The World of Hank and Bobby Hill

Originally, the title of this posting was going to be "Day 9" as in, this is Day Nine of my Sixteen Days of Vacation. However, my journalistic instincts were aroused and I thought that it was a better headline to describe what I've been doing for nine days rather than just highlight the number of days.

Like most TV shows, I don't really follow them until my boys start watching them and telling me that they are really funny. My instinct is to not watch any TV -- except for baseball and football games, of course.

I think it was last Christmas that the boys introduced me to the animated TV show, "King of the Hill." I didn't necessarily think it compared with something as well done as Seinfeld, but there were episodes that had their moments. For instance, when Bobby (who is perpetually 12 years old) decides that to defend himself on the playground he will simply kick other boys in the groin. His dad (Hank an ex-high school football star) tries to tell his son that kicking someone in the "fellers" is dirty pool. However, Bobby kicks his Dad. The story has probably lost something in translation here, but believe me, it's very entertaining TV.

Just as Seinfeld introduced me to "living in New York City", the Hills have introduced me to living in "Texas". I also like it when Bobby's mother tells us that she was raised in Montana.

So now lets fast-forward to this Christmas. Scott bought season one. Generally season one is a little experimental and when it comes to animation, this is no exception. The people -- who aren't drawn very well anyway -- look like a couple of first graders drew them. But what the hay...I've got nothing better to do so I easily devour the first 16 or so episodes that make up season one.

Then Christmas Eve arrives and, lo and behold, Derek receives season two from his brother Scott. Well, I've still got nothing going on as it snows every other day here now...and the couch is feeling ever so comfortable. In a day or two, the boys and I have devoured the next 24 episodes, which are season two. The drawings are getting better and the characters seem a little more familiar with their lines.

So after devoting so much of my past nine days living with Bobby and Hank Hill, the question is sure to arise, "Are you any better for it?"

I'm probably not any smarter, but I do find the genre of "Texas" humor starts to grow on you. I also like the "conservative" slant that the writers have. They, like me, think that a lot of the problems hyped by the media and activists are simply bogus claims made by people who wouldn't be happy if they were hung with a new rope. (By the way, that's a Montana phrase, not a Texas phrase I learned from King of the Hill).

So, my life for nine days has been pretty much like this...open the door and get the paper while trying to judge how much snow has fallen. Eat breakfast and complete the crossword puzzle. Go fire up the snowblower and clean my driveway and the two driveways to the east of me. Come in for lunch and see if the boys are up. If they are, we can retire to the couch for an afternoon of King of the Hill. Then it's suppertime and dessert is often followed by some King of the Hill. Perhaps, we'll mix it up here with a game of Skip-Bo or Scrabble. Then dad heads to bed at 8:30...and there is pinochle till about midnight. I go to to bed and then the routine begins again.

Ah, the lazy, crazy days of Christmas vacation. Only seven more days left to go. It's hard to believe that years of hard work by the voice actors, animators and writers can be swallowed up in mere days by the Van Dykes. Since no one else reading the blog is probably familiar with Hank and Bobby...how about letting us know what you are doing to pass the time during the holidays.

The Four Gospels - Randy, Steve, Bob and Glenn

Last year about this time, the Fellowship Committee at our Church invited a trio of women to entertain us with some old time gospel songs sung in three part harmony. They were good -- real good. And afterward in the church narthex as we gathered for coffee and cookies, four guys put their heads together and said, "You know, we could do that."

And thus began "The Four Gospels", aka the Men's Quartet. The first tenor is Randy Meissner. I sing second tenor. Bob Samualson sings baritone and his father-in-law Glenn Watson sings bass. Our accompaniest is retired music teacher and part-time piano teacher Nyla Shock.

We debuted one Sunday last spring with the familar quartet standard, "Have a little talk with Jesus." We were an instant hit. There were even some people standing and applauding when we were done. You don't see that much in church.

We learned a few things along the way, like -- "Steve can't sing harmony but he sings loud so if he can sing the lead, he's probably going to do okay." and "Steve can't read music so Randy better sing the lead with a him a few times until he can figure out what the tune is." and "Steve doesn't know a time signature from an egg timer so somebody better clap out the rhythm for him."

Still, that's the side of the practices that no one sees. When we perform, we're pretty good. Sure, I sing the occasional wrong note, but if it's in tune to what Randy's singing -- actually its often exactly what Randy is singing -- it still sounds pretty good.

Over the past year, we've sung twice at the Mandan Care Center, once for the Bismarck-Mandan Singles Club and numerous times in church. We even sang at the outdoor picnic service last June. Where ever we sing, the audience loves us...or at least we think they do.

So we keep practicing and learning new songs.

Now tomorrow night for Christmas Eve services, the Four Gospels will be lighting the Advent wreath and singing an old Christmas standard, "Star of the East."

Being a part of the "Four Gospels" is among my highest acheivements in 2008. Writing this blog is another.

In both pictures, the Four Gospels are in the same order -- Glenn, Bob, Steve and Randy. I think this is a perfect example of how God can use any of us. It's not our ability, but it's our availability that God wants most.

Chistmas memories from Roundup long ago….

Christmases at our home at 1402 Second Street West in Roundup are only memories. The Christmas tree always seemed to be bought just a couple of days before the holiday itself.
We didn’t have little lights in the early 1960s; we had big colored lights. They were the first thing to be hung on the tree. Next would come strings of shiny metal beads.

Then came the balls and Mom seemed to have a story about everyone. One of her favorites was a transparent blue ball. It didn’t have any writing on it or snow flake designs, but it was special simply because it was old. We also had little plastic ornaments that reminded me of blue and green carousals at the fair. Inside them were shiny spinners that would turn if you placed them above one of those big colored lights on the tree. There were also some candy canes that were hung on the tree as well.

Finally, there was tinsel to be hung. Long silvery, shimmering tinsel but only the big kids with lots of patience could help because you had to take one piece at a time and hang it on a limb.

Under the tree could be found the presents. Often these consisted of socks, underwear, Chinese checkers, a deck of playing cards and if you got a present that looked like everyone else’s, chances are it was a box of Lifesavers. Grandmas were great for buying everyone Lifesavers, and we had two Grandmas.

One year I wanted a toy machine gun, with a plastic backpack and a khaki green combat helmet. The outfit looked very authentic in the Sears Christmas catalog, but when I got it you couldn’t help but notice that the barrel was broken. Not to worry, because Uncle Ralph fixed it by taping some popsicle sticks to the barrel and, voila, it was good as new.

Often, Christmas shopping meant driving over to Billings. While we might shop at Sears in West Park Plaza, our general route seemed to include downtown stores like Skaggs and Penney’s. We would park about three blocks away and walk to the stores. Skaggs, which was a miniature version of a discount store with a huge candy counter, was always a favorite of mine. They had toys and candy for sale. In the winter, they opened their basement and it was a little kid's fantasyland.

Down the block was Penney’s. They had an escalator that frightened me. Also I knew that if a present was bought for me at Penney’s, it was probably going to be clothes or shoes. They also had drinking fountains, tall drinking fountains with the worst water I’ve ever tasted. But the water was cold -- ice cold.

Besides the gifts from my parents, I always liked opening the present from my sister Janet. She always seemed to have an “age-appropriate” gift for me. For instance, paper dolls, scissors and paste made a very nice gift for a six-year-old. She also worked at the library so seemed to have more money to buy me nice gifts.

I don’t know who bought it for me or how old I was, but I remember getting a spinning top once or twice. The tops not only spun but also sang – not a song but a high pitched noise – anyway it was cool and I could keep the top going for a long time.

My older brother Randy got neat gifts, like a vibrator-board football game. It was a huge gift. He set it up and it took over the top of his dresser, and he had a big long dresser. When I got older, Randy and I used to play vibrator football from Thanksgiving through Christmas.

I don’t remember much about meals at Christmas, but I do remember that Dad like to have bags full of nuts and candy under the tree for all of us kids. He said his Dad used to do that, too, so it became a tradition.

If we shopped in Roundup, it was probably at the Knauss dime store. That’s where I bought presents once I had money to do so. Later they made a Hollywood movie in Roundup and little Melissa Gilbert threw a brick and broke the plate glass window of the Knauss store. My brother Randy sent me a copy of the movie…I think he bought it off of e-Bay.

The other thing I remember about downtown Roundup was the Santa Claus. It was none other than Ezra “Bunny” Cartwright, my Aunt Milly’s husband. We didn’t really get to say much to Santa Claus because we knew who he was, however, we did get a little candy cane from him. That was the smallest candy cane that they make.

I’m pretty hazy also about when we opened presents, but it seems like it was either Christmas morning or Christmas Eve. I suppose it depended upon when everyone was home. Gene worked at Ray’s grocery, Janet worked at the library and Dad worked on oil rigs. Anyway it seemed like a busy group, but I was content to let the world turn around me as I concentrated on the Christmas catalog and floated away into holiday bliss. Certainly, I would agree that anticipating Christmas was much better than opening gifts. However, I liked the gifts, too!

The picture of the little boy with Panda bear is the author at Christmas in 1961. The boy with the sled is none other than Ar Vee.

2008 - the year of irony

As we creep closer to the end of the year, newspapers and newsmagazines will begin to tell us what kind of year we just went through...and worst of all, they'll try to tell us what it all means.

Since I hold the same degree (a bachelor's in journalism) as these other scribes, I thought I would try to share my analysis a week or two earlier. Who knows maybe some of them may accidentally agree with me in their analysis as well.

First of all, I would sum up the year like this -- it was a year of irony. I mean where else can we go from $4 a gallon gas in July (which many of us thought might reach $5 a gallon) only to see the price of gas dip to below $2 for the first time in years. Currently, I'm paying about $1.70 a gallon, but I've paid as little as $1.46 a gallon in Fargo last week.

So what brought about this miraculous change? What is it the do-nothing Congress run by Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi? No, it was simple market forces. The price of gas got too high and people quit driving, which led to a surplus. And even though the price has fallen, people still aren't driving because the economy has tanked. It also seems like a lot of people have given up on SUVs, as the prices are ridiculously low compared to even a year ago. But who has the money to buy one?

What else did we see this year that smacks of irony? Well, we elected a new president who promises lots of new government to fix our ills...but actually it was the government that caused a lot of the ills in the first place -- such as the subprime loan rate for people who really never should have been approved for a home loan in the first place.

It's also ironic that the new president who trumpeted "change" is willing to appoint so many former Clinton Administration leftovers to his cabinet. Maybe the 1990s is the new 2009 -- to paraphrase a tired and worn out cliche. Or as former New York Yankees catcher Yogi Berra probably never said, "I think I've seen this movie before...and I didn't like the way it ended."

One of the "fixes" promised by the new president is a tax on carbon dioxide emissions (it's called cap and trade - but if it quacks like a duck, then its a tax) to reduce greenhouse gases by 80 percent by 2050. This is the new "let's give everybody a chance to buy a home" chant by the Washington elite.

While it sounds good, the pain will be unbearable. Carbon-based fossil fuels account for nearly 100 percent of transportation fleet (read: cars, trucks and airplanes) and about 50 percent of our electricity is from coal. These fuels are the cheapest to use and our country needs cheap energy. We know our salaries and benefit packages aren't competitive with people in India and China, so our ace in the hole has been cheap energy. Take that away and we'll really see the bottom fall out of the economy.

This, too, is ironic. Because it won't be bullets that destroyed our country like the people of my Dad's generation thought...it will simply be misguided but "sounds too good to be true" public policies by people we elected.

It's also ironic that my state is freezing, New Orleans and Las Vegas have both recently gotten snows, and still the environmental activists tell us that it is absolutely critical that we do something about global warming or else the world will go past the "tipping" point. We've now heard that cry for 30 years. If anything, the hollering is more shrill. But frankly, I don't buy it. The world is much the same as it's always been. There has always been droughts, famines and climate change. However, the world has more people now that it ever has and only through the use of fossil-fuels are we able to sustain this much population.

Sure, I'm all for finding ways of making energy that are more sustainable than coal and oil, but until we get there, we better use these fossil fuels as a bridge to the future. Otherwise, it will be a cold world....especially in North Dakota in the winter.

Oh, by the way, TIME magazine's man of the year will be B.O. And if he doesn't deliver the goods in about 90 days in office, he will likely be goat of the year in 2009. Remember, America has now raised an entire generation on Sesame Street so our attention span is now only about a minute long. Be assured we won't have much patience with someone who promised a lot and delivered so little. The clock is already ticking.

This is not to say that I don't wish him all the luck in the world. Believe me, I fully understand what a terrible mess we are in. And with Democrats controlling the White House, the Senate and the House...the table has been set. However, irony has a way of interrupting even the best laid plans. So grab a chair, pop some corn and watch the evening news -- it looks like it will be quite a show. And before you go to bed, pray for these leaders. Pray that they have some common sense and if they have some, that they use it. No use in saving their common sense for a rainy day because it looks like we're having a downpour as we transition from Bush II to Clinton III.

How ironic.

Living in an ice box...and not trying to gain weight

Winter won't officially arrive for another five days, but in North Dakota, most of us are already tired of it and can't wait until it warms up.

When growing up in central Montana, you never knew when the warm up would occur because we had something known as "chinook" winds that could blow in during the night and melt all the snow by morning.

No such luck in Ice Box, USA...we will have winter at least through February, and maybe March.

I have quit my walking outside before work. Now the only extra walking I'm doing is to start my car and warm it up before I drive somewhere.

This morning it was about - 20 air temperature. Luckily, there wasn't much wind. By noon, it had warmed up to - 15 degrees F.

Last night, the Shwan man came by. I knew his frozen goods were going to be cold but they were unbelievably cold. For instance, I put a small loaf of their Andes mint cake in the microwave for 40 seconds to heat it up...which normally is long enough. Last night, the middle of the cake was still frozen while the icing on top had melted and was running off.

So what's a guy to do when he's stuck inside all the time. Sure, there's reading, watching TV and playing "Family Feud" on the computer. But there's also comfort foods -- like meatloaf, scalloped potatoes, macaroni and cheese -- that help us northerners get through these miserable days of freezing temperatures and little daylight...especially when we are not working and all the stores are closed because of blizzard conditions.

Well, there's the exercise bike in the basement. The problem with that is ... you can take it for a 45-minute spin and you really haven't gone anywhere or seen anything. It's much inferior to walking outside where the air is cleaner and each block smells a little different. Someone is frying bacon, I'm getting close to Hardees now because I can smell the homemade biscuits. But when you are in your basement riding a bicycle all you can really smell is yourself...and that it isn't very pleasent.

Okay, commenters...how do you get through the dog days of winter and keep your sanity and the extra pounds off from eating the holiday goodies and the comfort foods that keep us happy?

Christmas scams

I hate picking up the phone only to hear a bunch of background noise while you wait for a person's voice who's trying to sell you something.

Today at lunch I got one of those calls. Since I eat right below the phone in the kitchen, it took but a brief mico-second to answer it and then I waited and waited. Finally, a voice came on and asked for me.

I told them I wasn't home and hung up.

That's generally how I deal with scams perpetrated by telemarketers...but how do you deal with scams perpetrated by your own family members -- namely my son Scott.

For instance, when he doesn't have any gasoline in his car, he's more than happy to hand me his car keys if I'm going to run an errand. He knows I have no tolerance for running out of gas -- never have -- so I'll be sure and fill his tank up.

But his latest scam was a doozy. He gave me $20 so I could buy his mother a diary for Christmas.

In one respect, I feel like I trained him well. He hates to shop as much or more than me so he pawned the task off to someone else -- unfortunately, me!

However, the 2009 diary, with tax, cost $40 so guess who picked up the extra $20?

What a scam.

I think I'm going to restrict the comments on this one to only parents...Beagle, Ttocs and DVD, no comments from you. The rest, however, I'd like to hear how your kids have scammed you.

This puts me in mind of a couple of things. One was a speaker who asked the audience, "How many of you have teenage children, how many had teenage children, and how many of you have been HAD by teenage children?"

The other one is about a guy I knew 20 years ago who told me his son's girlfriend asked him what she could buy for her boyfriend...she wanted to buy him something that he would never think of buying for himself.

The dad responded, "How about a tank of gas."

Anyway, here's how I handled Scott and the $40 diary episode. The diary is now going under the tree as a gift from Santa. Scott is buying something else for his mother.

You can't fool "Father" Nature. (Scene fades to lightning and thunderbolts)

A sack for each of us under the tree

When I was growing up in Roundup, we didn't have a set time to open presents under the tree. Dad was working in the oil fields and mom was working at the hospital. If you know anythng about hospitals and oil fields, they don't shut down for holidays. So we opened presents at various times, depending on the work schedules of our parents.

Now this year, I have December 24 through December 28th off if I take no vacation. Those are just holidays I get off plus the weekend. If I used six days of vacation, I can be off work from December 20th through January 4th. That's almost as long as the boys have off from college.

Obviously a few things are different regarding my desk job compared to my dad's job as a roughneck on an oil rig. Another difference is the money. Not that working in the oil field didn't pay the bills, but with rig work, no one is ever sure if they are working the next week, the next month or the next year. Compared to working on an oil rig, I'm relatively sure that I'll be working for the same company next December that I work for now. And I'm generally sure that my paycheck is going to be the same next month as it was last month. No surprises there...which is good because my wife hates surprises.

So with a steady job there are some advantages, such as putting presents under the Christmas tree relatively easily compared to what my parents faced. My biggest drawback with buying presents is that I hate to shop. I have good intentions but there is always some reason why I never make it to the mall or a box store for Christmas bargains. Stated simply, I don't like crowds. I never have. But that's okay because my wife likes to shop and, if given enough time, she'll even buy something for me to give to her. At least that way she knows it fits.

But enough of that, my point in writing this little note is to remind my brothers and sisters of a present for each of us we knew would always be under our Christmas tree when we were growing up. It was a paper sack filled with peanuts, an orange and a handful of candy, likely a candy cane and some hard ribbon candy. We knew we would get this sack because it was a tradition that our Daddy had passed on from his Daddy.

Of course, what our Daddy didn't tell us was that the sack of fruit and peanuts was likely the only present he and his brothers and sisters got. That's because his parents had 10 children and were living in the heart of the Depression.

This year, I'm going to revive that tradition. Not as a sign to foretell my children about the chance of another Depression, but simply as a reminder that we have it so much better than our parents or their parents did.

The brown paper sack under the Christmas tree -- a reminder of where we came from and how much we have to be thankful for.

Merry Christmas!

The Christmas letter I would like to write

I face the unenviable task of writing the Christmas letter both for my family and for my Dad. There are certain rules you have to follow when writing the letter. For instance, you have to mention every member of the family, and you have to keep the letter upbeat no matter how depressing the news is. So I'll write about our trip to San Francisco, the boys attending college, Belinda's annual journey to the Black Hills with her sisters and anything else that's upbeat and somewhat newsy.

Now in the case of my Dad who doesn't travel, creative writing is certainly a plus. Generally, you start off by noting how the great-grandkids are doing and you work your way up to the grandkids and then to the kids -- some who are nearing retirement age themselves. Still you keep the letter upbeat...no use in writing about the number of people dying who you used to write to and how you'll be saving a lot on stamps this year.

Unless, of course, you decide to finally write the letter that you've always wanted to...but never had the guts to do. Let's take a look at just what that letter might look like...but remember this is a made up family -- not mine.

Dear friend, acquaintenance or family member -- your choice!

This year has been the pits. A lot of people have died but none of them had the good sense to leave me any money so I continue to work for next to nothing at the same old boring job. If you plan on dying next year, would you please include me in your will. And if you have any extra money, please include some of my immediate family members as well. Finally, don't wait until next December to die...how about January or February?

I really don't want to talk about my sons and daughters in this letter because a couple of them made me mad and I'm not speaking to the others. Basically, my nights are spent with my feet up in front of the TV waiting for the phone to ring and have someone tell me that I won the lottery. I invested several hundred dollars this year in the lottery, which they tell me helps support the salaries for teachers at the local schools. You can imagine the amazed looks on the faces of the little kids who come to my house to sell me candy, popcorn and other assorted goodies to raise money for their class, band or chorus when I tell them that I already gave at the local bar on the way home from work when I bought 40 lottery tickets and none of them was a winner.

I'm also not going to mention my spouse. She's still hanging around the house and cooks my meals and washes my clothes. However, she's now making more money than me and she's so selfish that she won't share it with me so I'm buying my own beer and lottery tickets. She's also addicted to "Dancing with the Stars" and "House" so I don't get to watch my shows anymore. If this keeps up, I might just grab a book and start reading it. No...I'm just kidding.

I went to the doctor a couple of times this year. I took the cat to the vet and he had an operation. So he's not a Tom cat anymore. I'm supposed to get an operation also, but the cat didn't like his and I don't think I would like mine so my resolution next year is not to go see the doctor anymore.

Well, I think I mentioned everyone important to me...with the exception of my car. It's still the 1988 Pontiac. I think the paint quit falling off so it looks about the same.

Have a Merry Christmas...I know I will.

No substitute for hard work

We often admire somebody for their "gifts" such as a musical talent, but do we ever stop to consider how much time that person has invested in perfecting their particular talent?

Often we say, "boy, if only I could be more like him" or "Geez, I wish I could sing like her," but we don't stop to consider the hours of practice that these people put in.

A good example is the Olympic swimming champ Mike Phelps. I really admire him because I'm more of a rock than a cork in the water. So to see someone one with such amazing talent is inspiring to say the least. But I certainly understand that no one in the Olympics got there by talent alone. They also had to spend lots of time practicing.

For me, I would rather spend my time with my family or friends...or reading a good book. But I know there is no substitute for hard work so if I really want to be good at something, I'm going to have to work at it.

Recently, I rejoined Toastmasters after a six-year hiatus. When I was in this "speaking club" before, I was pretty good. They have an international championship of public speaking and in 1997, I'd like to think that I was pretty close to getting on stage with 10 best speakers in the world. However, I spoke too long at a regional competition in Edmonton, Alberta, and was disqualified.

At the time, I have to admit, I wasn't all that disappointed because I had a very busy summer working for MDU. It was at a time when I was helping the company buy a number of important properties out on the West Coast and if I had been practicing for the world championship of public speaking, I would have been distracted from my other work.

However, now I'm a little older and I have a little more time to devote to the craft of public speaking. In March, I'll be competing at the club level. If I win there, I will advance to the area and district competitions, which will be in Bismarck, and then on to the regional competition, which will be in the Black Hills of South Dakota. If I make it there, it's on to the international stage...out in New England next August.

But it all starts here at home...I know I have the talent...but it will I take the time to polish my speeches and make them world class? Time will tell...but believe me, there's no substitute for hardwork.

June 2007...if only I had 20/20 hindsight

I keep a pretty good eye on my retirement investments. The pot is split up into five different holdings. One of them is an annuity that contains the money I received from my pension when I left MDU. That's probably the most conservative of my investments. I have an other holding which is composed of national and international stocks. It is probably the most diversifed.

Then I have small cap, mid cap and aggressive growth mutual funds. Frankly all three of these funds are underperformers, but I don't have a lot of money in them so I tend to ignore them rather than shift my money into something else. They contain my IRA accounts from when I first got married. My buddy at Smith Barney talked me into them, but he has since left and moved to the Twin Cities.

Since June of 2007, my combined investments in all five holdings have lost a combined 44 percent of their value. This is inspite of me continuing to invest 20 percent of my total compensation on new investments every month. If 44 percent sounds like a lot of money, it is...because I have been investing money in my retirement since my mid-20s. We bought our house when I was 26 so everything I had up to that time went into our down payment. Everything since then has gone toward retirement...except for a few trips to Alaska and Hawaii, along with college for the boys.

When I was in my 20s, I heard an investment counselor say that there are two ways to make a lot of money. One way is to start with a lot of money. The other way is to start with a lot of time. I had the time, not the money, so I started early.

However, the past 16 or 17 months have not been kind.

There is a bright side to this, but the glimmer is barely a sparkle at the moment. The bright side is that I continue to buy up a lot of low cost investments. You remember the adage, buy low and sell high?

Well, it would be nice if by the time I'm thinking about retirement -- which lately is every winter I live in North Dakota -- the price of what I'm buying would double or triple.

But really I wish that I would have had the foresight to take my money out of the stock market and to have put it into CDs, say about June of 2007. Then when the market starts to grow, I wouldn't have to dig myself out of such a hole.

This happened to my investments one other time -- it was called September 11, 2001. After the terrorists flew our jets into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and a deserted field in Pennsylvania, my investments tanked. But they had regained their previous value in about two years time and kept growing...until July 2007.

At first the slide was barely perceptible, but in the last couple of months the spiral has been obvious. I don't quite feel like jumping off a tall building or a bridge like the folks did in 1929, but I do feel a lot poorer.

I know things could be worse. After all, I still have a job and my job pays me the same month after month, even if the economy is tanking. But still I'm a bit perplexed. There's been a lot of fingerpointing going on about whose fault it is that the economy is in the doldrums...but does anybody really know who or what is at fault? Because if we won't don't know what the problem is, can we really fix it?

Seems to me the government just keeps throwing money at the problem, but I don't think anyone truly understands what the problem is or what the solution is. Because of this, I have more confidence that we are heading toward a Depression rather than a Recession. Luckily, I don't have any debt and don't anticipate taking any on...however, it would be nice to have a bigger nest egg sitting in the bank.

Only 30 shopping days left 'til HumanLight

Did you you catch the story in the Wall Street Journal this week about athiests ("non-believers") placing ads on buses in Washington, D.C., buying billboards in Madison, Wisconsin, and other cities promoting secularism over religion?

The article says that the "non-believers" feel that their movement is growing and now's the time to come forward so that other non-believers can feel more comfortable in public about being athiests.

These groups don't advertise on Rush Limbaugh and Bill O's radio programs, but they do get their message out on Air America.

The article says that this is a critical time for athiests to reach out as a new administration prepares to take office in the White House.

Now when I was in college, I had a Jewish fellow living on my dorm floor so when the rest of us left on Christmas vacation, we wished him "Happy Hannukah!"

What would we have done if we had an out-of-the-closet athiest?

Well, it seems they like to shop and at least enjoy some of the holiday trimmings. But instead of Christmas or Hannukah, they prefer the "HumanLight" holiday. It's a time when they can sing from the Humanist Hymnal, decorate a winter wreath and light a candle for a personal hero -- maybe John Wayne or James Bond.

And we used to laugh when George Costanza and his family celebrated "Festivus for the Rest of Us" on Seinfeld.

However, it seems there is a slight problem with the athiests...er, non-believers. When a preacher asks her or his congregation to stand, they all stand. However, it turns out the athiests are a divided bunch. A third might stand, a third might sit and the other third will want to argue about it. Go figure.

If that's the future, "give me that old time religion, it's good enough for me."

Merry Christmas!

100 years of Roundup - 17 years of me

The Roundup Record-Tribune, the weekly newspaper from our hometown, has been taking up most of its front page for a couple of years with stories from past issues. That's because Roundup, Montana, officially turned 100 years old this year.

I've devoted a lot of time over the past year reading about things that I knew nothing about as I learned how my hometown grew from 1908 until 1959 when I was born. However, I learned a few other things from about 1959 until 1970 because I didn't really pay much attention to such things as who owned what stores, what pioneer rancher died, who was the mayor and sat on the city council, etc. So you can imagine by wonderment when finally the newspapers started to arrive with some old news that I actually recognized, like the girls who won the state golf championship in 1975. I knew those girls and went to college with a couple of them.

But sadly, the years I actually knew about, or cared about, occurred in only a couple of weeks worth of newspapers. Now the newspaper that arrives in my mailbox has jumped into the 1980s and I had left town years earlier after graduating from high school in 1977. So again I'm reading about history that I had no part of or no stake in. It's people whose names some times sound familiar but I can't seem to come up with a face for the name.

When I grew up the mayor was Hershel Robbins and the sheriff was Troy Palmer's dad. The principal was Jay Erdie and the superintendent was Bob Krogh. However, they don't last forever and new people take their place...people who I don't know.

In the final analysis, I've come to understand that very little of my life actually revolved around Roundup. Yes, I was born there, my family lived there, my cousins lived there, my grandmothers lived there and my parents lived there most -- if not all -- of their lives, but for me, it was a brief 17 years and most of that time I was too young to care about any newsworthy events.

I know once upon a time there was a clothing store in Roundup named "Who's Allen" but I can't remember ever going into it...although I suppose I did when I was a kid. I remember the Knauss dime store about as good as anything. And I remember taking Hunter's Safety classes in the basement of the Arcade from Mr. Heinle who owned the Gamble's store across the street. I remember Model grocery because it was across the street from the elementary school. Now when I look at the building, I can't believe that it was so small because it seemed so large when I was a kid.

This makes me wonder what my grandparents would have thought if they had lived to see the size of a Super Wal-Mart or Sam's Club.

I liked shopping at Model grocery because I knew the family that owned it. The Picchioni's -- from Frank Senior to Frank the third -- were all nice people. Louie, their cousin, worked behind the meat counter, and I liked him, too. I went to school with three of Louie's daughters and they were nice, too.

But alas, the store is closed. And a few remnants of the Picchioni family run the IGA store, but it's not the same. It doesn't have the "family" feel because I don't know these third and fourth generation folks. And a couple of them, I'm pretty sure, aren't really Picchioni's.

You see, I left town when I was hardly more than an adolescent. And while I returned to visit my folks, that in fact is what I did...I visited my folks. I didn't renew old friendships or strike up new ones or find out who the new mayor was -- except when it was my aunt Almeada. So now I when I read about Roundup in the '80, the '90s and the last decade, I can continue to scratch my head and ask "who are these people?"

The Roundup I knew is only recognizable in my dreams.

The perfect condiment - Cheetos

I can't remember the year exactly, but I'm going to guess 1998 or 1999. This would mean the boys were probably second and fourth graders. Anyway, I flew home on the corporate jet from either Kalispell or Portland. I can't remember which city but it doesn't really matter because they both had a COSTCO. And it was at COSTCO that I made two of my wisest purchases -- frozen King Crab Legs and a big container of salted cashews.

I remember that I flew home because I wanted to make sure the crab legs didn't thaw. The pilot put them in a little storage compartment on the wings and he said that by flying a mile high, the legs would be sure to remain frozen. He was right.

A couple of days after that, Belinda and her Aunt Darlene and cousin Susie decided to have lunch together. That left Derek, Scott and me to fend for ourselves when it came to cooking lunch.

Not knowing much about cooking crab legs, I decided the best way to cook them was to heat them up on the barbecue grill. But how much should I cook for one man and two boys?

That answer was easy -- all of them.

The next question is what should we have with them? Why, cashews of course. But should we have something else, like a vegetable or a starch or something healthy?

Probably, but all I could think of was the perfect meal -- crab legs, Cheetos, Mountain Dew and cashews. And there was plenty to go round so nobody would go hungry. Oh yeah, I'm sure I melted butter for the crab legs. No use in skimpy on the fat.

What reminded me of this delectable meal of years gone by was the fact that I had to cook supper tonight for Dad and Scott. I wanted to eat out, but Scott said that he needed to study so wanted to eat at home.

I didn't have any crab legs so I substituted crab cakes and Blue Hake boneless fish fillets. I'm older now and I knew we needed a vegetable, so I baked some Chinese egg rolls -- hey, there has to be a veggie in there somewhere. I also boiled some corn on the cob and baked some Monster cookies.

But the meal was lacking. It didn't have the "Chef Steve" touch. So I grabbed the bag of curly, cheesy Cheetos. In an instant we had a meal.

No it didn't match the fine dining that eating a handful of salted cashews brings, but still it had the certain something that says "a man cooked this meal."

I asked Dad what he liked best and worst of the four or five things on his plate. In grand gentleman fashion, he replied, "It all tastes great," as he bit into a curly Cheetos and wrapped some of his egg roll into his napkin. Whoops, I wasn't supposed to notice that napkin as it found its way to the garbage.

As for Scott and me, we slicked it up.

What's your favorite "not-so-good" for you meal?

Scott and his college paper

Both Derek and Scott have written papers about Alzheimer's. My guess is the reason they liked the subject is they know someone personally who has been affected by the disease.

As part of Scott's research, he conducted an interview with me. So I thought I would share it in case it would be an interest to any of the readers.

1. What type of questions did the doctors ask when Grandpa went in to see if he had mild memory loss or severe?

A. There were a range of questions, but some were like: How many kids do you have? Can you tell me their names? What town are you in? Draw a picture of the face of a clock. Now put hands on the clock to show the time as 1:45. Can you spell "world" backwards?

2. How many questions did he ask and how many did grandpa have to answer right to have mild, moderate or severe?

A. I can't remember how many questions but the top score was 30. When he first took the test in Roundup in February of 2006, he scored a 19 and the doctor then said he could continue to drive - although I thought that was scary. A year later he scored a 14 and the doctor in Mandan said he shouldn't drive and that someone should be with him 24 hours a day so he did no harm to himself - such as get lost - or to our home, such as leaving a hot plate on or the water running. It wasn't hard to talk Grandpa into not driving because he gave it up when he moved to Mandan. I guess he didn't want to study for the test to get a North Dakota drivers license.

3. What are the treatments that they have for memory loss patients?

A. Grandpa is on Arricept and Namenda, which I think have kept his condition probably stable over the last two years. However, I don't think he has gotten any better.

4. What are different things you do to keep his mind exercised?

A. We play Scrabble, listen to familiar music, such as Johnny Cash and Flatt and Scruggs, read books together, and I've put together a PowerPoint with names and pictures of his family, including his parents, his deceased spouse, his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. We are currently reading a biography of Dwight Eisenhower, written by Stephen Ambrose. Dad's obviously a very good reader. We've also read Undaunted Courage by Ambrose along with a slug of westerns by Louis L'Mour and Zane Grey.

5. How long has Grandpa had memory loss?

A. We first noticed it during the winter of 2004 when we were playing card games in Roundup. He could play cards, but if you went from Phase 10 to Rummy, he couldn't easily make the switch because he had forgotten the rules. Same thing with Pinochle. My sister Janet's the one who told me we should get a doctor to look at him. We tried that in the summer of 2005, but the doctor was the one who didn't seem to know what he was looking for. Instead of memory loss, he tried to treat Dad for fibromyaligia, which Dad doesn't have. Dad simply has worn out the cartilage in hands and wrists, but that's treatable with an Advil in the morning and at night. As Beagle could probably comment on, the doctor we saw in Roundup wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.

6. What are the positive things about living with a person with memory loss?

A. Every day is a new beginning. If you had a fight with him the day before, all is forgotten. It's a pretty good philosophy for all of us. Take each day as a new gift from God. You can't hold a grudge if you can't remember what happened yesterday. Also, you learn to trust your caregivers because you really have no choice. My Dad has given me the power of attorney for him, and that's an immense responsibility as I can control almost every aspect of his life. My brother and sister (Ar Vee and Penny) have the scars to show for getting Dad to sign the Power of Attorney paper, but we're all glad he did now.

7. What are the negatives?

A. You feel like your losing your father, because he can't remember the old familiar stories that helped form you when you were growing up. Dad can't remember that he worked on a dairy farm, or in the coal mines or on the oil rigs...and he's forgotten the anecdotes about his military service that he used to like to share. He was a boxer during World War II and found some rubies when he was stationed in India, but that's forgotten now.

8. What are his medications doing for him and how do they work?

A. I told you the medications and I'm not sure how they work. I guess they excite the neurons in his brain, because a doctor once told me that reading will excite his brain better than any medication.

9. Any other useful information?

A. Some people with Alzheimer's turn mean and they have to be sedated, which really changes their personality. In fact, one guy we know seems almost like a Zombie. In Dad's case, his personality hasn't really changed. Since his wife died, I think he is more relaxed and more at peace. However, he still can roar like the Dad of old - especially if you try to make him do something he doesn't like to do, such as go to church or eat asparagus.

The new and improved me....

You know something's wrong when a 92-year old man tells you that you look like Methusaleh or when a 10-year-old girl scowls at you every time she sees you or when your pastor tells the congregation from the pulpit that you look like an Ayatollah and the beard has to go!

About 30 minutes ago, I once again cut off my beard. For my son Scott, it was at least a day late. That's because this morning we got our pictures taken for the church directory and I still had my beard.

He wasn't impressed. Neither was my Dad.

Last week in church there was a lady sitting in the back who laughed every time she saw me.

She said, "I only missed a couple of Sundays but I'm back now and what happened to your face?"

Obviously, she wasn't a fan either.

However, there is a couple of good sides to shaving.

First, I won't be scratching my beard any more. The hair never got soft. It had the feel of steel wool.

And second, I look at least 10 years younger. If you don't believe me. Compare these pictures. The older me (with a beard) and the younger me (without a beard).

Anyway, it was fun while it lasted -- exactly a month.

I've grown beards before. They are not hard to grow...all you have to do is not shave. Once I won a prize in a contest for growing the best beard in the shortest amount of time -- one month. The prize was a new razor. How ironic.

If my beard had come in black instead of gray, I might have kept it a little longer. But who wants to go somewhere and hear people say, "Isn't that nice, that old man brought his daughter with him."

Halloween - the scariest night of the year

I have a date for tonight...it's the same date I've had for the last 12 or 15 years, but more about that later.

We really don't live on the edge of town, but people seem to think we do so we get very few trick or treaters. While our house is lit up and our front yard is decorated with orange inflatable pumpkins and electric illuminated jack o' lanterns, you would think that there's a no trespassing sign on our fence.

We see trick or treaters across the street, but for some odd reason, they won't venture to our block. Instead, most get into their parent's car and head off for greener pastures.

I know there's candy to be gotten on our block. Our boys used to get it when they were younger. But for the 22 Halloweens that we have celebrated in our house, I don't think we've ever gotten more than 10 trick or treaters. And as the years have gone by, the number has dwindled.

Grandpa has come to believe that people in Mandan don't have children. He remembers the "salad" days of living in the booming metropolis of Roundup and making home-made goodies for the trick or treaters -- like carmel popcorn balls. Car loads of kids would stop at his house. Never mind that most of them were nieces and nephews or that he lived in the nicest house in town so people would think that the treats were better at his house than others.

But alas, we live in the city across the river from North Dakota's capitol. As such, we know better than to make anything homemade because it would automatically get thrown out because it poses too much of a safety risk. In our town, families can take -- and do take -- their bags of Halloween goodies to hospitals to have them x-rayed to make sure they don't contain any unwanted items, such as stick pins and razor blades.

So tonight, like so many before, I'll be home with my date -- a VHS copy of the Don Knott's movie, "The Ghost and Mr. Chicken."

No slasher films for me. Nothing says Halloween better than Luther Heggs' wild imagination as he spends a night in a haunted Simmons mansion, which was once the sight of a spectacular murder/suicide. The blood stains will still be on the key board of the organ, just like they were last year and the year before. And some old lady will once again proclaim, "They couldn't remove the blood stains. And they used Bonami."

I'm not sure they even sell Bonami -- which for younger readers was a lot like Comet. And Luther's car will still be a Ford Edsel, which I know they have not made since the late 1950s.

The characters in the movie are generally familiar faces. Like Knotts, many of them also appeared in episodes of "The Andy Griffith Show."

One thing about watching the same movie over and over again is that you don't mind getting up and going to the bathroom or getting another can of pop from the fridge, or even answering the door for a youngster dressed up as a witch or the tin man...because you've seen the movie and you know that in the end, Luther gets the girl.

Atta boy, Luther!

Random thoughts while walking

When I worked at MDU, my mornings often began before sun up. It was better that I worked early to catch up on backlogs when my little boys were asleep. Then I could be home with them after work to eat and play.

Now the boys are grown, but their needs have largely been replaced by a Grandpa who likes to eat and be with Steve in the evenings, whether it's reading, playing Scrabble or watching another baseball game on TV.

But instead of going to work early, I now go for my therapeutic walks early. I get up at 5:30 a.m. Now that it's getting colder, it takes me about 10 minutes to get dressed in layers so that I stay warm on my four-mile hike west on second street and east on first street until I reach home.

Grandpa and the rest of my family are sleeping, so I'm not taking away any "quality" time from them by being gone. Right before I leave the house, I take a drink of water and pop two pieces of peppermint gum in mouth so that I won't get thirsty on my walk.

Walking alone leaves me with an hour or so of solitude as I trudge down the streets, dimly lit by street lights that are often shadowed by tall trees. For some of the time, I pray about this or that, but its hard to pray, walk, and chew gum at the same time. So sometimes I think about songs that talk about walking.

My favorite is probably "In the Garden." I like the part where it says, "He walks with me and talks with me...and tell me I am his own." That helps me to feel less alone -- especially when I reach the west end of town farthest from my house and I hear dogs barking and growling from a farm nearby.

Today, however, another song came to mind. It's from the Disney movie, "Snow White." You know the song, when the Dwarfs (now known as little people) are heading of to work and they sing "Hi, Ho...Hi, Ho...it's off to work I go."

Well, in my version, the song goes like this: "I eat, I eat, so off to walk I go...I don't walk fast, I take it slow...hi, ho...hi, ho"

Don't laugh...it beats being chased by dogs.

Odds and ends

I really don't have a clue how many people are reading this blog. However, I want you to know that if you are reading it and enjoying it, I truly thank you for investing a little time.

One of the reasons that I like it is simply because I must express myself. You've heard the old axiom, "I think, therefore I am." Or as the taxi drivers think in New York City, "I honk, therefore I am."

For me it more basic, "I write, therefore I am." This probably won't come as shock to anyone, but one of my best toys as a child was a workable press with movable rubber letters that I bought from Annie Evans at Annie's Gifts in Roundup. (For people who don't know, when Annie got sick -- and later died -- her family locked up the store with all the merchandise, and as far as I know all the stuff is still in the store, collecting dust and turning yellow.)

Anyway, getting back to that little press that I bought when I was about 10, I knew then that I wanted to be a newspaper reporter. Well, I did that. Unfortunately, being a reporter didn't pay as well as being a public relations person, so I zigged and zagged and discovered that my writing skills were appreciated more financially by companies and organizations than by newspaper publishers.

This is a long way of getting to my point. I love to write -- to string thoughts together from mere words. Good writing is as close as I'll probably ever come to God. Just as he "spoke" and created the world, I can take a blank piece of paper and create a story. That to me is the true definition of creation -- making something from nothing.

Maybe that's why I'm a fan of the Seinfeld series, the "show about nothing."

A second reason I like the blog is because my family and friends can continue to share in the "great debates" about politics, Alka Seltzer Plus and investment strategies that we used to discuss at my parents' home in Roundup whenever we got together. Now our forum is this blog. We're probably saving our hearing, too, by reading our expressive opinions rather than having to hear them expressed orally.

So enjoy...and keep the comments coming.

Prescription for a good night's sleep

When Dad moved to Mandan in July of 2006, he brought along a black and white tomcat by the name of Nibby.

In Roundup, Nibby was an outdoor cat who came home every night to the comfort of Dad's garage where he ate, used the litter box and slept on the hood of Dad's car. He had all the manners of the Tazmanian Devil. Because he had largely been left alone, he didn't like being petted, held or even looked at. In other words, he was definitely not domesticated.

However, in Mandan, he became a house cat. And like all house cats, he decided early on that it was his house and the rest of us were simply intruders.

Over the ensuing two years, I have done my best to take the "wild" out of him. This was not without it's hazards, which included scratches, hissing and having the cat jump from my grip on most every occasion.

Now, don't get me wrong, I like cats. As a bachelor, I had a furry black and white cat that loved me and I loved her.

Let's just say that with Nibby, there often isn't much to love.

Sure, it's funny to watch Nibby follow Dad to bed, put him to sleep and then see the cat come back out to sit on our furniture and wash himself, or sharpen his claws on our carpet. Then about 7 a.m. Nibby will jump on Dad's bed so that when Dad wakes up, he thinks the cat has slept with him all night.

Now in Dad's eyes, Nibby the Cat is always right. Dad's son and his family better walk softly around the cat if we know what's good for us. Heaven knows we don't want to rile the ire of either Nibby or Dad.

So, in the final analysis, is Nibby really good for anything?

Yes, last night before I went to bed, I watched the cat lick and bathe for 30 minutes on the back of our couch -- white and black hair flying every where. Finally, the cat curled up and laid his head softly on one of his front paws. He stared at me with a growl on his lips for a couple of minutes as if to say, "Don't bother me. I'm warning you, don't even come near me...or else." And then he shut his eyes and went to sleep.

I looked at the motionless furry ball, comfortable as the back of the couch comformed to the 20 pounds of feline. Pretty quick, I got to thinking and you know what...I thought if its good for the cat, it's good for Steve. I went to bed, curled up, sneered at my earthly problems and decided I would deal with them in the morning. Then I closed my eyes and went soundly to sleep.

If the cat can do it, I can to.

If arrested, would there be enough....

I had a preacher in Glendive who had a favorite theme for his sermons, "If you were arrested as a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?"

That's is a provocative statement because as Christians, we are not only called to be disciples (followers) but also apostles (witnesses) of Jesus. Notice the difference? One is passive, one is active.

Last night, Belinda and I went to the movie "Fireproof", starring Kirk Cameron as a firefighter whose marriage was definitely on the rocks and the storm was fierce. There seemed to be no way out other than divorce. Then his parents stepped in, especially, his father.

As you can guess, by the end of the movie, the marriage was healed. But to get from the rocky start to the happy ending is worth the price of admission, because the movie clearly shows the role that God should be playing in our lives and in our marriage. This is no small feat in a fast-paced movie with plenty of action (fires, car crashes, etc.) along with faith-based teaching.

The movie centers around a 40-day program that the dad gives to his son. The program is called the "Love Dare" and its Biblically based. About halfway through the journey, the character played by Kirk Cameron surrenders his life to Jesus.

But enough of the movie, how about us? Going back to the original premise of being arrested as a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict us? Would we willing to open up to others about our faith just as the father did in this movie?

I can't answer that question for you...only you can. I've thought about this a lot since last night. Hopefully, the answer is yes, but there is always something that Holy Spirit is asking us to do. Are we saying "yes" and are we growing in our faith? Or are we ignoring the requests and simply getting by? Are we passive or active?

Do we tell others about our faith with words and deeds or are we content that "Jesus knows, and that's enough." Like the children's Sunday School song implores, let's not hide our light under a bushel, but let it shine, shine, shine.

Why are we so different...

Some people are good at math, some at English...a few are good at everything. Some can sing, some can't and some shouldn't even try.

Even within families there are noticeable differences. Brothers and sisters can be night and day different from each other...even if they have the same parents. Siblings can look at the same situation and see completely different things.

For instance, my dad lovingly remembers his father while several of dad's sisters have told me his father was a tyrant. Dad remembers his father singing so loud in church that the pastor told him to be quiet. When I told this story to one of dad's sisters, she doesn't remember her dad even going to church.

Since you can't turn the clock back 80 years and find out for yourself, about all you can do is chalk these differences up to how people are different and how they look at things differently.

Some of us are romantics, and we tend to smooth over the rough edges of the world and try to put the best face on every situation. I think that's my father. After all, he's one of the few people that I know of that thought his experience in the U.S. Army Air Force during World War II was among the treasurered moments of his life. He liked the other soldiers, the travel to different states and different countries...he even liked the food. His stories of service to the United States are filled with plesantries about checker tournaments, boxing matches, riding trains and ships. He doesn't talk about battles, marching around the barracks or KP duty. Instead, he says he got the "plush" jobs because he knew how to use a typewriter. Uncle Sam even sent him to college in Utah during during his tour of duty.

When he talks about working at the coal mines, his stories are about happy times there. It seems the mines hired just about everyone...as long as they were able bodied. Anyway, some of the miners would tap on the bulbs deep in the black, underground mines to make the bulbs shine brighter. However, the bulbs didn't last as long if you tapped on them. So the miners were tapping and the bosses were shouting because of the number of replacement bulbs needed. Now, that's an interesting story, but no mention of spending long hours bent over digging out coal for hours on end. Instead, dad says working at the mine had its advantages. You didn't care if it was cold, rainy, night time or day time, because in the mine, the environment was always the same. Now that's a romantic.

And his work on the early oil rigs is similarly about the people he worked with. There was Don Soape and L.P. "Peanuts" Anderson and, of course, his favorite subject was Charlie Bellew, the ne'er-do-well driller who was getting picked up by the Highway Patrol for not having a driver's license, because of some previous infraction. Or Charlie, the man with the voracious appetite, who put his fork in somebody's fingers because he thought they were going to steal his food.

No need to talk about the horrendous safety conditions on the old rigs, often called "widow makers" by the rough necks. No need to talk about the weeks away from home while drilling on the Highline of Montana near Havre during brutal Montana winters. Instead, dad talks about finding rare fossils and arrowheads by walking around the rigs. In his stories, the drilling rigs were a way for him to have access to all of this great land to find rare artifacts. This story is similar to a favorite World War II story when he was stationed in India. Instead of talking about the deplorable conditions in the Asian subcontinent, he talks of finding beautiful rubies that he was later duped out of by a crafty trader. However, dad thought it was okay because he might find some more rubies.

Now that's a romantic. So if I sometimes see the world as a green garden, full of friends and wonderful places to enjoy, don't think of me as strange. I come by this naturally. Life is a pretty sweet place, and we need to enjoy it.

Summer observations

A couple of weeks ago, Scott and I were traveling by car and he made an interesting observation, that I'll paraphrase as such, "This person is one of the top 10 reasons why sometimes it would be better to be blind."

It's quite a mouthful and generally we don't think that we would ever want to be blind, crippled, deaf or have any other particular ailment or malfunction, so when he said it, I took notice.

And I guess it comes down to that same issue....is it better to look stylish or be cool in the summer heat.

Now, I'm probably as guilty as anybody as summertime often finds me in a pair of shorts even though my legs are far from being outstanding specimens of manly physique.

However, they could be worse. One person golfing in a tournament in July gained the nickname "Keg on Legs" for his portly physique as he pushed around his golf clubs in brutal heat and humidity while wearing a dashing pair of green shorts and bright yellow shirt.

But enough about outward beauty, lest someone thinks that I'm shallow. Let me go now in a different direction, which, of course, leads me back to Scott's list of 10 things. I got to wondering what other lists could I compile during the summer.

Here are a few:

• 10 worst persons to be caught in a conversation with at family picnic, renunion, etc.
• 10 dishes that you wish were never brought to another potluck.
• 10 drivers that you hope get their drivers licenses taken away for being idiots on the highways.
• 10 boaters that should hit an underwater tree stump because they are scaring the fish away while you are angling for walleyes on the Missouri.

I suppose I better quit now before one of my two faithful readers comes out with their own top 10 list and it's "10 bloggers who I'm getting very tired of hearing whine."

Don't take the little things for granted....

Today, I gave Ken Miller a ride to church from his home at the MedCenter One Care Center. Ken will turn 90 in a couple more weeks. He used to live alone and drive himself to church, but with failing health, he had to relocate to a nursing home and gave up his pickup. Since learning that he wanted to attend church, I have brought him the first Sunday in May, June, July and now August.

Ken generally gets around either by wheelchair or with a walker. I'm not a doctor, but I would say the arthritis in his legs makes it very difficult for him to walk. So far when he goes to church, he chooses the walker over the wheelchair.

On the way home after church, he told me that while he has appreciated me bringing him to church, this is the last time that he will accept a ride because it's just too hard for him to get around.

I let the words sink in and then I told him that I would come back in about a month and see if he changed his mind. He laughed and said, "That's probably a good idea...maybe I'll be able to get around a little better in a month."

His comments made me think of some specific words that I heard my mom say within the two or three-month time frame before her death.

She said, "I never thought about getting old. I guess I thought I would stay young forever."

On the surface, those words simply sound foolish. After all, we all celebrate a birthday every year so we know we are getting older...or do we?

A couple of weeks ago, the doctor who gave me my physical also gave me some words of advice. He said, "Steve, your body is nearly 50 but your mind thinks you are 18. So before you do physically strenuous work, such as lifting heavy boxes, be sure to stretch your muscles, or you are likely to tear something."

Fifty - why I don't feel 50 - I play tennis with my teenage sons. I walk four miles a day with my wife. However, the doctor is right, my body is getting older but my brain says that I'm 18. I feel young. I don't have aches or pains...generally.

I think that's the way my mom felt most of her life. She felt young - like she could do everything she could when she was young. But then something happens. Maybe it is arthritis for Ken, or congestive heart failure for mom...but one day we can't do the things we once did and our brain finally catches up and tells us so.

We are getting old, whether we want to admit it or not, so for today and the next 30 or 40 years, let's be young and do the things we want to do. Grow a garden, ride a bike, go for that walk at sunset hand-in-hand with the one we love. Go fishing, explore an old building...and go to church. Because someday, we just might not be able to.

Today, we're young...let's enjoy it.

Memories of Solberg Cabins

My first trip to the cabins, nestled along the north fork of the Musslshell River in a pine-covered valley near Martinsdale, Montana, occurred when I was about five years old. That was probably our family's second vacation. The first was a year earlier when we borrowed a neighbor's tent and camped out on Smith River -- not far from the cabins. Anyway, in the ensuing year, somebody must have told the folks about renting a cabin instead of pitching a tent.

In those days, lunch consisted of either a baloney or salami sandwich, a bag of Goodies potato chips and a can of Shasta pop -- all bought on the way out of town at Ray's grocery where Gene worked. By the way, you needed a church key to open the pop -- the poptop was still to be invented. The cans were also steel, not aluminum.

My first trip to the cabins was spent snuggled between Mom and Dad in a double bed in the cabin made of logs. Janet and Susan had the trundle beds and Gene and Randy had the little red, tar-papered cabin to the west. On that trip, there was no volleyball, badmitten or other sport, except fishing. Dad and my older brothers went fishing and Mom and the girls and I walked up to the highway or dangled our feet in the cold stream waiting for the boys and the fish to arrive.

After that first trip, we made several more to the cabins as I was growing up, but there were always fewer of us going because brothers and sisters were getting married. In fact, Susan and Rich spent their honeymoon at the cabins -- which makes them honest to goodness Montanans! Camping on their honeymoon!

Eventually, it became my turn to get married. And along came two children. So following David and Cathy's wedding in 1993, someone had the glorious idea of leaving Roundup after the ceremony and heading up to the cabins. I think that first year might have been just the folks, Rich and Susan and their family and mine. I think Randy, Janice and Gary joined us because it seems Janice's Dad, Bernard, came that year, too.

It wasn't until the following year that David and Cathy came along, which led to the fire incident. And the fire incident led to the naming of the years as in -- that was the year of the fire. For those who weren't there, David and Cathy were staying in a pop-up camper which caught fire and burned. To my boys, I'm sure they compare it to the burning of Chicago. It was quite exciting as we formed a water line and handed buckets of water from the creek to the person throwing the wet stuff on the burning camper.

The next year -- 1995 -- was even more famous because it was the year that Scott and his Dad nearly drowned. Well, not really, it's hard to drown in a foot of water, but we did our best as we sunk an intertube after hitting a pointed rock. What made the incident famous was Scott's "man-on-the-street interview" with Uncle Rich, which was caught on videotape. There he told the world that the only thing that saved him from perishing was grabbing on to "my dad's icky shirt."

Other memorable "years" were when Rich spun Dylan's inflatable raft upside down in the corner of the stream. There was also the year of Spencer as he followed Missy and Lindsay around like their shadow, and the year Gary directed all the kids in an epic movie, "Where's Timmy," which we still have. And it was a great year when indoor toilets and running showers arrived. There was also the year Belinda drove the car off the bridge -- well not entirely, but close enough for me.

As the years passed, the talk of the fun we had begun to circulate and every year we seemed to get more and more people coming. However, the fun ended -- at least for my family -- in 2002. By that time, I had lost my job with MDU and had started with the Bismarck Tribune so lacked both time and money for a trip to the cabins. The year after, Mom's health began to fail and it didn't seem like anyone wanted to leave Roundup.

Like Jim Croce said, if we could "put time in a bottle", I think a lot of us would like to return to the cabins for another jaunt. However, the next time I might be the Grandpa, and it might be someone else who snuggles between their parents on a double bed. I hope all of you cherish your cabin memories, and feel free to share some by commenting on this blog.

High, wide and handsome...

Former Great Falls Tribune reporter Joseph Howard Kinsey wrote the classic history book, "Montana - High, Wide and Handsome." And after driving 1,300 miles this weekend, most of it in Montana, I'd have to agree with Kinsey. You forget how far towns are away from each other until you start driving from Winnett, to Jordan and on to Circle.

Oh, I miss the mountains, the streams, the evergreen trees, but in fairness to my adopted North Dakota, I've got to tell you that if I was a farmer, I would find it easier plowing the rich, tree-less plains of North Dakota as compared to a forested mountain side in Montana. Still, Montana's scenery is easy on the eyes -- even at 80 mph.

Here's a couple of observations from the weekend about the Treasure State:

1. I still enjoying buying things in Montana and not having to pay a sales tax. The price on the item is the price you pay -- not an extra six or seven cents on the dollar.
2. Two-lane highways are scary after you're accustomed to driving on Interstate highways. I about met my maker between Great Falls and Lewistown on Saturday afternoon trying to pass a semi-truck. A pickup surprised me -- even though there was a dotted center line -- as it came up really fast. However, I managed to pass the truck and duck back in ahead of a head-on collision. I was glad my car had lots of horsepower and could accelerate very fast. Still, I was looking at the ditch in case I was needing to head in that direction.
3. There's no better company than family. It didn't matter if it was my inlaws in Glendive, Aunt Ginny in Billings, Connie in Roundup or Nancy -- Rich's cousin -- in Great Falls, the welcome mat was certainly out.

I might devote another column to Shorty's funeral -- it was memorable and impactful -- but let me just say the phrase that stuck in my head was this one by the preacher: "There are two kinds of people. One kind enters a room and announces, "Here I am." The second comes into a room and says, "It's sure good to have you here with me." I agree with the preacher that Shorty was certainly of the second kind, and he's a good role model to follow.

You can't go home again

Thomas Wolfe wrote a novel titled, "You can't go home again" meaning that you can't recapture the past. This weekend, I'll be heading back to Montana -- my home state -- for the first time since July 2006 when I brought my father to live with us in North Dakota.

I asked Dad if he would like to come with me to Montana, but he didn't think he was up to the long drive. "I better stay here and take care of my cat," he decided. Oh, he also wanted to know if my wife was going to Montana with me. When he discoverd she wasn't, he said, "Well, if she'll stay home and cook for me, I guess I better stay home and eat it."

If I had my druthers, I would love to be driving to my hometown of Roundup to visit my parents in their big blue, ranch-style home on the edge of town. Maybe we'd be bringing some kites along to fly in open fields nearby or baseballs and gloves to play catch in the street in front of the house.

But the blue house is sold and my mom is buried in the cemetery near her brother's grave plot. So instead of going to their home to visit mom, I'll be going to the cemetery on the edge of town to put some flowers on her grave.

Certainly, there will be people to visit -- uncles and aunts and a hardworking cousin -- all who have meant so much to me and my family. But still it won't be the same. As Thomas Wolfe said, "You can't go home again."

The law of unintended consequences

Several years ago my father-in-law told me that his annual income from owning a body shop in Glendive dipped significantly when Montana passed tougher drunk driving laws. Certainly, none of the lawmakers who passed that law intended for owners of body shops to suffer. What they wanted was fewer drunks on the road, but the unintended consequence was less "fender-benders" and thus less work for body technicians.

This law of unintended consequences has been on my mind again with the rising price of gasoline. In Mandan, the price of regular is now $3.69 a gallon and expected to go higher.

So here are some things that I foresee as unintended consequences of higher gasoline and diesel prices:

• Higher prices of almost everything from food to merchandise because of the higher price of diesel. Since the trucking industry, which is an inefficient mode of transportation compared to railroads, brings most of the food and dry goods to American stores, we can expect to pay more for everything -- not just things that are petroleum-based.
  
• More people staying at home, eating at home, etc., to save money to buy gasoline means there will be more of market for durable things you can do at home, such as games, puzzles, books and DVDs. There might also be more people interested in visiting with their neighbors than their relatives or friends who simply live too far away to spend the money for gasoline to visit. People working in libraries may see a resurgence in the number of books being loaned because we won't have enough money to drive to Barnes and Noble for a caffe latte and BUY A BOOK.
  
• There will be a significant drop in the number of people living in small towns who want to travel to bigger towns to shop. We used to think that good roads spelled the end to small town commerce, however, it will be proven that it was good roads and low fuel costs. Once people start adding in higher fuel costs, paying a little more to shop locally will look like a better option that driving 60 miles to shop at Wal-Mart.
  
• There will be additional deaths and injuries suffered in car accidents because people will be driving smaller and lighter cars, which by their design provide less protection to occupants than larger cars.
  
• And one other potential consequence might be that people drive a little slower because driving slower will save fuel....no, that's probably not going to happen.
  
  If you have any other thoughts on the subject, please post a comment.

One of life's small pleasures....a haircut

(Sung to the tune of the Beach Boys' Barbara Ann) Bar-Bar-Bar, Bar-Barber Mike; Bar-Bar-Bar, Bar-Barber Mike; You got me shakin' and a quakin; yeah, my head is achin' Barber Mike.

The boys and I used to sing this song years ago, and actually Barber Mike wasn't our barber then...it was Barber Gene...but that's another story. As our barbers got older and retired, I wondered if there would be anyone to replace them. After all, being a barber isn't the glitziest job in the world.

Probably 10 years ago, Barber Mike came to Mandan and apprenticed under another barber, whose name I forget. We liked Barber Gene, but he died. Actually he hung himself when he found out he was full of cancer, which left this other old barber. Mike was young and just out of barber school. He wasn't much of a barber, but neither was the other guy, and Barber Mike was friendlier so I let him cut my hair. Now 10 years later, Mike is about as good as they come and he's still friendly.

Like the old "Kansas City Star" song, Mike will tell you jokes if you like them or he'll talk politics if you like that sort of thing. I'm sure he's a Democrat when he has a Democrat in the chair and a Republican when he's cutting my hair. He likes to garden, just like me. I suppose if I liked to hunt, Barber Mike would like to hunt.

Anyway, tomorrow is the day that Dad and I will go again to the barbershop to get our haircuts. I've had lots of memorable barbers, but I think I like Barber Mike best. He's probably 18 years younger than me and probably 58 years younger than Dad, and yet he seems like our best friends when we're getting a hair cut. That's a bargain for $11.