I knew were working on the broadcast. I stopped short on our way back to the bleachers when I saw Bob Keeshan standing in the street going over his notes with the producer.

There he was... Captain Kangaroo IN THE FLESH!!!!!!!!!!!! He wasn't in his Captain Kangaroo costume, of course, but there was not mistaking that the hero of my childhood was standing a mere fifty feet from me.

I immediately did what any "normal" person would do... I said, "C'mon, Diane!!! Let's go meet Captain Kangaroo!!!!!"

Diane was appalled. We couldn't just jump over the police barricade and walk up to Captain Kangaroo in the middle of the street!!!

Well, I must admit that I embarrassed Diane a bit. I worked with many celebrities during my years in broadcast engineering work and it really isn't a big deal to see them away from the set. Most of them fall into one of two camps; they're just normal people who aren't really looking for a lot of attention, or total knobs who you don't want to acknowledge in public anyway for fear of them opening their mouths.

But Captain Kangaroo was different. This was Captain Kangaroo; not some celebrity wannabe.

I grabbed Diane's hand, jumped over the police barricade and walked right up to him in the middle of the street. I shook his hand, introduced myself and proclaimed my undying admiration for his role as Captain Kangaroo. He autographed a scrap of paper I found on the broadcast desk. His autograph was not Bob Keeshan; no, his signature read Captain Kangaroo!!!

I thanked him for allowing me to interrupt him and we made our way back toward the bleachers.

Diane was SO embarrassed by the whole episode that she felt the need to report my actions to the rest of the family as soon as we made it back to our seats. Her plan seemed to backfire, though, when all of the people who overheard her report got very excited about the prospect of seeing Captain Kangaroo! People passed around the autographed scrap of paper; excited just to have a vicarious connection to the man they adored as children. Several people raced off in the direction of the broadcast desk in hopes of seeing him for themselves, but he had already gone by the time they arrived.

Many years have passed since that encounter with Bob Keeshan. That scrap of paper is still in the top drawer of my dresser. Sometimes I think back to that day and I am still amazed that I had the opportunity to shake Captain Kangaroo's hand and chat with him for just a moment to tell him - as I'm sure he heard thousands of times throughout his life - how much of an impact he made on my young life.

Kids today have missed out on so much just by missing out on seeing Bob Keeshan transformed into the ultimate communicator with kids as Captain Kangaroo.

The Ripple Effect

They say time heals all wounds. I don't believe that's true, but there is a guiding principle we can take from it. I think of it as The Ripple Effect.

I remember casting my fishing rod into the lake at The Lodge when I was a kid. The bobber would hit the water; the ripples working out from its point of impact in concentric circles, gradually weakening until they eventually reached the point where they disappeared entirely as the bobber became still.

Time and distance dampened the ripples' effects on their surroundings until there was no longer any evidence they had existed at all.

Issues in life -both good and bad - act much the same way. They cause some pretty significant ripples at the point of impact; having the greatest effect on those closest to the situation in both time and space, but gradually weaken until their memory is all that remains.

The wounds of a particular event weren't healed as much as they just became distant enough with the passage of time that the pain no longer reminds us of their presence. Rather, like the bobber sitting quietly in the now still water, the event is still there. It can never be erased from our past, but it just sits there now - no longer causing the ripples that disturb its surroundings.

I look back at my life and see many bobbers sitting in the now still waters of my past. I wish I had never made some of those casts; while others cause me to long to recapture the joy of that moment. But the ripples of both have long since disappeared.

I suppose life itself is like one of those casts. The ripples represent the impact and influence I have had on my surroundings and those whose paths I have crossed. One day the bobber that is my life will settle and the ripples will gradually disappear. For a while, some of those who knew me might look back and see the now still bobber and remember the ripples until the passage of time slowly takes even the still bobber from their sight.

Teachers

Teaching is a sickening profession.

I'm sure that got the attention - and certainly raised the ire - of all of the teachers out there. Now, let me explain.

Most teachers are, I'm sure, wonderful people. I don't think they allow women like Mrs. Nachwhite, my third grade teacher, in the classroom any more. Despite being wonderful people, teachers are often the vector for misery that goes far beyond their classrooms.

Allow me to explain. I seemed to be sick for much of the first year Diane and I were married and it was all because Diane was a teacher.

Diane had been teaching for a number of years before we met. She loved the classrooms full of her little dears. After years in the classroom, Diane had been exposed to virtually every virus, bug and germ that floats around among grade school kids and, over the course of time, she had developed antibodies and immunity to all the joys they brought to her classroom.

I, on the other hand, worked among real people (read - adults) and had not developed antibodies or immunity to any of those lovely infirmities. No, Diane brought the various viruses, germs and bugs home to me and I simply got sick.

It got to the point where Diane would just laugh and tell me that I would likely have a runny nose/headache/fever/stomachache/you name it within a few days.

And I typically did.

I was battling something or other for the greater part of our first year of marriage. Basically, Diane served as the vector to bring home many lovely infirmities. To greatly simplify (perhaps oversimplify) the point; Diane basically sickened me that first year.

Thus my original statement that teaching is a sickening profession.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Free Fishing Weekend

The first full weekend in June is Free Fishing Weekend in Wisconsin. For that one weekend each year, State Park entry fees are waived and anyone can fish Wisconsin's inland waters without a fishing license. All other regulations still apply, but this is a chance for people to "try out" fishing without having to buy a license.

The boat launches are mobbed and many of the people have no clue about boat launch etiquette or how to back up a trailer. Once on the water, they remain clueless about common sense things like not anchoring their boat ten feet from another boat that's catching fish because, "That's where the fish are," or things like not motoring through peoples' fishing lines or...

But I digress.

I avoid Free Fishing Weekend like the plague.

Except one time in 1988.

It remains one of the worst fishing experiences I can remember; and I can remember some doozies - like being on a 30 foot vessel in Lake Michigan with 8 to 10 foot waves, piloting a vessel on Lake Michigan during fog so thick that you could see less than 100 feet or being caught in the middle of a lake when a lightning storm popped up out of nowhere!

None of those experiences were nearly as terrifying as my one and only foray into Free Fishing Weekend that first weekend of June, 1988.

Nineteen eighty-eight was the first fishing season of our married life. Diane had not grown up in an "Outdoors" family, so she was clueless about fishing. She decided that we should take her parents fishing on free fishing weekend.

Great idea, right? After all, I had enough gear for everyone.

VERY BAD IDEA!!!!

But I digress again.

I didn't own a boat at the time, so I borrowed Diane's uncle's sixteen foot jonboat. It was a great boat for first-timers because it was extremely wide and stable. I got all of my gear together, picked up the boat, loaded all of the fishing gear and headed off to pick up Diane's parents.

I selected Pine Lake for our outing. It is close by and, at nearly 1,000 acres, has plenty of room for lots of boats. The only problem with Pine Lake at that time was the launch. They had not yet built the beautiful launch and pier they have now. Instead, you had to maneuver from the road to a very small ramp.

There was also no parking available at the launch. You had to launch the boat, tie it off and then drive about 1/2 mile down the road to a parking area and walk back. This wasn't a problem, though, because I had three people who could stay with the boat and get everything stowed while I did he parking run.

I told the rest of the group to get everything out of the car as I tied the boat to a tree out of the way of the launch. I instructed them to load everything into the boat while I was gone so we would be ready to head out when I got back.

Those instructions seemed pretty simple to me. Unfortunately, I took their word that everything was out of the car instead of looking in the back for myself.

I made my way to the parking area, parked the car and happened to glance in the back as I locked the doors. Imagine my surprise when I saw the cooler, the bait bucket and all of the life jackets in the back of my station wagon.

Shame on me for not having looked first.

I gathered all of the "forgotten" equipment and started back for the launch; my frustration growing with each of the thousand-plus steps. Upon arriving at the launch I found the three of them happily sitting in the boat with nothing but the fishing gear I had originally loaded. I suppose they thought load the boat meant they were to board and sit there grinning while waiting for my return.

Well, it was time to fish. I fired up the little Mercury outboard and motored out to our spot on a weed edge that bordered a nice dropoff. This place would certainly hold fish!

I picked up the first rod, rigged it and passed it up to Pop in the bow. Then I grabbed the next rod, rigged it and passed it up to Lola before grabbing a third rod to rig it and hand it to Diane.

Finally I could rig up my rod and fish!!!

No!!! Wait!!! Fish on in the front of the boat!!!

Of course no one else knows how to land a fish, take it off the hook or rebait the hook so the task falls to me. I take a nice perch off the hook, drop it in the basket, rebait the hook and pass the rod back up to the bow. Now I can rig up my rod and fish!!!

Nope!!!

Fish on somewhere else in the boat!!!

The process continues for the entire trip, interrupted only by Pop exclaiming that he has hooked a MONSTER!! Diane in her excitement to tell him what to do - she had never fished, either, so I don't know what she thought she could tell him - jumped up and stepped on my nice baitcasting rod; breaking the tip off.

My day of fishing was over now whether I ever actually had time to fish or not.

I finally got everyone in the boat calmed down enough to land the MONSTER; a whopping 12" northern. Now I will admit that - in my total frustration - I had a momentary lapse in judgment and failed to tell anyone that a 12" northern is not only not a MONSTER, it was also less than one-half the minimum legal length limit for a northern pike at that time.

So I did what I always do with undersized fish; I unhooked it and put it back into the water beside the boat to watch it swim away. What happened next can only be described as akin to the most intense scene in Mutiny On The Bounty. All three of them went nuts that I had just thrown back a MONSTER. I was suddenly very glad that I can swim very well and none of them would probably make it back to shore should I feel the need to abandon ship.

They finally settled down and the trip came to a merciful end. A final check revealed a basket stuffed full of nice perch.

We motored back to the launch where I was spared the long walk back to car with the offer of a ride by someone who was just launching his boat. I, in turn, gave him a ride back. He, of course, did not have to bring virtually all of his gear back with him; having actually unloaded his truck and stowed his gear in the boat before leaving the launch.

We landed boat, got all the gear loaded in the car and made our way back to Diane's parents' house. They all ran inside to talk about the exciting trip as soon as the car came to a stop in the driveway. None of them knew how to clean fish, of course, so I - the one who had not gotten to cast even one time - sat in the driveway filleting a basket full of perch; my "joy" growing with each stroke of the knife.

Pop's hammer handle of a northern grew through the years. He often entertained the boys with his tales of a four foot monster fish that their father had been so jealous of that he threw it back into the water just so there would be no evidence.

Whatever.

My opinion of Free Fishing Weekend was now set in stone.

I have never gone on the water during that weekend again; nor do I ever intend to.

Friday!!!!!

It's finally Friday!

Who among us that work a "normal" Monday to Friday schedule doesn't love Fridays? After all, it signifies that we are finally at the end of the work week and the weekend will soon be upon us.

Fridays are better at Speed Systems than anyplace I have worked before. I've been working with Speed Systems, whether as an outside consultant or an employee, since 2001. The company has worked on so-called "Summer Hours" year round for as long as I've been around. We work an extra 1/2 hour each day Monday through Thursday in order to leave at 2:00 on Friday.

Every Friday.

Year round.

That's right! While most of the working world is staring at their clock wondering if it will ever reach quitting time so they can start their weekend; I am on my way home. I love looking at my watch a couple of hours into my weekend and realizing that I would just be getting off work if I worked "normal" hours.

Now bring on 2:00 so I can start my weekend!

Sunrise

There are few sights more beautiful than watching the eastern sky slowly lighten in preparation for the sun's peeking over the horizon to begin a new day. Many people wax poetic about the beauty of the setting sun, but I think much of it is lost on me because of my poor color vision.

Sunrises, though, are a different story. I don't need to see colors to appreciate the beauty of an awakening day.

I love watching the sun rise.

I enjoy the prelude to the sunrise almost every morning during this time of the year. Sadie and I get up around 5:00 each morning and head out for a walk to welcome the new day. Sunrise this morning was 5:53 AM. I was just getting out of the shower then, but I had already enjoyed the beauty of the brightening sky as we made our turn to the east to begin the long downhill leg of our morning walk.

I wear my hunting headlamp for the beginning of the walk during this part of the year; not so much to help me see as to make me more visible to the occasional car that might be traveling at that early hour. I turn it off, though, as soon as it begins to get light.

Mostly, though, Sadie and I just walk and enjoy the awakening world. We watch with joy as the animals of the night make their way back to their bedding areas; the animals of the day crossing their paths as they rise from their slumber. The birds begin to sing and fly about in search of their morning sustenance. The rabbits come out from their hiding places to venture into the open areas.

And the sun begins to lighten the sky.

There is just something beautiful about the sunrise and the promise of the new day.

Hump Day!!!

I suppose that I'm easily amused. I think the Geico Hump Day commercial is one of the funniest spots I have seen in a very long time. Who can't laugh at the whole concept of a camel celebrating Hump Day? I find most of their commercials (most commercials for any company/product) to be annoying and/or stupid. This one got me, though.

Hump Day has become a big thing; the marker that indicates we have made it halfway through the work week. Who decided we should work five days a week and "get off" for two days? Why wasn't it six and one, or four and three? What was so magical about five and two?

Don't get me wrong; I certainly don't like the six and one option, but I wouldn't complain a bit if we had settled on the four and three option. Weekends go by way too fast. It never seems like two days is enough to recover from the five work days. It certainly doesn't help when there are things to be done on those two days. It seems like we go from Friday to Monday much too fast. Monday to Friday, on the other hand, seems to take forever some weeks.

I suppose that's why we celebrate Hump Day. It's something to break up the long week. Something to help us see that there is light at the end of the tunnel; even if that light is still a distant speck.

So today I celebrate Hump Day. Although it's highly unlikely that I will have a camel wander through my office questioning me as to whether I know what day it is; I will certainly have a small grin on my face at some point throughout the day when I think about the fact that I'm halfway to next weekend!

Happy Hump Day, everyone!

Too Much Information

I seem to have lots of friends - at least according to Facebook. It tells me I have a whopping 100 friends and encourages me to find new ones all the time by letting it have access to my email contact list. (Facebook's incessant desire to access my contacts reminds me of the insurance salesman's constant pleading for names and phone numbers. There is no chance of either of those things ever happening! )

The truth of the matter is that I have nowhere near 100 friends; and most of the people I consider my closest friends are not counted among that 100. I don't recall ever having "requested" to be someone's friend on Facebook. I rarely deny a Facebook request from someone I know, but I am not out to run up my friend count thereby tainting the meaning of the word friend by requesting every casual acquaintance to link to me on Facebook.

I don't mean to belittle those people who celebrate their thousands of Facebook friends. In fact, there was a period of time when having a large number of Facebook friends was somehow determined to be a badge of honor. I just don't see it.

Social media has changed much about the way we live. Some of it, I admit, has been good. It allows us to keep up with important life events that we might otherwise miss. For example, Facebook allows me to see an ultrasound of a friend's new baby that I would probably never have been able to enjoy without it merely because of the distance between us.

Unfortunately, it also bombards me with every meaningless stop along the path of life that other "friends" seem determined to record for all posterity. I have hidden all posts from several of my Facebook "friends" just because I grew tired of their propensity to generate massive numbers of posts that fill my screen but tell me nothing.

Just for the record; I really don't care to see your painted toenails or a link to every book, magazine, video or article you have seen. Nor do I care to have my screen filled up with political statements, social statements or rantings. These things virtually guarantee a click on the "Hide All Posts From..." link. I'm sure I end up missing some posts that I would truly enjoy because of it, but I'll take that risk in an effort to avoid the constant clutter.

Most of all, though, social media seems to have actually caused us to become less social and certainly less thoughtful about our communication with others. We no longer truly communicate; we merely proclaim - ready to attack those who disagree. People seem to feel free to post things that they would never say to or about another person if they were to speak the words instead of merely tap them out on a keyboard.

I may be the only one, but I wish the social graces would make an appearance on social media.

Solitude

Webster's Dictionary defines solitude as:

1.) the quality or state of being alone or remote from society

2.) a lonely place (as a desert)

I love the first definition. I would be perfectly content to live out in the middle of a vast ranch (cattle only, no horses allowed) and only see people when I went to church or went into town for supplies. Maybe content isn't the right word; delighted might be a better choice. Maybe I'm just getting old, but I don't think that's it. I think I'm just a fuddy-duddy by nature.

When you get right down to it, I just don't enjoy being around people very much. Don't get me wrong; I love Diane and the boys very much and enjoy spending time with them. I could just do without all of the people I encounter each day in traffic (the ones who tell me I'm Number One because I tend to drive the speed limit and slow them down), at work or just out and about in life.

My ideal day would include a solitary ride (in a truck or ATV/UTV) checking and repairing fences on the ranch. The radio, if it's on at all, would be tuned to a news station. There would be a trout stream running through my ranch that would provide countless hours of relaxation and meditation as I drifted a fly or nymph through the pools. I would also have woods to provide hunting opportunities; allowing me to load my freezer with venison, rabbits and birds - my own version of an organic/free-range diet.

Music would be provided by nature itself; a harmony of woods, water and wildlife that brings peace to the soul. I would greet the sunrise each morning with a cup of coffee on the porch - or in the kitchen when the weather forced me indoors. Each night, Diane and I would relish sight of the setting sun; constantly reminded of the vastness and beauty of God's creation.

Instead, I am trapped in suburbia; surrounded by people and noise and the hustle and bustle of twenty-first century life. So I long for that one weekend each year when I sit silently in a treestand - surrounded by the beauty of the driftless region of Wisconsin - waiting patiently for a deer to come within range of my rifle. I love harvesting a deer to fill the freezer, but I really don't care if I get one or not. It's just a chance to sit in the woods and bask in the solitude it provides.

Maybe that's why I love to just sit in a chair beside my smoker; inhaling the aroma of the gently smoking apple wood and slowly cooking meat. I don't really need to sit there; especially since I got a wireless thermometer that lets me monitor the meat and smoker temperature from inside the house. I sit there because it gives me a chance to read quietly or gaze into the small patch of woods that makes up our backyard; watching the turkeys, squirrels and songbirds as they go about their day, and listening to the sounds of the outdoors interrupted only by the occasional sounds of cars going by on the street.

It gives me a brief respite from the hustle and bustle of life as my mind drifts far away to a place of quiet solitude.

State Fair!!!!

It's that time of year again.

Time for the Wisconsin State Fair!

Our family has had our own State Fair tradition for a number of years; we get there right when the gates open on the first Friday of the Fair and head straight for the All-You-Can-Eat Pancake place. After an appropriate time for stuffing ourselves full of pancakes, we head out into the Fairgrounds. Our tradition was changed slightly last year when Joseph forgot to ask off work for the day so we had to go on Saturday, instead.

We used to hang together as a family, but that changed as the boys got older. For the last number of years, the boys head off after breakfast to do their things and Diane and I head off to do ours. There are certain things that are "Must Do's" for me; going through the Expo Center to see all of the people hawking their goods, walking through the Dairy Barns to see the 4-H kids showing their cattle, getting root beer from the Root Beer Barrels on the grounds, going through the Wisconsin Products Pavilion and, most important for me, going through the Poultry Barn.

I love looking at the chickens. I would love to keep chickens in our yard, but the village does not allow it. So I get my chicken fix by going through the barn and looking at all of the chickens and ducks. The first Friday is a great time to go through the Poultry Barn because they are judging the 4-H entrants' chickens. No one else ever wants to go to the Poultry Barn with me, but that's okay. Diane or Joseph will usually suffer through it anyway. This usually causes me to rush through it because I know they are bored stiff.

I, of course, avoid the horse barns at all costs.

It's amazing how the boys always manage to call us just about lunch time in a desire to get back together. They think they are being clever, but we know that the only reason they want to get back together is so we will pay for their lunches.

Shelley is going to the Fair with us this year. She has never been to a state fair of any sort, so this will be a new experience for her. Diane wants to go through the sewing and cooking competition exhibits with Shelley so maybe that will be my chance to go through the Poultry Barn all by myself - at my own pace!

So, today is the first Friday of the Fair. I will be tired and sore by the time we get home, but it will be so worth it; especially getting to see the chickens!

The Parent Gene

I swore an oath to myself that I would never do things like my parents did when I was a parent. After all, they didn't understand kids. They probably couldn't even remember being a kid, much less have the ability to empathize with how hard our lives were.

I would never tell my kids that, "Life is not fair," when they came to me with a concern that a sibling, relative or friend got special treatment or was able to go places or do things we couldn't. Nope, I would calmly and rationally help them understand that fairness was all a matter of attitude.

Yeah, that's it - the fairness attitude.

I would also never tell my kids that, "Kids today have it so easy. Well back when I was young..." Nope. I would always recognize that my children most certainly have a much harder life than I had at their age. After all, I didn't have to know anything about computers or video games or cable television tuners or...

And I would most certainly never become impatient with their persistent questions or challenges to my authority and tell my kids, "Because I said so, that's why!" No; I would take whatever time was necessary to answer their incessant, "Why," with a gentle explanation.

Yes, indeed, I would always be the loving, caring, empathetic parent who made Ward Cleaver look like an evil ogre. I would never be the "bad guy."

Not me.

And I wasn't; until I had a kid, that is...

There must be some magical parenting gene that lies dormant in our bodies until the very moment we become a parent; at which point it becomes a raging force in our lives.

I was terrified when I suddenly heard my parents' words coming out of my mouth. It couldn't be!!!! I was quickly becoming just as terrible of a parent to my kids as my parents had been to me!

I somehow magically recognized that life isn't fair. It never has been and it never will be. It wasn't for me and it won't be for my kids. I answered my kids objections about their unfair life many times through the years with those very words, "Life is not fair." The parent gene just took over and I totally lost control of my mind. The evil parent gene caused me to tell my kids that being honest and working hard were far more important than worrying about whether something was fair!

I also have caught myself telling my kids how easy they have it. I swore I would never say those words, but I did. I'm blaming that latent gene again. After all, it certainly couldn't be tied to the fact that my kids had all sorts of technology and toys and opportunities that I never had. Diane homeschooled the boys so they never had to walk six miles through a blizzard uphill both ways for school. No, they walked from their bedrooms to the school room without ever leaving the house. They had it so easy!!!

Perhaps the parent gene became most apparent when I found myself telling my boys, "Because I said so," after the four-hundredth, "Why?" I couldn't take it any more. My Ward Cleaver image was gone forever. I was not Ward Cleaver. I was just like my confused parents.

I'm blaming the gene...