Tom Palen,a broadcaster, pilot, writer, and our Guest Columnist! Archives
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Third Time’s A Charm5/15/2018 I’ve spent a lot of time over the years exploring Colorado. What a beautiful state! It wasn’t uncommon for me to journey there six, eight or even ten times a year. Being a Denver Broncos fan, I went to a lot of home football games; always making time to venture into the mountains while there.
The number of trips to Colorado tapered off, then quietly came to a halt as I found a new hobby - flying skydivers. The experience of taking jumpers to 10 or 12,000 feet reminded me of being in Colorado. The air is cold and thin at that altitude, the sights are spectacular and oh, the thrill! Each flight was an escape from the hassles and burdens of everyday life. It was like a mini trip to the far away state I dearly loved. Flying skydivers consumed many of my weekends during the season. I love flying airplanes, but still, I held onto my passion for the Rocky Mountains. Melissa had told me of her trips to Colorado before we met and how she fell in love with the San Juan Mountains around Ouray. Her description of the area re-kindled my yearning to return to Colorado. We talked about it and committed to go someday. One day we packed an overnight bag, jumped in the airplane and flew to Front Range Airport, just outside of Denver. We rented a car and drove to Georgetown, a favorite place of mine. We explored the Gunellea Pass over the historic mountain town together, had a wonderful dinner at the Red Ram, listened to some great music, and stayed the night at the Mountain Inn. The next day we had talked about continuing west to Ouray, but the drive was too long. We just didn’t have enough time. “We’ll explore the mountains around Georgetown now and go to Ouray on our next visit.” We decided...but didn’t seem to get back that way. Several years later, we planned to go to Ouray for our 8th annual honeymoon trip. Our plans to head west made a 180-degree turn and we ended up out east, exploring New England instead. The next year I had a late December business trip taking me to southern California. Melissa would travel with me and on our return trip we would go through Colorado to be in Ouray for Christmas. But, that business trip was postponed; we changed plans and spent a memorable holiday with family in Austin, Texas. The trip to California was rescheduled to February. The third time is a charm. On our return, Melissa and I finally made it to Ouray, together. We arrived from the south, coming in on the Million Dollar Highway. Carved out of the mountain, the ledge twisted and turned, following her lines. To the right was the solid rock mountain with no shoulder; to the left there were no guardrails and no shoulder. The road dropped off a cliff, falling deep into the valley below. There was no room for error. Twenty-five miles per hour never felt so fast. It was breath-taking for sure. That early evening, Melissa and I stopped at O’Briens Irish Pub - a quaint little place to relax and enjoy a pint of cold brew. We sat at a tall table with high stools in the front window to enjoy the mountains and the scenic Main Street of Ouray, Colorado. People passing by on the sidewalk would stop to look at the menu, posted in the storefront window right next to us. It seemed they were coming to visit us at our table, but being separated by the glass. Eventually, I started having fun with them, knocking on the window, waving my hand, motioning for them to come on in. Some of the people looked at me like I was a weirdo and scurried on past to avoid making eye contact. Others waved back, laughed, then walked on by. A few groups came inside, we greeted and welcomed each of them to O’Brien’s as if we worked there as hosts. One group that came in seemed more friendly than the others, returning our salutations. We shared a brief conversation, then they took a seat at a regular short table across from us on the other side of the entrance. I assumed them to be man and wife and maybe an adult son, or a friend. We finished our pint and started for the front door. As we passed the table of three, the man stretched out his arms and said to us in a sincere spirited voice, “It was so good to see you guys again!” For a moment I thought he was going to hug me! “It was good to see you as well. Maybe we’ll run into you again soon” I said. We shared a good laugh then Melissa and I left. As we we crossing the street to go check out the Ouray Brewing Company. I told Melissa, “I should have got their names. They seemed like the kind of people we would enjoy hanging out with.” We spent that night in a small one-room log cabin at Riverside Cabins and Motel, on the edge of town. The rustic room featured a full size log bed, with a set of log bunk beds to the side. The table was a log shelf mounted to the wall. A log style bench rounded out the furnishings. The door handle was a rope that went through the door, lifting a board latch on the inside. There was no TV, nor telephone. One single bulb on the ceiling provided sufficient lighting. The room was heated by an electric wood stove. It was simple. Just what we wanted and we loved it. That evening we took advantage of the amenities offered outdoors. We sat in the hot tub, in the cold night air. The steam from our breath was lost in the steam rising from the hot water. Looking up at the sky, the stars were giving way to a nearly full moon that was rising over the ridge, lighting the snowy tops of the mountain range surrounding us. The tranquility I was experiencing was humbling. When we got out of the hot tub, I didn’t want to put my shoes on, so I stepped quickly across the snow packed ground to the shower house. My wife showing more sense than I, put on her shoes. The ground was freezing cold, yet the short walk in my bare feet was exhilarating and worth it. After a nice hot shower we returned to out cabin. We turned up the heat, cracked the window open to enjoy the fresh mountain air and the sound of the stream running just outside our cabin. Melissa and I took the big bed. June Bug, our dog, slept on the bottom bunk and Edgar Allan, our cat, claimed the top bunk where he could keep watch over his loyal subjects below. By the morning we were all in the big bed together. Needless to say, we slept very well. The next day we went to the Ouray Ice Park in Box Canyon. It was amazing to watch athletes of all ages, in full safety gear, climb the walls of ice. With a pick in each hand and special boots with cleats, they made their way up and down the vertical walls, tying off on climbing ropes. While we were walking back to our truck a SUV pulled up along side us. “Are you going to be at the pub later?” The driver asked. Melissa and I looked at him, then at each other. Not having any idea who he was, we assumed he had mistaken us for someone else. Then MeIssa’s eyes widened, “Hey! It’s the people from O’Briens last night.” She said. We stood at the side of their vehicle enjoying some conversation. When a car pulled up behind them, we said our farewells and they drove away. “I can’t believe I forgot to get their names again.” I told Melissa, adding, “They really seem like cool people. The kind we would hang out with to a share a bottle of wine.” Another missed opportunity. Later that afternoon, Melissa and I were walking up and down Main Street. Exploring store front windows and occasionally entering a shop. We were discussing the beauty of Ouray, admiring the view of the mountains, when a man said, “Well, hello again!” “Hey!” I said. It was the man and woman from O’Brien’s, without their friend this time. The third time is a charm and I wasn’t going to miss another opportunity. I learned his name was Keith Boos and his wife was Martha Claudine. They were visiting from Louisiana. We exchanged contact information and had another nice chat. We would have asked them to dinner, but we had to start for home yet that day. We said our farewells then went about our way. Keith had explained the young man with them was a guide. When we ran into them earlier that day they were just coming down from the road to Yankee Boy Basin. Melissa and I had also driven that road that day. It is a very narrow, steep road. Though often only wide enough for one vehicle, it was a two-way road with no guardrails and steep drop offs into deep valleys below. There were plenty of sharp turns and blind corners. It was another Colorado mountain pass where the driver had to pay attention to the road. Melissa told me a story of the time, years ago, when her dad drove them up that road in a rental car. He had taken off on his own early in the morning, then came back to get his family and drive them up the road. She told me she recalled an open meadow or field at the top of the road. I wanted to go there. The day we drove it we could only go so far, then the road was closed for snow. Determined to drive all the way to Yankee Boy Basin, I told Melissa, “We’ll come back another time and drive to the top.” She agreed, that’s what we needed to do. Melissa’s birthday in May would be a good opportunity to do so. May soon came. We started out west on a trip with our Scamp. The journey would first take us to Winona, Minnesota where Friday morning we attended our youngest daughter’s college graduation ceremony, then celebrated Friday night around a campfire. Saturday morning we went to Lark Toy Company, in Kellogg, Minnesota for our youngest granddaughter’s first birthday party. By Saturday night, we were in Waterloo, Iowa spending the night with our kids and grandkids. Sunday morning after church, we drove to the cemeteries near Coatsville, Missouri, to visit the grave sites of Melissa’s ancestors, then on to the Lake of the Ozarks for a four-day “working visit” with my brother Dan at their house on the lake. It had been a full trip already, and we were just getting started! Thursday evening, we were finally on our way to celebrate Melissa’s birthday and Mother’s Day in Ouray Colorado. On the drive over, I was already thinking about the challenge of driving up to Yankee Boy Basin. I had Melissa tell me the story again, about her Dad driving up there and then going again with her family. This time, that mountain would be mine! After a tour though town, we started up the road to Yankee Boy Basin. The Subaru worked hard to pull the Scamp up the steep hills. Along the way, we stopped and set up our Scamp at the Thistledown forest service campground. What an amazing site we found! Our campsite was right on Angel Creek. The cool mountain air rushed through the pine and aspen trees. The water in the stream rushed over the rocks. It’s an odd thing, how two loud sounds can bring about such peace and contentment. After we set up, we continued up the road toward Yankee Boy Basin. The winding road was awesome! There is one place where the road is under construction for repairs. The mountain creek waters flow over the road surface. Melissa told me not to cross the water. I assured her, this is a place where the road has a paved dip for the waters to cross. It’s designed for traffic to pass through. She made me get out of the car to inspect the road for holes or erosion. I did and returned to report “The road is fine. The water is two-inches deep and I’m going through.” We passed safely. We found places where the road runs under an overhanging mountain cliff. It was single lane with a straight drop off over the cliff to the south. A deep groove along the north wall of the mountain allowed water to drain. If one veered off the road either way, they would have a serious problem. To the north, the ditch would high-center their car. To the south...well, let’s not talk about what that result would be. We continued on until we came to a fork in the road. To the left was Governor Basin - not recommend for any vehicle travel. To the right, Yankee Boy Basin continued. We veered to the right. A short distance later the road became more narrow and rugged, there were signs warning, “High Clearance, Four Wheel Drive Vehicles Recommended.” I tried to distract Melissa by pointing out something the other way, but it was too late; she already saw and read the bright orange warning sign. I maneuvered the Subaru around several large rocks (or small boulders as Melissa called them) embedded in the road. She suggested we should turn back. “You’re going to tear up our car,” She said. “Nonsense!” I replied, while carefully going around another rock. “If your dad could do it in a Toyota Camry, I can do it in my Subaru!” “OUR Subaru.” She corrected me, then justified, “Dad did it in a rental car. In 1995. This is our car and I don’t want you to damage it. Please turn around.” “Fine! I’ll turn around.” I said in protest. I was silently thankful for her resistance because just ahead was a deep dip with a lot of big loose rocks. I wasn’t sure the car would have cleared them. Silently, I justified, “There is no way those rocks could have been there when Phil went through in a Camry. No way!” As I backed the car up I grumbled aloud, “But let the record show, you are the fun-hater who stopped me!” “That’s fine with me,” She said, adding, “I’m the smart fun-hater who saved our car!” Hmfph! We headed down the road, back into town. I pulled into a parking space in front of O’Brien’s just to make sure Keith wasn’t there waiting for us. He wasn’t, so we drove to Riverside Cabins where we had stayed on our previous trip. I inquired about renting a Jeep. The owner told me the rental rates then asked, “Where are you wanting to go with the Jeep?” “Yankee Boy Basin.” I replied, then explained how far we got in the car.” He chuckled, “Then you don’t want to rent a Jeep today. You’ll only get about a quarter-mile past that point before you run into snow. You can’t get to the top right now.” I left, feeling defeated, but had to agree with him. We headed back up the road to the campsite. I told Melissa, “The colors here will be beautiful in the fall. Maybe we should come back to Ouray for our annual honeymoon trip this year.” She said we should consider that, suggesting “We could bring the truck next time and camp out of the back and backpack through the mountains.” I agreed, then said to myself, “Yes, that would be fun! In our Toyota Tacoma. A high clearance, four wheel drive vehicle!” Yankee Boy Basin, we shall meet again...next time at the top. After all, the third time is a charm!
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It's All The Same Spring5/8/2018 With the same confusion or disorientation one would experience when pinching themself to be sure they weren’t dreaming, I thumbed through the pages of my calendar book. “Yes! I knew it! There it is right there. March 21st was the first day of spring. This is supposed to be spring!” It hasn’t always felt like it.
We traveled a lot of miles during the month of April, covering 25 different states and seeing nearly as many various looks of spring. We started with a trip to Washington, near Seattle. On and off we hit rain, snow, sleet, sunshine...and so on. At our destination in Sammamish, the weather was beautiful - just as one would expect in the spring. We completed our business there and returned home. Leaving Minnesota, Sunday night, on a solo leg of the trip, I saw cars and trucks scattered like litter in the ditches, all the way from Duluth to the Twin Cities - dozens of them! I knew it was bad when I saw a state maintainer, pulling one of those big trailers with the huge wing plows, off the side of the road. The big truck slid off the highway on the right side. Once in the grip of the deep snow filled ditch, the massive powerful truck was just as helpless as the passenger cars. A four-wheel drive truck in the center median shot snow high into the air while spinning his wheels trying to get un-stuck. “Stop spinning your wheels!” I wanted to tell him. “You’re just digging yourself in deeper.” I know this for certain. I’ve been there before as well. I pressed on slow and steady toward my destination, Ottumwa, Iowa, then on to Kansas City, arriving safely. I returned home the following day to get Melissa and head off on our next leg of this journey. While passing through St. Paul, a large chunk of packed snow and ice flew off the top of a semi trailer. It hit my windshield, not just cracking it - but literally smashing the glass. With the help of the good people at City Glass in Duluth, I was able to get the windshield replaced the same day and my car was ready to head out to Florida the next morning. The weather was beautiful. One would never know a big storm passed through here just a day before. Crossing southern Wisconsin, the weather changed again. We pressed on through a nasty winter storm. Large state plow trucks worked three abreast with the same precision pilots would use while flying in formation. One truck cleared the left lane. With his wing extended, he pushed the snow into the center lane. The truck in the middle lane caught the ridge of snow from the first truck. His big blade pushed the pile off to the right, then his extended wing caught the snow and continued pushing it to the right. The wave of snow kept growing. The largest truck was in the right lane where he caught the pile and continued its progress, pushing it to the right. His big wing finally pushed the snow completely off the highway. It was amazing to watch them work so well together, clearing all three lanes simultaneously. Eventually, the three trucks formed into one single file line, then exited the highway to the right. In my rearview mirror I could see them crossing the bridge overhead. I assume they were going back to clear the westbound lanes in the same fashion. A large amount of traffic had built up behind the group of trucks. Most of the vehicles seemed content to drive on the freshly plowed roads behind the posse of big trucks. But there were also those who seemed bothered by the nuisance of these three maintainers taking up all three lanes. The road ahead featured a plowed center and right lane. The left lane was unplowed and covered with heavy snow and slush. We were in the center lane, driving about sixty miles per hour, moving consistent with the flow of traffic. A four-wheel-drive Chevy pickup went speeding by us in the left lane. His custom exhaust system was loud, deep and throaty. It seemed to say, “Out of my way, you pathetic little Subaru! I’ve places to go and you’re bothering me.” He wasn’t very far past us when his tires lost their grip on the road. The truck, doing about 80 mph or so, was now sliding sideways down the road. Deep snow pushed by his tires was creating a cloud of snow - a white out. I couldn’t get into the right lane as there were cars there. I feared his tires were going to find some dry pavement and shoot him into our lane! I felt like a NASCAR driver, pressing through a smokey crash. All I could do was maintain my position and pray to pass through unscathed. Soon, I passed the nose of his truck, perpendicular to my car, just inches away. His headlights shining directly into our car as we went by. We missed him. My prayers were answered. Melissa and I were discussing how lucky that foolish driver was, and how the good Lord was looking out for us. While we were having this conversation, the idiot went flying by us again, in the still un-plowed left lane. Wow. I told Melissa, “Some people just don’t know how to drive in this springtime weather.” “Alabama plates.” She replied. We made it to our destination. The tall palm trees on the lush green boulevards said, “Welcome to Florida.” The weather was mild for Floridians, but to a couple from northern Minnesota, the 79 degree temperature combined with the humidity was mighty warm. Fortunately, there was a good breeze to cool us and provide comfort. We visited the people we needed to see, then found a motel and called it a night. The next morning, we headed out early. We drove north past St. Augustine, then found a pet friendly public beach. We wanted to take June and Edgar for a morning walk along the sandy shores of the Atlantic Ocean to enjoy this spring morning Florida style. It appeared lots of people with dogs had the same idea. June was curious. Edgar was flat out nervous! When one large dog easily slipped his collar and came charging toward us, I quickly reeled June in while Melissa snatched Edgar up into her arms. “Don’t worry, he’s friendly.” The owner called out to us. “He won’t hurt you.” That was no comfort. I wasn’t worried about us, I was worried about Edgar and June. The dog continued to charge, especially toward Edgar. June wanted to defend us, but I kept pulling her leash, turning so that I would stay between the attacker and June, Melissa and Edgar. June growled, drawing the attention of the much larger dog. He started sniffing aggressively at June while I tried to shoo the beast away. The owner finally reached us, slipping the loose collar back over his head and pulling him away. He made me angry. Sure, he had a leash on his dog, but that collar fit about as tight as a hula hoop around the waist of a skinny kid! Melissa and I agreed, there were too many animals on this beach to have June and Edgar there. We started for home. Our next leg on this spring journey took us to the far east side of Pennsylvania and right to the Delaware River that divides PA from New Jersey. As we passed through southern Wisconsin, we couldn’t believe this was the same road we traveled during a winter storm just a few days before. Today it was gorgeous weather. As we crossed Illinois into Indiana, the rain started. It rained and rained. As a matter of fact, it rained for the next 750 miles, all the way to our destination. I don’t mind driving in inclement weather. Sometimes, I really like it as it makes the drive more challenging, breaking the monotony of the white lines as they flash past the car going down the highway. I smiled. “April showers bring May flowers...right?” There were no flowers...yet. The final segment of the April tour, would take us to Mobile, Alabama, where we would meet up with Melissa’s parents, then travel together to Austin, Texas. In Austin, we visited Uncle Kenny and Aunt Gail. Their yard was overgrown with what looked like unruly tall grass. Kenny explained, we had just missed the beauty of the Blue Bonnets in full bloom, a spring treat in Texas. He needed to let the seed pods dry before cutting them, in order that Mother Nature could scatter them for next year’s crop of flowers. It seemed spring arrived in Texas before we did. On our way home, we avoided I-35 until we were north of Dallas. It was fun driving the backroads along the state highways, seeing the colors of the Texas hill country in their fresh spring greens. The further north we traveled, the less leaves we would see on the trees. Soon we saw only buds and the trees farther north were still dormant from winter. As we traveled, Melissa checked the weather online. “It looks like we got about three inches of snow at home last night.” “Snow? Three inches you say? I thought it was spring?” We shared a good laugh over that. When we arrived at home a day later, the new snow was gone. There was still a small amount of snow in the ditches. In the yard, small patches remained where snow had drifted. Water in the ditches flowed swiftly down to streams and creeks, then on to Lake Superior. In the month of April, Melissa, June, Edgar and I had traveled over 17,000 miles and saw many different interpretations of “spring.” From the west coast to the east coast, from the far north to the deep south. This was the first time I have ever experienced spring in so many different parts of the country. I thumbed through the pages of my calendar book. “Yes! I knew it! There it is right there. March 21st was the first day of spring!” There was new life and new growth everywhere we looked. It is springtime all across America!
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To others in the car it’s just plain annoying - but to an old radio guy there is a nostalgic romance in listening through the static to hear the show on a far away AM radio station. It requires focus.
You have to turn your head just a little and lean your ear toward the speaker. Where others hear noise, we hear a radio program. We continue to listen because it takes us back to the good old days, bringing a warm and fuzzy feeling. I was on I-35 southbound for Ottumwa on a Monday morning. I tuned the AM dial to 1040, where Van and Bonnie were doing their morning show. A show that is iconic to central Iowa. Soon, Bob Quinn came on with the farm and market reports. Van. Bonnie. Bob. These legendary radio names put me on a fast track down memory lane. I thought about the days when I was a young boy. No matter where we were, Dad would tune into “News Radio 78 - WBBM Chicago.” I asked him, “How can you hear the man through all that static.” “Hush!” Dad would say, “I’m trying to hear this.” Without a doubt, he is the one who taught me this art. Ah, those were the good ole days! I started thinking about Dad’s radio stations in Port Washington, Wisconsin. WGLB AM and FM. I was there the day they were installing their new ITC Cart machines. It was the latest technology for recorded commercials. It was a cartridge that looked like an 8-Track tape, except it only had one channel. The “cart” as it was called, only had 70 seconds of tape, for a 60 second commercial - 40 seconds for a 30 second commercial, and so on. The machine left an electronic mark on the tape, which would cause the tape to stop at the very beginning of the recorded message. It was “self cueing.” Once I started working at the radio station, Dad would often remind us younger broadcasters how easy we had it. “When I was your age, we had three-inch reel to reel tapes for playing commercials and we only had two reel to reel players. When you played a commercial set, you had thirty seconds to rewind one tape, load a new reel and cue up the next commercial. We didn’t tolerate dead air. You just had to do it.” You could feel a warmth in his eyes as he reminisced. “Those were the good old days.” He said as he walked away. Dad retired November 8th, 1989. For his final morning show I arranged for a variety of special guests to join him on the air via telephone. One of those guests was Ben Hardman. Ben was Dad’s broadcast instructor from a school called Institute of the Airways, which went on to become Brown Institute and today is Brown College in St. Paul, Minnesota. Dad graduated in 1947 as their 55th student. The two of them, an instructor and his student, talked of the old days. Ben said, “You kids had it so easy with your reel to reel machines. When I was your age, Dan, our commercials were recorded on an actual strand of steel wire. They were such a booger to use. But ah, those were the good old days.” Another guest on that morning show was Vic Landau. Vic had worked with Dad for many years at many different stations. In 1989 he was still working for WHO in Des Moines. That caused me to resume listening to the morning show with Van and Bonnie. I again drifted off, thinking about my friend Tracy Songer. We went to high school together. After high school, I went to work for my dad at his radio stations, KLEE and KOTM. Years later, Tracy went to work for KISS-FM, the competition. Still, we always remained friends. Tracy has a son, Emery, who is the same age as my daughter Delaney. The two were in the same elementary class and always seemed to be the last two standing in a spelling bee, math quiz, or a history bowl. Delaney would call me after school. “Guess what, Dad?” “What’s that, Sweetie?” I asked. “I beat Emery Songer in the spelling bee today.” She proudly announced. “That’s awesome, Delaney! What was the final word...” On days when she didn’t call me, I would ask her, “How did your math game go today?” She would sigh, “He won...” “Well, you’ll get him next time.” I would reassure her. Thinking of those days made me smile. Tracy and I were friendly competitors in radio, why shouldn’t our kids be the same in the classroom? Emery went on to pursue a career in radio. I remember listening to him on sportscasts and play-by-play, thinking, “No way can such a young guy sound so good - as good as the seasoned pros!” Emery was doing well. I was really proud for my friend Tracy the day he announced on Facebook that his son, Emery, landed the position of Producer for the Van and Bonnie show. That’s not an easy position to get - he clearly had to earn it! I was equally proud of my friend’s son for his hard work! I thought about how much radio has evolved and changed over the years. In my days of radio I saw the compact disc replace the vinyl records. I saw the computer replace the cart machine, and many other changes. I wish Emery could have known the good old days. I pondered more and began to question: what were the good old days? For Ben, they were strands of wire. My Dad saw the good old days on reel to reel tapes. I knew them as days of the cart machine. Emery... What will the good old days be for Emery? I have no idea what the next generation of recording devices will be, but I am sure of this; Someday, Emery will tell a young broadcaster, “When I was your age, we had to play our commercials from a computer screen! Those were the good old days!” Yes. That’s what he’ll tell them. The next time you look at a young person and wish they could have experienced the good old days, smile, and remember: these ARE their good old days. These are Emery’s good old days. It will take many, many years before he can realize it. Along with my wandering thoughts, I was still listening to WHO Radio, hoping maybe Van or Bonnie would say to their producer, “Hey, Emery, what do you think?” And I would get to hear my friend’s kid on the radio. An announcer finished his sportscast and gave a plug, “This morning’s sports have been brought to you by the Ely Minnesota Chamber of Commerce...” Ely, Minnesota? Hey! That’s just 60 miles up the road from my house! It is a small world, getting smaller - and today will soon be one of the good old days!
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“What Goes Around Comes Around”4/24/2018 I think it is true. What goes around, comes around.
We were just one day into what was going to be a long trip. Melissa and I were looking for a place where we could get a good cup of coffee and use the internet. Pulling into a cafe in Richmond, Wisconsin, we had found the spot. We chose a table in the corner where it would be quiet, ordered coffee, and the two of us began to type away on our devices. About ten minutes after we sat down, a lady, probably about 70, walked up to our table. “Look at you two.” She said, “You’re both on your computers and you’re not even talking to each other. Put those things down and talk to each other.” I laughed, then explained to her, that we do talk a lot, but we stopped specifically to use the internet. “No.” She said, “I’ve been watching you. You haven’t talked at all.” She pointed at my iPad and continued, “You have a beautiful lady here and you’re ignoring her while looking at that thing.” Melissa tried to explain,”We both had to do some business, then get back on the road...where we would have 1000 miles and hours and hours to talk again.” “No, no.” Said the lady to Melissa, “Put that down and talk to him. He probably has things to say to you.” My wife rolled her eyes, “He always has something to say!” We shared a good laugh about that. The lady again insisted that we put down our devices. “If I don’t pay this gas bill and this water bill, we’re going to have a whole new set of problems to deal with.” I told her. We had another laugh. “May I ask your name?” I inquired. “Sabina.” She replied, I repeated “Sabina?” “Yes,” She said, “Like Sabrina, without the R.” “That’s a very pretty name.” I said. We chatted for a bit, learning that Sabina was once quite the athlete. In school she competed in swimming, gymnastics, and cheerleading. I told her, “I tried cheerleading, but the skirt didn’t look good on me.” “Where are you from?” Sabina asked. “Minnesota.” I answered, “If you walk to the top of Wisconsin, jump in the lake and swim about fifty or sixty miles, you’ll be at our house.” She gave me a slap on the arm, “Oh, you...” She said, laughing, “I can’t swim that far anymore.” Sabina returned to her original point. “You need to talk to her.” She said to me, then to Melissa, “You need to look at him and enjoy each other. Spend some time together without those computers.” I quickly pulled up Melissa’s profile picture on Facebook. It’s a photo I took from the back of the canoe, of Melissa in the front of the canoe, while we were paddling on one of Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes. I explained, “This is a very quiet, peaceful lake. We enjoy spending time together in the solitude of this environment. There are no computers here...and she’s not looking at me here either!” We shared a good laugh. Sabina said, “I’m sorry to come bother you. It’s none of my business anyway and I shouldn’t have come to your table. I just want to see you nice people talk to each other.” I explained, “Sabina, I’m glad you came to our table. Honestly, I would have done the exact same thing. My wife and I don’t ignore each other, we just have to take a little time here to get online. I can’t do that while I’m driving down the road, but I will enjoy my wife’s company while traveling.” Sabina said she understood, “I’m just on my way to the wine and cheese store for fresh baguettes, but they aren’t open yet, so I thought I would stop in here for some breakfast. Why not let them do the cooking?” She asked. “Good plan.” I said, adding, “We had the same idea.” Sabina said farewell to us, then headed out the door. As Sabina walked out the door, Melissa told me that she had been watching Sabina. A few minutes earlier she paid for the people’s coffee at another table. Very cool. Just a few moments later a man walked in carrying a box with about a dozen or so cartons of eggs. It appeared he was the local supplier of farm fresh eggs. He joined a few other men at a table across from us. The men were enjoying good conversation, talking about some church events. One man addressed the man at the end of the table, “Hey John, the priest wanted to know where you’ve been.” John, obviously hard of hearing said, “What?” “The priest.” The man repeated, “He wants to know where you’ve been.” “Who?” John replied. There was laughter. The egg man explained, “The congregation took up a collection for you.” “They did?” John laughed. “How much did they get?” The man replied, “Four cents.” There was hearty laughter among them. The egg man went to another table where he delivered the rest of his eggs. I went to the cash register to get change, then approached the egg man. I set a stack of four pennies on the table in front of him. He looked at me strangely. “What’s this for?” He asked. “I’m Catholic too. I wanted to match the collection the congregation took up for John...” The man laughed. I set a second stack of four pennies in front of him saying, “...and, I want to double that amount.” The man laughed more. He waved his hand pointing about the room, “He’s Catholic and so is she. That couple are Catholic too and there are six more of them around the corner at another table.” We shared a good laugh. I then set down the last two pennies of the change I had acquired at the register. “And these are for you, so the next time you meet with your buddies, Catholic or otherwise, you’ll be able to get in your two-cents-worth.” We shared another good laugh, then I returned to my table. Melissa asked, “What’d you just do?” I told her. I laughed, she just shook her head and smiled. The egg man came back over to John. He set the stack of four coins in front of him, explaining, “That man over there is Catholic and he wanted to match the church collection for you.” John was laughing. The egg man set the second stack of pennies in front of John. “Then he wanted to match his own donation.” The two men laughed. John said, “Well, he must be quite a guy.” The egg man set the last two pennies in front of the man saying, “And these are for you so you can get in your two-cents-worth the next time we meet.” There was more laughter. Their laughter made me happy. Melissa and I headed out the door, where I found a dirty old penny laying on the ground. Face-up or face-down, doesn’t matter to me - I always stop to pick up a penny. We returned to our car, where just outside the driver’s door was a brand new, shiny penny. I picked it up, showed the coin to Melissa, then put it in my pocket with the other penny. Sabina had approached us the same way I would approach other folks in a cafe. I gave another man what he needed to get in his two-cents-worth. He then passed it on to yet another man and I ended up with just enough to get my two-cents-worth at the next place we stop. How about that? What goes around, comes around. Sabina Richmond wi Bought coffee for a table of men. Put the devices down. Showed profile pic. No more perfect setting and Melissa isn’t looking at me there either.
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Review the Details4/19/2018 The screen prompted me, “Review the details.” I did as instructed, then grinned as I hit “Submit Payment.” Feeling as if a bunch of weight was lifted from my shoulders, I sat to ponder what had just happened. It was bittersweet.
A moment later my phone beeped. It was an incoming text from my daughter, Annie. “Thank you, Dad. I love you!” Immediately, a second text came from Annie; “How did it feel to pay your last bit of tuition ever?!” I smiled, thinking, “Pretty good!” It seems impossible that she’ll be graduating from college already, just two weeks from now. I began to daydream about her future and reflect on the past. It was the summer of 2013. Melissa, Annie and I had toured different school campuses. She considered the University of Northern Iowa, in Waterloo, the University of Minnesota in Duluth, and Winona State University in southern Minnesota. When we visited WSU, we stayed at Heaven’s Valley Lodge, a bed and breakfast just outside the city. It was a small hobby farm, organic in nature, nestled in the beautiful valley amongst the hills and bluffs surrounding Winona. We stayed in an apartment above the garages, where the tractors and implements were stored. The owners lived here while they built their house on the property. Although we had to make our own breakfast, the hosts were very accommodating. Breakfast items were left in the kitchen, along with a note inviting us to gather our own farm fresh eggs from the hen house. They also left an egg carton with a separate note, “Please feel free to take a dozen eggs home with you.” Annie and I headed for the hen house with a medium size kitchen bowl that was provided. Melissa said she would be along shortly. The farmer showed us how to get in securing the gate behind us so the hens couldn’t get out - and predators didn’t get in. Then he instructed us, “To get the eggs, you just slide the back of your open hand gently under the hen. She’ll lift a little, and you can bring the eggs out.” It was a neat experience. I hadn’t done that since I was a little kid. The hens breast feathers were soft and warm, as was the area underneath where she sat upon her eggs. One black and grey speckled hen pecked at my hand when I tried to get her eggs. I jumped back. The farmer laughed. “She won’t hurt you. Not all of the hens will let you take their eggs without a bit of a fuss.” He said, explaining, “Just ease your hand under her...” I did. She pecked me several more times. It didn’t hurt, but it sure got my attention. I felt like a thief taking her eggs. The farmer told us, “Take all the eggs you need for breakfast and be sure to gather an extra dozen to take home with you. I left an egg carton in your room.” He left and Melissa came in. By now, Annie and I had gathered most of the eggs from the small coop. “Are there any left?” Melissa asked. Annie answered, pointing to a reddish brown hen. “She has some.” Melissa took the egg from under the hen and placed it in the bowl. I pointed to the black and grey speckled hen, “She has some.” When Melissa reached for her eggs, the hen pecked at her hand causing Melissa to jump and pull away. Melissa tried again with the same response from the hen. “Don’t be a chicken!” I said with full pun intended, “Just get under there and get the eggs.” Melissa tried again, and the hen pecked at her again. We had a competition at hand. Melissa was just as determined to get the eggs, as the hen was to not let her have them. Melissa guided her hand under the hen. The hen pecked at her. Melissa continued. With her hand under the hen, feeling about, she said, “Hey! There are no eggs under her!” Annie and I shared a good laugh about that. The rest of the hens joined us, clucking and cackling at Melissa. Annie decided on WSU, in Winona. I don’t know if the “Hen House Incident” had anything to do with her choice, but I can’t help but to believe it had to have some effect. Several weeks later, we were back at the WSU campus for orientation. We decided to make a weekend of it, but knew the motels would be full - as were the campgrounds in Winona. We pulled our Scamp across the Interstate Bridge, over the Mississippi River, into Wisconsin. We would be setting up camp at Merrick State Park, just up Highway 35 from Fountain City. Our daughter, Delaney, was with us, and June Bug, too. Melissa had made arrangements for her friend Käri, to join us as well. The two of them worked together when Melissa was the Photo Editor at the Winona Daily News, and Käri was a reporter. They hadn’t seen each other for quite a while. The five of us enjoyed an evening around the campfire. While June kept the area free and safe from squirrels, we made S’mores, roasted hotdogs and enjoyed a few brews as well. The evening was perfect as we shared stories, and told jokes. We had good conversation and plenty of laughter. I suppose it was getting toward quite time - it was well after dark. Some kids in a campsite across the way were having fun. I imagine an older brother, probably eight or nine, was trying to scare his younger sibling. With arms raised above him, walking like bear, “Rahr!” came the cry in the night. The younger siblings let out a scream... and then there was laughter. Then another, softer “Arh!” From the little one followed by a louder “Rarh!” From the big brother. More laughter came with each series of beastly roars. It was too much for me to contain myself. I bellowed into the darkness, “RRRarh!” There was a brief pause. I’m sure they weren’t expecting outside participation. Then my roar was returned. I called back, louder, “RRRAAARRRHH.” Like echos, roars bounced through the campground, each time trying to be a little louder and scarier than the roar before. This went on for several minutes. Roars and laughter breaking the silence of the nights darkness. I think maybe a voice up the way yelled, “Knock it off!” I don’t remember for sure, but I do remember stern warnings from my spouse to discontinue this juvenile activity before we were asked to leave the park. I returned one final “Rrrahhr!” Then defending myself, I grinned and matter of factly reminded my bride, “They started it.” The next morning, while shaving in the shower house, I struck up conversation with another camper. “It sure is a beautiful morning.” I said, “Yeah, but I didn’t sleep so well.” He replied adding, “Did you hear those people roaring like bears and carrying on last night?” “Yeah, I heard that too. It sounded like they were just having fun.” I replied. “Well it was uncalled for.” He complained, then accused, “I think it was those people in that Scamp trailer. I think it was them making all the ruckus.” I could only smile, “You’re probably right. You just never know about those Scamp people.” I gathered my things and went back to our Scamp, looking behind me several times to make sure he wasn’t tailing me! A week or so later, we moved Annie into the dorms at Winona State University. She got to move in a couple days earlier than the rest of the incoming class because she was going on a school sponsored Nature Adventure. The last of our three daughters was off to college. She looked so small as stood on the steps of the school amongst dozens of freshmen, all hoping their parents wouldn’t do anything to embarrass them in front of their new peers. She had a backpack over her shoulder, a pillow under her left arm and a sleeping bag in that hand. With her right hand, she waved at us. I gave a couple blasts on the horn, waving my hand high in the air. As we drove passed the steps, I stuck my head out the window and yelled, “I LOVE YOU, ANNIE JO PALEN, FROM OTTUMWA, IOWA,” I could see her blushing. After sending out two more toots on the horn, I rolled the window up and let the tears flow. Our little girl has grown up. She’ll graduate in May, and by this fall she will be a teacher with her own classroom. She’s going to be amazing! To answer her question: “How did it feel to pay your last bit of tuition ever?!” “RRRaaaahhrrr!” Teach them well, Annie Jo, I love you.
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Fresh Eggs4/19/2018 Your mom taught you to lift the lid to check for cracked or broken eggs when buying them. The cashier at the check out always seems to open the top to double check for you. Tonight I stopped for eggs at Kwik Trip in Two Harbors. I took a dozen eggs from the cooler, opened the lid and looked inside. The eggs were fine, but the act of checking them seemed so routine and mundane. I thought, there has to be a way to make egg inspections more fun. I had an idea and got twelve of my buddies to go along with it - to help me pull a little prank. There was a gal putting burritos in the warmer. She had a black marker clipped to the front of her apron. “Excuse me. Could I borrow your Sharpie?” I asked. “Sure.” She said handing me the writing device. She stood there shaking her head in disbelief while watching me. “Don’t worry,” I assured her, “I’m buying these.” “You Are now!“ she said. I took my place in line. When it was my turn, I stepped up to the counter handing the egg carton to the clerk, Sandy. “Did you check the eggs?” She asked. “What do you mean?” I replied acting quite naive. She checked them for me. When she lifted the lid, her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She looked shocked, to say the least! Then made a snorting noise and started laughing. “What the...how the...did you do this?” She asked. “Did I do what?” I responded innocently. Together we shared a good laugh. Two customers behind me stretched their necks to see what was going on, then joined in the laughter. Sandy asked, “Did Joan see this? Don’t go away, Joan has to see this.” Then Sandy talked into the secret microphone, “Joan, can you come up front please.” Joan started laughing as well. I took a picture of the eggs, to share with you. Of course there’s always that one guy in every group photo who blinked and had his eyes closed when the shutter snapped. Oh well. You can see a few of the eggs are winking at the cashier. One of them was saying “Hubba hubba!” Another “Hey good lookin’.” One egg even whistled at her. Oh my. They were all carrying on, but how else would you expect them to behave? Even the sign in the store warns the customers: “Fresh eggs.” It was all fun. I hope you see the humor - frankly the whole thing cracks me up. This story is also available online. It’s easy to share with your friends at www.fairmontphotopress.com. |