My 10 most memorable moments from the past decade

Since the "10 Most ____ of the Past Decade" are all the rage now, I thought I would give you my top 10. I didn't win any Oscars or Nobel Peace Prizes, but I still have some vivid memories.

Number 10 - Sitting in the MDU war room on New Year's Eve 2000 waiting for the Y2K Bug to crash the nation's electric grid. Of course, it didn't happen, but if it had, I was there to handle the press calls from the media. Instead, we ate snacks and left shortly after the new decade began with lights never flickering...even once.

Number 9 - In June 2006, Belinda and I joined her parents, some of her aunts and some of her sisters and their husbands on a weeklong cruise through the Alaskan "Inside Passage Way." This was a lot of fun, but it was dampened by an impending death. See Number 2.

Number 8 - Graduation from high school of our two sons. Derek graduated in 2006 and Scott in 2008. Both times I had to clean out the garage, haul tables and chairs from the church as we hosted graduation open houses. The garage may never be that clean again.

Number 7 - October 1, 2002, I began a new job with the Lignite Energy Council when I was 42. It was great because I was back in the energy industry and public relations after a nearly year hiatus. See Number 1.

Number 6 - April 5, 2009, when we got a call from our sister-in-law Sharon Doll early on a Sunday morning telling us that our neice Janelle Scheitlin was being air-lifted from Glendive to Bismarck following a terrible auto accident. Janelle was in a coma for five weeks and either a Bismarck or Mandan hospital for a few more weeks, but she is now a senior in high school in Glendive.

Number 5 - September 11, 2001, I was called by a fellow MDU co-worker George MacDonald to go to the TV studio in the basement of the Schuchart Building and look at what had just happened to one of the World Trade Center towers. As we were watching, a second plane hit the neighboring tower and the "War on Terror" was officially underway. To add to the stress, the MDU President Martin White and a small contingency of other employees were in New York at the time for financial briefings on Wall Street. Also my boss, Cathi Christopherson, was in Washington, D.C., at meetings not far from the Pentagon that was also hit by a plane.

Number 4 - July 2006, when my father flew in a private plane with his kitty Nibby and me from Roundup to Mandan to begin a new chapter in his life with my family. My family along with Todd and Darcy Schulte were bringing dad's belongings to Mandan in a U-Haul. None of us knew if this arrangement was going to work, but we knew that he couldn't live alone. He was too old to teach to clean and cook. See Number 2.

Number 3 - July 18, 2009, a triumphant return to Roundup along with my dad and family for a great family reunion at my cousin Dennis Anderson's, which was followed by a return to the Solberg Cabins along the north fork of the Musselshell River near Martinsdale. It felt like old times again. And it made me realize how much I had missed seeing my cousins, aunts and uncles who I had grown up with in Roundup.

Number 2 - June 2006, the death of my mother, Evelyn Grace Van Dyke, at the age of 82. She had been suffering for a couple of years with congestive heart failure. In February, she asked to be put on hospice and the family rallied around her in her final years and months on earth. She was a lovely, loving mother and is greatly missed by her husband, children and grandchildren.

Number 1 - October 2001, unfortunately, the most memorable day in the decade was on a Monday when I found out I lost my job at MDU. At the time, I was the corporate communications manager and had just returned from a media relations seminar in Houston, Texas. That weekend, we went to Dickinson to visit Todd and Darcy and went golfing. Never did I suspect that on Monday afternoon, I would be released from the company that I had given my heart and soul to for 16 years. The reason given was reorganization of the department. Luckily, however, our house was paid for, and our cars were, too. Within three months I was working for the Bismarck Tribune as its education reporter and within a year I was working for the Lignite Energy Council. But it was a very traumatic and emotional time. I'm so grateful for a supportive family and for my friends who meant so much to me when I needed their love and trust the most.

Alright...that's my 10 most memorable moments of the past decade. What say you? What were your memorable monents?

Hooked on Cafe World?

Wednesday morning I was sitting in front of our computer on my day off when our son Scott walked in on me and blurted, "Hooked!"

It all started innocently enough. Belinda asked me about a week ago if I would mind getting on her Facebook account and clicking on the application "Cafe World" because she had a couple of dishes that would be done cooking and she didn't want them to spoil while she was gone.

Sure, I said, not realizing what I had actually agreed to. Getting on Facebook and clicking on application were easy enough, but then I was lost. So I clicked on the "Help" and read the instructions.

To remove her dishes from the hot plates to the serving counters was easy enough, but now what to do with those red hot burners that were glowing from the computer screen? I read some more instructions and then clicked on the cookbook. Pretty soon, I was making decisions about how to run a cafe. And, like most men, I quickly ascertained that I had more skill and knowledge about this particular task than our spouses who have actually cooked more meals and spent more time in the kitchen than their husbands.

So, suddenly, I had been empowered. I had 15 or 16 dishes to choose from and they varied in time to cook and how much the customers would pay. I started out with some five minute cheeseburgers.

Yep, in a short five minutes they were ready to serve. That was easy...so I progressed on to more difficult tasks such as increasing the cafe's buzz factor. As the customers left the cafe, they would give me a thumb's up sign and the buzz factor would increase. The higher it went, the more customers I had and the more food I had to prepare. It wasn't long before I reached the maximum buzz factor of 105, which I took to meant that I was giving this game 105 percent...which is better than 100 percent.

Nuts, some of the dishes Belinda had cooking would take way too long to finish and I needed those hot plates NOW. So I deleted her dishes and started making my own.

Well, you get the drift. I have been doing this off and on now for about a week. Belinda would have something cooking, which of course was the wrong meal for the wrong time of the day. I would come to the rescue and save "Belinda's Cafe" from sheer ruin.

Now it was Wednesday, Veteran's Day, and I had the whole day off. Finally, time to really put on thinking cap and once again provide massive profits to the cafe so we could expand and buy the necessary things that would make this little operation even more profitable.

Belinda left for work and it was me and the computer. Until Scott arrived. And then he blurted out something that I didn't want to hear.

"Naw, I'm not hooked," I said with a snarl like a drunk clutching a cheap bottle of Mad Dog 20/20.

So let me explain...if I was hooked, it would be Steve's Cafe. The application would be on my Facebook. Thus, while I stay pretty well informed as to what is going on with Belinda's Cafe, I have not treaded into the "hooked" waters. At least not yet.

I could probably start Steve's Cafe, but why should I when Belinda's has already expanded, purchased more stoves and counter tops and I can hire and fire the waiters on a whim. Plus, I've got too many dishes cooking on the hot plates to start over from scratch.

You make the call? Am I hooked or am I just a good husband helping out?

Comedy through the eyes of my son

One day this week, I had to take my car into the shop for a minor repair. On the way, I encountered by son Scott who was driving home from college a little before noon. So I dropped the car off and walked home. Shortly, my wife arrived as well and we decided to eat at Fried's, a family-owned cafe on the northwestern edge of town.

Fried's is known for it's home-made German food, which I don't particularly like...so dad and I each settled for a hamburger and chips.

As usual, I scarfed down my hamburger while dad took his sweet time eating his. Belinda and Scott, likewise, were still heading into their German dishes while my plate was empty.

So it seemed like a good idea to order a slice of pecan pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on it.

When it arrived, dad was still about halfway through his meal, so he surprised me when he said, "I want that also."

I asked the waitress, a lady about dad's age but twice as heavy, to also bring him a slice of pecan pie ala mode.

When it arrived, dad stabbed the ice cream with his fork and moved it to his plate. Then he proceeded to finish his meal and ice cream at the same time.

Scott is watching all of this and having a wonderfully good time of laughing, chortling and snickering as he gasped for breath. I, on the other hand, wondered what I'm supposed to do with the $2.75 piece of pie -- minus the ice cream.

"Dad, do you want the pie?"

"No, you can have it," was his reply...to which Scott begins a new round of laughter across the table.

Well, after you've just eaten a hamburger, pie and ice cream, there really isn't room for another piece of pie, especially one as rich as pecan.

Belinda asked for a take-home box. That night, she asked me if I was going to eat the pie sitting in her fridge. You know what? I was still full...of food and Scott's laughter.

But I warmed it up in the microwave, poured some milk (in place of ice cream) on it and devoured the pie.

Still, though, I'm haunted. Did dad really want only the ice cream and he thought the pie was part of the plate? Or did he suddenly realize he was only hungry enough for the ice cream and not the pie?

Nevermind, I guess...the story resolved itself and Scott was entertained once again as he watched his grandfather and father interact over a meal and dessert.

Evaporation

My boys know what I'm writing about just from the headline, but I think I'll tease the rest of the readers a little. You know how fast water turns to vapor and disappears on a hot, arid summer afternoon? Well, that's the way Chex party mix disappears at our house...especially around the holidays. That's why years ago, we began calling it "Evaporation."

Sometime around Thanksgiving, the grocery stores will start selling all varieties of Chex cereal at a discounted price. We generally don't buy the wheat Chex, but we love the rice and corn varieties. A box of Kix is good and you can also add a few Cheerios if you want along with mixed nuts and some pretzels.

I've also worked on perfecting the coating. Basically, mine is melted butter, Worcestershire sauce and some garlic powder. I've also found that cooking it in the microwave for about six minutes and stirring it every two minutes makes a fine batch of quick party mix.

Years ago when we were hooked on "computer golf" as a way to while away the winter hours, we found that party mix and Mountain Dew were just the right condiments for an afternoon of hooks, slices and birdies. The cereal disappeared faster than I could make it.

However, mine pales in comparison to my mother-in-law's. This woman has taken Chex party mix to a new level. And that's where my story actually begins.

I was reminded a couple of weekends ago how good her party mix is. She brought out a big bowl when we came to visit and it wasn't long before it was gone. I think I ate 90 percent of it. Even her pretzels, which I don't really care for, were pretty good.

She sent an empty butter container full of party mix home with us. Now, I thought I would try to ration myself and eat just a little so it would last a couple of days. However, Scott found it and devoured most of it before I could get home from work. Still, the crumbs were tasty.

Now I couldn't really get mad at him because there was a time when my mother-in-law sent a huge gallon jug container full of party mix with us to give to her baby boy -- a huge man -- who lives in Bismarck. Unfortunately, Uncle Miles only got the crumbs that time because my family and I snacked on his party mix on the 210 mile trip from Glendive to Mandan.

There's only more thing I would like to add before I close...the best present I ever got from my mother-in-law for Christmas was the jar of party mix a couple of years ago. It was delicious.

Count your blessings one by one

"Count your blessings...count them one by one." That's how the old song goes and it's very good advice.

One of the blessings that I've taken for granted for too long is having great inlaws. I've known that I was among the lucky ones to have a great mother-in-law and father-in-law for some time, but haven't told them how lucky I am. Tomorrow that changes.

They welcomed me into their family from the first time they met me, and they have never disappointed me. Belinda and I use to go to dances with them at the Elks and the Moose when we were dating. When the dances were done, we would go to their home or to one of their friends' homes and eat breakfast and laugh and talk until the wee hours of the morning.

They were great when we got married, and they helped us move to Mandan two months after our marriage.

My father-in-law ran a body shop in Glendive but took time off from his work to drive a U-Haul truck when we moved in the dead of winter. I told him that this must have been costly for him because he was missing a day or two of work. He told me that for his family, his time was free.

I also remember after my wedding when I asked the priest at the Sacred Heart Catholic Church if he would accept a check for marrying Belinda and me. He said, "No indeed. Leo Doll is one of the most faithful givers we have at our church. I wouldn't consider taking your money for performing a wedding ceremony involving Leo's daughter."

These things made an instant impression upon me.

As grandparents, Leo and Rosaline have also been outstanding. My boys love their Grandma and Grandpa Doll very much. Grandpa Doll loves old cars and I remember Derek wanting to head down to Glendive to drive one of Grandpa's cars in the local parades.

Scott is one who would think the summer was a waste if he didn't get a week to spend with his grandparents.

So, here's to Leo and Rosaline...one of the many blessings God has bestowed upon my family.

Amen.

Building onto our church

This Tuesday, folks from Curtis Construction will be at our church at 6:30 p.m. to talk about some drawings they've made for a new addition to our existing church building and to give us a "soft" estimate of how much it will cost.

This project is badly needed by our church family, many who can no longer navigate down the steps to the basement for fellowship, meals...and more importantly, to use the non-handicap accessible bathrooms. What we would like is an extension on the main floor out to the east that would accommodate new bathrooms, a fellowship hall, a new worker-friendly kitchen, a couple of offices and a library/family room.

Sometimes this task of building seems overwhelming. After all, we are in a recession, and we have a lot of old people who attend our church and they are on fixed incomes. We're not a church with a lot of rich people. We're definitely a "blue-collar" congregation. I think I was beginning to wallow and wonder if an addition were possible.

And then my dad received a letter from his sister Delma this week. Delma and her husband used to live in Linton. She is now widowed and living in Oklahoma where her son Mike is a pastor at an Assembly of God Church. She has another son, Bob, who is also an Assembly of God pastor but currently he is serving time in a Texas prison...and conducting ministries in jail. If you don't believe me, check out this website: www.chiefministries.com.

Anyway, Delma is telling me that Bob, her son in prison, is now building a new halfway house in Houston. "It will be called Chief's House," she writes. "All papers have been filled and approved. Now they are looking for land."

Her son Mike, who is a pastor in Oklahoma said, "I don't understand how Bob's in prison and can build a halfway house?" My Aunt Delma replied, "With God, all things are possible."

She continued in the letter saying, "When Denny and I heard God tell us to build an Assembly of God church in Linton, we didn't have any money. God supplied all of it for four and half years."

Currently, Delma is sending Bibles and writing letters to men who are in prison. She writes that God is providing her with about $600 a month to pay for Bibles.

When I finished reading her letter, I was filled with God's inspiration and can't help but think, "Our church can do it, too."

So thought I would share this with my faithful readers. The photo is of my Aunt Delma and three of her children: daughters Peggy and Shirley and son Mike. The picture was taken in Mike's church. Peggy lives in Mandan and Shirley lives in Jamestown.

Not so random thoughts on health care

The following is the letter I sent today to my two senators -- Byron Dorgan and Kent Conrad.

Dear Senator:

I wanted to express my fear about government-sponsored health care being an option for people who already receive health care as a component of their benefits package at work.

My fear stems from something that happened last year to my dad.

My father is 89 years old and retired from Continental Oil Company (Conoco) in 1985. For 23 years he had excellent prescription drug coverage as part of his retirement benefits. However, Conoco now has discontinued their private drug coverage and dad had to enroll in Medicare Part D through membership in AARP. Like a lot of seniors, dad suffers from Alzheimer’s so requires expensive medication, including Arricept and Namenda. These medicines appear to have arrested the progression of Alzheimers; however, under his Part D coverage, dad’s cost for prescription drugs increased astronomically as most of this year he has spent in the “Gap.”

Dad is a World War II veteran of the Pacific Theater, who worked hard his entire life. I’m deeply hurt that Conoco would dishonor their retirees by dropping their prescription drug coverage and go with the less expensive government-funded option.

I wonder how many companies would attempt the same thing – reduce their financial obligations for private health insurance -- if there was government-sponsored health care. That’s my fear, and that’s why I abhor the thought of health care reform meddling into private insurance.

I’m all for health care reform…but let’s focus on the real cause…outrageously high medical care costs. If tort reform is needed to reduce the costs created by malpractice insurance premiums and defensive medicine, then I urge you to focus on that.

And he volunteered for this?

Yesterday, September 5, five of us went golfing. Well, four actually golfed and Colton drove the golf cart for his dad. I had the privilege of being chauffeured around in a golf cart by grand-nephew Blake, who is in the eighth grade at Plentywood, MT, and doesn't have his driver's license yet.

Blake actually volunteered to drive our cart so I thought it was incumbent upon me to share my years of golf cart wisdom with him.

Now Blake was a little nervous behind the wheel as he didn't want to give his aged uncle a whiplash with some lightning fast acceleration. In fact, Blake was going too plumb slow.

In my family, where everyone has a Type A personality, we know there truly is only one speed on a golf cart and that's FULL speed. So after a couple of holes of very slow and cautious golf cart maneuvering, I could see this was a teachable moment.

There are probably as many ways to let your chauffeur know that he's going too slow as there are grains of sand on a beach, so I decided to take the direct approach. I simply squashed his naked foot and sandal onto the accelerator with my tennis-shoed foot. The golf cart leaped into action before Blake even knew what hit him. After that experience, Blake made sure the golf car was running at full tilt.

However, Blake didn't know 'rule number one' of driving a golf cart with Uncle Steve. So there was another teachable moment. Rule number one is always park Uncle Steve in the shade of a tree. Even if this means that Blake has to find a club and scamper across the fairway to hit his next ball and then scamper back to the golf cart.

There were a couple of other rules that Blake never caught onto...no matter how many times I expressed them. For instance, if he left the golf cart to go hit a ball, I would take it upon myself to move over into the drivers seat. However, when I hit my ball, Blake always moseyed back over to drive the cart again. This was a direct violation of one of my rules.

Still, it was a fun afternoon, and I think Blake really learned some things about driving a cart..."Don't volunteer to drive Uncle Steve's golf cart."

I'm posting a picture of Blake after he learned about golf cart etiquette, literally, at my feet.

Misty-watered colored memories

My oldest son turns 21 on Tuesday. I'll be taking part in a tour of North Dakota Coal Country with a bus full of state legislators on the 18th, so we are going to Minot tomorrow (August 16th) to celebrate Derek's birthday.

We've always tried to make birthdays special, and we hope our visit with Derek will be memorable as well. Besides his parents and his brother, he will be joined by his Grandpa Van Dyke, and two of his older cousins and their families from Plentywood. His oldest cousin Dave will bring his wife Cathy and two sons Blake and Craig. His next oldest cousin is Karen and she will bring along her son Cameron. We're meeting them at the zoo...and Minot's zoo is nothing to sneeze at.

Derek won't be able to join us until 5 p.m. because he is involved with some training at the college. He's the head resident at the freshmen boy's dormitory this year so has quite a bit of responsibility along with finishing up his classes so he can graduate in the spring.

To say I'm proud of Derek would be an understatement. But I've always been proud of him -- when he got his first tooth, took his first step and got his first haircut are all unforgettable moments for me.

I thought you might enjoy some memories from his birthdays...including his original birth day back in 1988. He was born at 10:36 p.m. and had plenty of dark brown hair. I took one look at him and thought that I needed to buy a little brush to keep his hair combed. Even today, he has a beautiful head of hair...only it's a lighter brown now.

On his first birthday in 1989, he was very excited to open his many gifts, which included a red and yellow toy lawn mower that he pushed everywhere. His birthday party was attended by his great grandmother Rose Frohlich, her son Uncle Phillip, along with Derek's godfather Uncle Miles and his wife Bernie. Derek got to make a mess out of a little birthday cake and Uncle Miles tried to get Derek to put his sticky hands in his hair.

On Derek's second birthday, he had all kinds of visitors because not only was it his birthday, it was the day his brother Scott was baptized. However, we started a tradition in 1990 that carried through for many of Derek's birthdays -- he ate at Red Lobster!

The toys on his third birthday included a toy gun, a truck and a magna doodle. Uncle Miles and Bernie were over for cake and ice cream. Uncle Philip was in the hospital with the stomach flu.

On his fourth birthday, Derek got a quilt from his Aunt Janet in Rapid City and a tricycle from his mom and dad. He also got a lot of money that he spent on games at the Ben Franklin store in Mandan.

On his fifth birthday he ate at Red Lobster and the servers came over and sang "happy birthday" to him. His Grandma and Grandpa Van Dyke were visiting from Roundup and they bought him a pair of walkie-talkies. He also got a bicycle from his parents...with training wheels.

His parents were in Louisville, Kentucky, on Derek's sixth birthday so it was up to Grandma and Grandpa Doll along with Aunt Amy to spoil him on his birthday. He and brother and cousins dined on a "Pink Panther" cake that Amy made for him. A lot of his presents this year had something to do with Power Rangers.

On his seventh birthday he got rollerblades and his best friends from Custer school -- Brad Lee and Nick -- were among the invited to help him celebrate.

His ninth birthday was spent in Baker, Montana, with me. We went to drilling rigs and compressor plants and shared a huge steak at the Green Dragon when the work was done. I remember sharing a bed with Derek that night only to find out that Derek slept diagonally and nearly kicked me out of bed.

On his 11th birthday, it was fun at Snoopers during the afternoon and then dinner at Red Lobster. Derek spent some of his birthday money on a Cubs jersey. I wonder if it was the one he wore for all of his high school pictures?

When he turned 12, it was lunch at Red Lobster and the afternoon at the Amusement Park in Sertoma Park. The boys played mini-golf and enjoyed the rides.

In 2001, he officially became a teenager and spent his birthday on a youth retreat at Rick and Margie Nelson's cabin beside a lake in Minnesota. We celebrated his birthday on August 16 and ate at Space Aliens. Derek bought a golf club and a model car with his birthday money.

His 14th birthday was a somber affair as we were in Glendive for his Aunt Cheryl's funeral. She died of cancer and left behind a husband and a fourteen-year-old daughter.

On his 15th birthday, it was back to Red Lobster and all the crab Derek could eat. He got a subscription to the Cubs magazine from his parents along with a Cubs glass from Aunt Janet. He used some of his birthday money to buy a ticket a Jeff Foxworthy concert.

His 16th birthday was spent with the Phillips family in Milbank as we were all heading to the Twin Cities for baseball games.

On his 17th birthday, Derek was eating at Paradiso with a bunch of his friends from high school.

As he was getting ready to head for college on his 18th birthday, he was greeted by a group of well wishers from church including Lisa, Jaymi, Kevin, Randy and Randy's mom Mary. They took him to Hardees for breakfast. We went to Minot State University with Derek for freshmen orientation. When we got home, Derek left us and went to Paradiso with another group of friends.

On his 19th birthday, we went to breakfast with the uncles and then Uncle Rich and I helped Derek move into his dorm at college. This one is nicer than last years and has air conditioning. For his birthday, Derek got Cubs and Bear shirts. Go Chicago!

Last year on his birthday, he was moving to Minot again and Uncle Rich was again in tow helping make the transition from summer intern to college student go smoothly. We ate lunch at Red Lobster before heading to Minot.

So there's 20 years of Derek's birthdays....here's to number 21.

Your loving Dad!

Things you think about when you are turning 50

On July 17th, 1959, a little baby boy was born to Willis and Evelyn Van Dyke in Roundup Memorial Hospital. He joined two brothers, Gene and Randy, and two sisters, Janet and Susan, in the family home.

It's hard to believe, but all of us were much younger back then. For instance, my 88-year-old father was only 38. My 61-year-old brother was 11 and so on.

It seems like life begins innocently enough...but gets tougher as you get older. Last Monday, for instance, I started having severe pain in right hip flexor -- even though I try to do no manual labor that would cause me to strain anything. I had a hard time lacing my right shoe because I couldn't move my right foot up so I could reach my shoe. Walking up stairs was also painful....and I thought, "it this what I've waited 50 years for?"

Luckily, within three days, the pain went away and I was able to play a pretty good game of golf on Thursday in the Lignite Energy Council's golf tournament at Apple Creek.

On August 24, I go in for my first colonoscopy. I guess it's one of the things you do when you turn 50. At breakfast today with a lot of people who have already turned 60, they told me that the procedure is a "walk in the park" and not to worry. The only hard part is drinking three gallons of liquid the day before and staying up all night as the liquid colon cleaner scrubs out your insides.

I was also delighted with my doctor when I had my physical this past July. He told me that I was officially middled age and that "even people who take care of themselves will some times die for no reason at 50."

Great, that's what I wanted to hear....serves me right for going to a doctor who just turned 40.

The cards I got were great also. One of them said that I shouldn't consider myself middle-aged at 50 as that was really at 35. Now there's a cheery thought.

I also went golfing one night about a week ago with my father riding in the cart beside me. We were in a three-some with Scott and his friend Jake. I had a pretty good golf game going and actually was beating Scott, until we reached the ninth hole and my dad told me in no uncertain terms that he needed to get home and use the bathroom right away. So we picked up my drive, waved goodbye to Scott and Jake and headed home.

Secretly, I was a littled miffed with dad, but the next day on the course, all was forgiven. I left dad at home as I didn't want his bowels interupting my golf game again. However, I must have had the revenge of Willis (similar to the revenge of Montezuma) as I was golfing with stomach cramps for the first five holes until I came upon the port-a-potties, which were simmering in the summer sunshine at a little over 150 degrees inside temperature. But beggers and crampers can't be picky.

Also at 50, I'm feeling like I know a lot more about life in general. I can see someone's face and feel as though I know their most inner thoughts. I really can't. Some people look happy when they're sad and vice versa. But that doesn't stop me from boring people I'm sitting with and telling them some made-up story about what other people may or may not actually be thinking.

Finally, I've decided that 50 is the "me" decade. I hope that Belinda and I can travel more and do the things that we like to do. We got this off to a good start by going to Medora this month and seeing the musical before heading to Roundup for the family reunion.

So here's to 50....and then 60, etc.

Last day of vacation

Today, July 24, is the last day of my summer vacation. I still have two days off but they are called "weekend" and not vacation. I have gloried in my time away from work. However, come Monday, heaps of work will be waiting for me including about 2,000 e-mails.

This morning I watered the lawn, the flowers, the garden and fed the birds. Normally, these are all things that my dad does...but somehow I felt like doing them and I had the time. Of course, getting this close to flower beds, our strawberry bed and the garden reminded me that I also needed to do some weeding. So instead of grabbing my hoe, I grabbed my spade. You can weed faster and cover more ground with a shovel than a hoe.

We had Lisa come over and take care of dad's cat while we were in Montana, so we had dinner with Lisa last night at the Rice Bowl. It's always fun to eat with Lisa. She has great stories about her nephews, her dog and just the lay of the land in general. Her nephew is nearly 12 and wants to get on Facebook, the computer social network. I've been on Facebook since Easter, I think. And it's great fun.

I've posted about 90 pictures of our vacation on Facebook. However, mom's 80-some-year-old cousin Goldie who lives in an assisted living facility on Flathead Lake couldn't make the family reunion in Roundup so I had to write her a letter and send her some photos.

We took family photos at the reunion. We started with my mom's brother Earl's family. Earl died of a heart attack in the mid-1960s. So his family picture consisted of his widow surrounded by two sons and a daughter.

Next oldest was my mom who died in June 2006. So dad was in the center of the photo with two of his daughters and two of his sons. There were another 22 relatives in the picture, including my wife and two sons, just to make sure dad didn't get lonely.

No one from Vern's family was there. His widow lives in western Montana. He has a daughter who lives in Roundup but she didn't come to the reunion until she was literally dragged there by my wife and a cousin.

Then there was Ginny's family. Ginny lives in Billings in a nursing home. Her daughter Cindy, who also lives in Billings, brought her to Roundup. Ginny has suffered several strokes and will turn 81 years old in August. Anyway, she didn't like the hot sun so didn't stay too long after getting her picture taken with about 15 of her family including two sons and one daughter.

Next was Wayne's family. Wayne passed away last November and is really the reason we had a reunion at all. I've gotten tired of seeing my relatives only at funerals so decided that we should have a family reunion. That way we could take pictures of people who haven't been crying for the past two months. Anyway, Wayne's widow Betty was there with her son and daughter and some of their family. Her son Richie and I turned 50 -- I on July 17 and he on July 20. Betty was holding a new great-granddaughter in the photo. Too bad Wayne never got to see his first great-grandchild.

Next would have been my aunt Milly, but she too passed away about 20 years ago. So instead we took a picture of her only child, a skinny fellow named Billy. Billy is now in his mid-50s. He has done unbelievably well for himself considering that he was in special education all the way through school. He drives, lives in his own home and works for Albertson's in Billings. He is also married to a nice woman named Patty. Billy is missing something, however. His teeth. Think about having to gum your food from now until you die. That wouldn't be fun.

Finally, it was time for the baby of the family Harold, who is now 71. Harold and his wife Sharon are both still alive and very active. Harold is the grounds keeper at the golf course in Roundup and Sharon is still the bookkeeper/office manager at the family business, A&A Implement, which is now run by their son Dennis. Anyway, they had three of their daughters along with Dennis and their families. I told Harold and Sharon's kids to treasure that picture because someday they too will be posing with only one of their parents.

Anyhow...these are the random thoughts of my vacation. I'm glad I went, but I'm glad I'm back home. I just wish that I didn't have to go to work on Monday.

Are we there yet?

As a small child I remember annoying my parents by asking the seminal question when traveling, "Are we there yet?"

This question has a close cousin "How many more miles until we get there?"

Not only do I remember saying these things, I remember being an adult and having my children annoy me. It is 200 miles from our house to Glendive where my children's maternal grandparents reside and it was another 200 miles to reach Roundup where their paternal grandparents used to live.

So we did what we could to entertain the children -- games, movies, music, etc.

But what do you do when your 88-year-old father annoys you when he asks, "how much farther is it?" over and over and over. Now the reason he asks the question every five minutes is because he doesn't remember he asked it. For him, each time is the first time and he thinks he should have the right to ask it. For the others in the car, the word "annoying" really starts to take on newer, more profound meaning.

So it should come as no surprise when you hear I got a speeding ticket heading to Rapid City over the Memorial Day weekend for my sister's and brother's birthdays. But let me give you a few more details.

We had eaten dinner in Bowman and as we drove south toward the South Dakota border, I was passing cars in fairly short order. There were no twists and turns to the road and 65 just seemed a little slow for someone who is being asked, "Are we there yet?" for the hundredth time.

I can't remember all the cars I passed, but I remember one that looked the oldest Winnebago on the highway and there was also a car that looked like a highway patrol car, but it turned out to be a white Buick Park Avenue....like we have.

Anyway, 30 miles from Bowman was Buffalo, South Dakota, and Grandpa and Belinda decided that they needed a bathroom break. So as I pulled off the road at a Sinclair station, I noticed that all the cars I had just passed -- including the Winnebago -- were now passing me.

When the family was back in the car, I headed straight south again. No turns, no twists...and no going 65 mph. Pretty soon I had caught up with the train of cars and began passing them.

About the time I had the Winnebago in my rear view mirror, I came upon the car that looked like the patrol car...only this time I wasn't going to be fooled. So I didn't slow down, I didn't even get back into the right-hand lane. I simply was going to pass it.

As I quickly approached it, I noticed that it no longer was a Buick Park Avenue...this time it was a patrol car. So he turned his lights on and I pulled over to the side of the road.

Sitting in the front seat beside me was Grandpa who saying that I hadn't done anything wrong and the highway patrolman must be out of his mind for pulling us over. I hushed him as I reached over to the glove box to get my registration and proof of insurance.

The patrolman came to my window, and I handed him drivers license and other pertinent information. He asked me to step back into his car...which I did in an instant so I could get away from 88-year-old commentator who insisted on giving my wife a play by play of all the cars passing us.

When I had sat down beside the patrolman, he looked over at me and said, "I have to ask you just one question....didn't you see me?"

I still have no idea how to answer that. Do I tell him, "No I'm blind." Or should I say, "Well, I thought you were a white Park Avenue that I had already passed 30 minutes ago?"

Neither seemed like good answers so I kept mum. Then I said, "Oh, I see that I was going 76...that was a little fast I guess."

It certainly was. He gave me a $90 speeding ticket and said that I could pay him now or make a court appearance or mail a check when I got home. Well, not wanting to hear the wrath of my wife when she eventually would write the check, I thought that paying him now made a lot of sense. But I only had $80 in my wallet, so I went to my car to see who had $10.

Belinda said she had a $20 bill. I said, "Jeez, honey, I don't think he's going to make change."

Dad had a $10 bill so I went back and paid the fine.

When I got back to my car, Belinda said, "Well, that wasn't bad was it? A $10 fine isn't too bad."

Perhaps I should have left well enough alone, but I told her that it was really a $90 fine and I had four twenties in my wallet.

I could tell she wasn't happy as she began to explain all the things she could have bought in Rapid City with the $90.

But 10 miles down the road, Dad had completely forgotten about it. Of the two, I appreciated Dad's approach much better than her's...until he asked me, "Are we there yet?"

Whose roll is it anyway

At work, there are a number of things you do that are all lumped into the same category…other duties as assigned. This can include digging into the innards of a copy machine to find a stray sheet of paper or even grabbing a shovel and moving the snow so your co-workers can get out of the parking lot. And co-workers are happy to help in these endeavors.

But there’s one task at work that no one ever seems to want to partake in…and that’s changing the roll of toilet paper in the bathroom

So I ask, whose roll is it anyway?

Where does this “not my roll” mentality come from?

Do they not change the roll at their home? Or maybe they did once, but they got yelled at because they hung the roll wrong.

At our home, my wife is a stickler…she believes the paper should hang over the roll, not against the wall.

So being a contrarian at heart, I mind my manners at home, but at work, I do my own thing. And no one seems to care…because I at least change the roll.

But still I ask, when should a roll be officially retired?

To some it would seem the answer is when the last square has been taken from the roll. But I’m wondering if that’s really too late.

When there is only three or four squares left on the roll, is it really going to do you much good?

Maybe the answer lies in whether or not you are a folder or a crumpler. I know that my father is a folder although I would just as soon not know.

Dad has alzheimers and sometimes he puts the folded tissues into the wastebasket instead of the appropriate receptacle.

I don’t know why, but I’ve always been a crumpler. Maybe it’s because I’m a baby boomer and we’ve always thought more was best. But when it comes to crumpling, three or four squares just won’t do.

So I think the mostly-used roll should be retired early. Unfortunately, I seem to be the only one of the males in my work place who hold a similar view. Judging by the number of empty card board cores I’ve encountered on the job – not only this job, but my previous jobs as well – I’m thinking that men must think changing a roll of toilet paper is the social equivalent of carrying their wife’s purse in a crowded mall.

So I guess what I’m talking about is toilet paper etiquette, bathroom decorum or restroom protocol. I’m in favor of having someone – Miss. Emily Post, comes to mind – write some rules that can be followed. Oh, Miss Post is deceased?

Etiquette are the social rules that keep a society well oiled and running smoothly. I’m actually surprised that this hasn’t been done in the past so here’s my version of Steve’s toilet paper etiquette.

Number 10 – No one ply toiler paper should ever be made or purchased.

Number 9 – At work, the purchasing department should be required to buy toilet paper that’s at least as soft as what they would buy at home.

Number 8 – The person who removes enough toilet paper so that there are less than five squares left should be required to change the roll.

Number 7 – If a custodian is working and he or she sees that there is less than a quarter of a roll left, it should be changed.

Number 6 – The spare roll of toilet paper should be in clear site at all times, especially at a friend’s house. No use in turning a perfectly good house guest into Dick Tracy using his detective skills to find the necessary replacement roll.

Number 5 – Part of the performance review for co-workers should be a question about whether or not they changed even one roll of toilet paper at work in the preceding year.

Number 4 – The roll of toilet paper should be turned in (against the wall) at work and out (over the roll) at home.

Number 3 – A roll of toilet paper that somehow gets wet and hard should be thrown away...or left for company that you don't much care for.

Number 2 – Bosses should lead by example and have to change the toilet paper twice as often as regular employees.

And Number 1 – These rules should be printed out and hung in every bathroom at work in the United States.

So to sum it up, remember that life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer to the end, the faster it goes.

Blogging takes a hiatus

Brother Randy -- ArVee -- will be leaving the civilized world where computers and Internet abound and heading back to Virginia City for the summer. And once again, blogging won't be any fun.

DVD is home from college but I think he's already taken the season off from blogging. Other bloggers -- cousin Gary and ArEm -- seem to have begun their summer vacations as well.

So I'm wondering if I too shouldn't take the summer off. Oh, I'll still have my fits...but maybe I'll just try to keep them all bottled up inside me so I can have a heart attack or a stroke. There's no need to let them out if no one is blogging or commenting.

It's like the story about the tree in the forest. If there's no one to hear the tree fall to the ground, did it make a noise?

If there's no one to tell me that Democrats are good people just trying to make a difference by turning on the printing press and running up the national deficit...are they really the scourge of the earth that I make them out to be?

If no one tells me that Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow are really right...than should I believe they are the leftists that I think they are?

Well, for the next three months or four months I may just concentrate on my work, my family life, my pedicure and manicure and leave the blogging to Greyhound. (Whoops, I meant driving.)

That sound you heard was the "blogging bear" heading into his cave for a three month hibernation. GRRRRRR!

Strike Three. You're Out!

The prelude to this blog is the one I wrote last week about my consternation with the IRS. I had mentioned that we get a letter about every six months stemming from the fact that the IRS wrongly believes that companion care for my mother was given in North Dakota and not in Montana three years ago.

Well, last night Dad handed me another letter. This one is demanding that he pay over $700 to the IRS by June 1. They have tacked on another $88 in interest since the letter we received six months ago. Now I'm wondering at which bank can I earn $88 in interest in six months on $600 of principle? I guess the answer is the bank of the IRS.

Anyway, it seems like it's time to cave and just pay. If we send them another letter explaining the errors of their ways, they'll again choose to ignore it and send us another threatening bill. And by that time the payment and interest would probably be over $800.

It's ironic that the same government that seems willing to fight against exorbitant interest rates for credit card companies is more than willing to charge them to an 88-year-old World War II veteran, who has lived an exemplary life of being a devoted husband, raising five children and working everyday of his life from his 18th birthday through his 65th. (If you want to read a fascinating account of dad's life, pick up the book "The Greatest Generation" by Tom Brokaw...it even starts out talking about a man born in 1920, raised in the Depression, forged by war..."

There seems to be no way to reason with a group that chooses to be unreasonable. So we'll pay.

Dad actually was noticeably bothered by the letter. And I thought, "nice play IRS, getting the elderly upset over something so stupid must be a strategy in the old extortion playbook."

In many way, I'm reminded of the scenes from the "Grumpy Old Men" movie where actor Buck Henry keeps taunting the character played by Jack Lemmon.

Well, I may give up but I want to go down swinging so by writing this post to warn my readers about the nastiness of the IRS is my last swing at the government's curve ball.

"Strike Three. You're Out!"

How many things can you do at once?

The old joke is that someone couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time. For some of us, this is true.

However, I'm watching a new generation who thinks they can do that and more.

They are smoking, talking on their cell phone, drinking their cafe lattes and also driving.

Well, I'm not so sure about their driving.

When I see one of these multi-taskers heading back onto the highway after their habitual stop at Starbucks, I'm leery about whether they are even looking at oncoming traffic. They've got just too darn much stuff going on to be the responsible driver I know they THINK they are.

And I'm not sure if they are breaking up with a boyfriend or girlfriend while they are talking or texting on the cell phone. Who knows what state of mind they are in...some don't look very friendly.

This all gives me the heebie-jeebies.

I've been in a wreck and it isn't much fun....especially waiting an hour for the Bismarck police to arrive at the scene. I can just imagine having to make small talk with one of these multi-taskers for an hour while I'm steaming mad because they've banged up a fender of my car.

I don't need this...and, frankly, the driver of the other car won't be very happy that they ran into me either. I may, as the saying goes, advance from preaching to meddling. Or as the boys say, I may not use my nice voice.

How do we get this message to the drivers with ADD that they need to concentrate on driving and put down the cigarettes, the coffee and the cell phone while behind the wheel?

Will it take legislative action? If so, I'm for it.

And yet, I think there will have to be actual highway carnage before people wake up and start paying attention.

The car they are driving is a ton of metal that can kill if they are not prepared...and judging by their driving habits, they are not.

Please, I'm begging, when behind the wheel...just drive. That's enough.

Whose writing the vitriolic comments

If you read newspapers on the Web, many of them allow people to write a comment about the story. It's a way for the newspapers to be more interactive and, I suppose, studies show that this is a good thing.

Well, there's an unintended consequence to this good thing and that's the mean spirited comments that people continue to post anonymously. To someone who thinks that being polite is a sign of societal advancement and makes a man into a gentleman, there isn't much to like when the arguments degrade into name calling. In fact, I'm thinking kids at the schools may be better behaved than the commenters on the various online newspapers that I'm reading -- although brother Randy may choose to differ as he's closer to the playground variety thugs.

Now I'm friends with the online editor at the Bismarck Tribune. His name is Jason Leuder. The last time I was at the Tribune for a media briefing, I stopped by to pay my regards to Mr. Leuder. He told me that roughly 25 percent of all the comments sent to him don't get posted because they cross the line.

I can't imagine what these would be because some of the ones that do get posted are pretty outlandish and disgusting.

In yesterday's Bismarck Tribune, for instance, there was a story about a 70-some-year-old man who has been charged in his wife's death. Now there were a couple of comments from people who knew the couple who said some nice things, but there were a lot of people who probably didn't know the couple at all and they said some horrific things. Now I'm thinking about the kids, who are probably well into their 30s and 40s, and who have just lost their mother and had their father arrested. Do they also need to read the terrible things being written by these conspiracy theorists who seem to know law enforcement better than the police detectives?

It's got me scratching my head...but I say no!

This morning I was reading the Fargo Forum online and the rudeness of the commenters on that site is just as despicable.

Luckily, I still prefer to read my newspaper with it held in my hand. I like the feel of newsprint and the smell of ink. I also like knowing that I'm not going to get someone's drivel along with my news.

Emily Post, the mother of good manners, must be spinning in her grave.

Give me that old time religion -- and newspapers -- they are good enough for me.

Mom's 85th birthday

May 7, 2009, would be my mom's 85th birthday. She was born to Clarence and Gladys Anderson in Roundup, Montana. She was the oldest of three daughters and the second oldest of eight children. Only two of the Anderson children are still alive -- mom's sister Ginny and her brother Harold, the baby of the family.

We sent some money to our cousin Connie, who still lives in Roundup, to place some flowers on mom's grave tomorrow. Connie said she would buy yellow roses, which were my mom's favorite flower.

Connie said the passing of my mom has left a large void in her life. Connie came and saw my parents every morning and maybe a couple of other times during the day depending how busy she was at the local diner, the Busy Bee.

I think everyone feels a void in their life when a parent dies...especially when you were close. There are so many times when I've wanted to call her and tell her some good news.

But then I'm reminded of some words my brother Randy wrote....

"I thought of you again today, and asked God to say hello.

I know how happy you are when we call home.

I just like to stay in touch, may the Lord let you know

And I'm sure that He does, we love you very much."

Thought you might like to see what angels look like

Taking off from the previous blog, I thought you might be interested in seeing what Big Susie and Carol Ketchum looked like. In the top photo is Big Susie with my sister Susan. In the bottom photo is Carol with my mom and dad.

I think this shows that angels come in all sizes and shapes. We never know when we walk with angels.

I want to thank Uncle Randy for sharing his memories of these two extraordinary individuals who were called to help and answered the the call loud and clear.

The last thing I did for these ladies was write them letters of reference. They were extremely capable and I would trust them with my most precious possessions, including my mom.

How do you spell frustration? Easy - I.R.S.

Next month it will be three years since mom passed away of congestive heart failure. For her last three or four months, we hired a half dozen ladies to come to her home. They weren't trained...they were just ladies who could provide companion care for people who are dying to make their final days on earth a little more pleasant.

They were nice ladies. When mom was able, they would play cards with her or visit with her. When she became bedridden, they read to her or got her a glass of water or a sandwich. When mom died, they all came to her funeral.

They are in sharp contrast to the U.S. Internal Revenue Service, which has been just the opposite of nice.

We paid these ladies for their time and followed all applicable Montana and federal laws. But for the past three years, I've been getting the most moronic letters ever written by a government agency who is sure we screwed up somewhere.

The first letter had to do with some alleged wrongdoing on our part because we did not follow North Dakota law when it came to paying unemployment insurance.

Well, that seemed easy enough. We had used a certified public accountant in my hometown of Roundup, Montana, so I asked the CPA if he would write a letter to the IRS on my dad's behalf telling them that the services were performed in Montana and thus were not under the jurisdiction of North Dakota law.

We've never been able to figure out why the IRS thought that the care was given in North Dakota as mom never resided in North Dakota and neither did the ladies. It was only dad who moved here a month after mom passed away.

The CPA wrote a spectacular letter...and we thought the issue was settled. But in about six months we received another letter, which the CPA also answered....and the story has continued until this weekend when we got our latest letter in response to the last letter the CPA sent six months ago in 2008.

This time the IRS wants us to contact the Montana unemployment insurance office to have them write a letter regarding why companion care is not covered under Montana unemployment insurance law. There's an easy answer, BECAUSE THE LEGISLATURE SAID SO.

But that's not good enough for the IRS, so I again called the CPA, who has contacted the Montana unemployment insurance office so many times on this matter he's on a first name basis with a lady named Rose. He's now going to call Rose and ask her to write a letter on our behalf to the IRS.

You might think this would be the end of it, but you would be wrong. In six months, we'll get still another letter from the IRS and they again will be making some other stupid request and threatening a hefty fine for our stupidity and ignorance on such weighty issues.

I'm bringing this to your attention for a couple of reasons. First, because it has become a major irritation in my life. And second, because when you hear that the goverment is going to "help" in any way shape or form, you should start running the other way.

I can't believe that anyone in their right mind would ever accept the proposition of our government running anything -- least of all General Motors, Health Care, etc.

It will be a sad day when you buy a car that's a lemon and expect satisfaction from the government. If you want to see red tape, you'll see it until the end of the universe.

Dancing cabbages and frozen manure

Over the weekend, DVD helped me remember some "not so hot" memories from my first month at work for a telephone cooperative back in 1982 in eastern Montana. The first incident I can chalk up either to my poor listening skills or my boss who spoke with a Boston accent. Anyway, what I heard was "Go through this stack of expense reports and pull out any that deal with dancing cabbage."

Now remember, this is January of 1982 and Cabbage Patch dolls are all the rage. Being a bachelor with no kids and no interest in dolls, I have no clue what the rage was all about, but it might have included dancing cabbages. So I spent hours looking through expense reports and found none that mentioned dancing cabbages. At last, I gave my report...not to my boss, but to the auditor who I was assisting. The auditor looked sternly and said, "No, not dancing cabbages, I want expense reports for our former employee, Dan Sincavage." And so I got to go through the stack of expense reports one more time.

Well, that story pales in comparison to the next one. I had moved from Baker to Glendive as I transitioned from being a newspaper editor to being a public relations representative. I had selected my apartment partly because I had planned to grow a garden when summer arrived.

Well, lo and behold, it seemed like the gods were smiling on me. The co-op asked me to drive a four-wheel drive pickup to a farm southeast of Baker and interview an elderly couple, whom I already knew. I figured the couple would be generous and give me some free manure that I could haul to Glendive for my garden, then I could clean up the truck and no one would be the wiser.

Well, it wasn't only the gods but also a Mr. Murphy who had a hand in this one. First off, the farmer was generous with his manure, very generous. I drove back to Glendive with a heaping load, but the sky darkened and it began to rain. Now anyone who has seen a January rain knows that it often turns to January ice.

My trip to Baker occurred on a Thursday and on Friday I was asked to drive up to Circle where the co-op was headquartered. I hadn't cleaned out the manure because it was frozen solid, but I drove the pickup and parked it at the edge of town hoping no one would spot it. Now Circle is a small town, so even at the far edge the truck was only about two blocks from where I worked...and yet no one seemed to notice the pickup. Maybe I would get away with it.

No such luck.

It was getting on into the afternoon when my boss called me and said that he needed me to drive the pickup around to haul some mail to the Post Office. I told him that probably wasn't a good idea and explained about the frozen cargo I was carrying.

He told me that by Monday he wanted me to bring the pickup back to Circle and it had better be clean of any foreign material or I would be in deep doo-doo.

After work, I left the pickup at my apartment in Glendive and drove my car to Roundup for the weekend. Dad sent me back a pick that he used go rock hunting and said it might come in handy.

So on Sunday night, I threw a trouble light over a tree limb and began chipping out the hardened and ice encrusted manure. After digging down aways, I found the manure was warmer and I could eventually use a shovel to remove the big chunks.

Anyway, come Monday the pickup was returned...but probably not as clean as my boss would have liked it. Yet, I got to keep my job and another word was never spoken about it.

Still there's a moral to the story. When our kids or a young person whom we work with does something that's absolutely stupid, let's remember that we were young once, too.

When not listening actually is preferred

I'm a big fan of listening. I like to listen to music, good preaching, entertaining stories and almost anything my family has to say.

But sometimes you don't want to listen...especially to the little voice inside your head that plants doubts and "what-ifs." More about that later.

There are times when you just feel like you were created for the moment. I believe, for instance, that Babe Ruth was created to play baseball for the New York Yankees during the roaring 1920s. He simply embodied the carefree, anything goes lifestyle of the era. He had a big face, a big cigar and a big ego that matched his big appetite for fun and heroics.

Likewise, I feel like I was created to win the speech contest tomorrow in Deadwood. My speech, first of all, is pretty good. It makes you laugh, makes you cry and makes you think....all within the seven-minute time frame.

Then there's me...a guy who has perfected the conversational style of speaking. I may not be the best looking guy or gal on the dais, but I look like someone you could be friends with, and I have a non-threatening appearance. Perhaps even lovable, like a cuddly teddy bear.

Still, there's a little voice in me that says, "What if....what if there is someone who's even written a better speech and has the charisma of John Kennedy, Junior!"

That's when you have to be the master of not listening to the little voice. Instead, you have to listen to your big voice....the one that says, "You can do it. In fact, this is nothing compared to the challenges you've already faced an overcome in glorious fashion. You were created for this moment in time. Pity the others because you are the master, the kahuna!"

Dare I say it...a part of me has been wondering for the last couple of weeks if my niece Janelle's car accident and her subsequent recovery isn't God's way of setting me up for the greatest speech of my life. Time will tell.

But when it comes to listening, sometimes not listening is just as important.

What else am I not going to do?

Now that I firmly established my sights on not writing a novel, there are some other things that I'm not going to do...but I have some good ideas that I would like to share.

These ideas aren't original so I shouldn't take credit for them; however, I will take credit for sharing them with people who are entrepreneurs, young and have the where-with-all to make them reality.

The first is fried ice cream. I mean who doesn't like this stuff. It's the high point of any trip to Paradiso...first the enchiladas and second the fried ice cream. But my ecstasy was taken to a new level this weekend when I saw a cake pan filled with fried ice cream.

The lady who made it started by coating her cake pan with corn flakes, chopped nuts and coconut. Then she sprinkled cinnamon and sugar and drizzled some honey. For the ice cream, she bought two half gallons of vanilla and split them in half. She placed the halves of ice cream over the bottom coating and then put a top coating of the same ingredients and "ta da" -- fried ice cream. Now I'm thinking that Schwan's frozen foods could make a lot of money selling their own version of this recipe to people like me who are too lazy to make it themselves but are addicted to it. Of course, the trick is to keep the corn flakes crispy so the dessert would have to be flash frozen. But if you're making it yourself, just make the dessert right before you are going to eat it.

The second great idea is peach kuchen. I don't have the recipe for this yet...but when I get it, I'll be sure and make a big batch for me to eat along in my kitchen.

Belinda's Aunt Clara, who also lives in Mandan, has made this twice now for the people -- like me -- eating in the hospital's waiting room as we keep vigil over my niece Janelle. That's also where I ate the fried ice cream which was made by Joanne, a sister of my sister-in-law Bernie.

There's also one more edible delight that I've never fallen out of love with and it too keeps showing up in the waiting room -- that's Scotcheroos. Belinda doesn't make them at home, so when I get them somewhere else, I'm there for firsts, seconds and maybe even thirds.

Okay, so I'm not going to start mass producing Scotcheroos, fried ice cream and peach kuchen. But if I did, my company would be successful. Although the owner might eat up the profits.

Writing a novel

I've never written a novel...nor have I had a desire to...but sometimes I think of a good story and wonder if I could ever write a best seller on the New York Times list.

One of my favorite books growing up was titled "My side of the Mountain." I can't remember all the details anymore but some how this boy used his camping skills to make a pretty good life for himself in a rotted tree in the forest. I guess the freedom enjoyed by the hero appealed to me even though I've never been much of a camper. And I'm pretty picky when it comes to what I eat. Also I don't like being outside when it's dark...other than that, I thought maybe I could have been the hero in the story...if I would have only had a pocket knife.

I've also often thought about writing a story about a time traveler who wanders back into colonial times and is heralded as a genius because he invents the car, the lightbulb, the plane, etc., all before other people named Ford, Edison and Wright are born. However, the idea of writing about time travel has really been done to death. Still, it might be kind of fun to write about someone who changes the world dramatically because of some extra gift he or she has.

Throughout my life, I've wandered into people who have never had to work a day in their lives because their family was outrageously rich. I've often thought it might make an interesting story if these second or third generation fat cats lost all their money and had to start over from scratch. Man would their lives change. Instead of Christmas shopping at Macy's in New York City or vacationing in southern France, they could be like the rest of us and shop at Wal-Mart and spend the weekend at the local lake with a Zebco fishing pole.

How much different do you think your children's lives are from the lives of Melinda and Bill Gates' kids. As parents, we all worry about kidnappers, but think about the Gates...they must have five or six bodyguards protecting their children from idiots who would try to snatch them and hold them for ransom. Some times being rich isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Anyway, these are some of the ideas I've had for a novel. Nothing has ever come of them...until now when I wrote them down for you. Maybe someday they just might make a book. Who knows.

Washing the feet of others

During Maunday Thursday services, it is not uncommon for a pastor to wash the feet of some of the congregation. This is a ritual that has been practiced since Jesus washed the feet of his disciples.

Still, if you are one of the people asked to remove your shoes and have the pastor wash your feet, you never feel you are deserving. "My feet?" you might think, "Couldn't you just wash my hands and we'll call them my feet?"

No, Jesus washed the feet of his disciples...the feet that had walked in dirt over many miles.

In the same humble attitude, I have to doff my cap to the Mandan United Methodist Church who have adopted Steve and Amy Scheitlin and their family as their own this week. Their daughter Janelle was hurt in a car accident in the early morning hours of April 5. She fell asleep when driving from Glendive to her home on the farm near Lindsay, Montana. The car went down an embankment and rolled, throwing Janelle.

Two truckers (were they angels?) stopped and covered her with blankets and called the ambulance at 1 a.m. Her dad -- who was searching for her -- came upon the accident scene about the time the ambulance arrived.

She was taken to Glendive and then airlifted to a hospital in Bismarck at 6:30 a.m. Sunday. Since then, she has been in ICU, undergone several surgeries and has remained in a coma. Her parents kept a 24-hour vigil at the hospital for several days along with other other family members.

Well, the first week has passed, and while Janelle is still in a coma, the doctors are more hopeful than they've been all week that she will awake and begin her recovery.

But during this time of stress, worry, tears and gut wrenching nightmares for her family, several members of the Mandan United Methodist Church have been delivering meals to the hospital -- all week -- lunch and dinner. The meals have ranged from scalloped potatoes and ham to pulled pork and beer-can chicken.

Most of the family is Catholic so yesterday the lunch was tuna burgers and broccoli soup. The dinner was cheese buttons and knoefla soup. Yesterday's meals were made by family members...however, some of the family members are also part of the UMC family.

The Scheitlins cannot believe the love that has been showered over them by this church family. They stand in awe, just as someone who has had their feet washed. And they are forever grateful for the compassion shown and the prayers spoken on their behalf.

I might add that this isn't the only outpouring of love. The Scheitlins are in the middle of calving but one of the neighbors took the remaining cows to his farm. And another neighbor is feeding the Scheitlin cattle that have already calved. Another has said that he will finish planting if Steve is still in Bismarck when the ground is ready for the plow.

The Christian love shown this family has deeply touched me...and I thought you would like to know as well. Amen!

Pet peeves

I saw an article yesterday about "corporate speak" that I think all us who work for a living are sick of. The article talked about "thinking outside of the box" and one of the commenters wrote back and said, "If I hear that phrase one more time, I'm going to ask the person if they first ever thought inside the box."

I thought it was a good response, because I for one have thought the same thing. There's an old game called bingo that can be changed to "corporate speak" bingo. Instead of having numbers on a card, you replace the numbers with words such as: scenario, robust, synergies, core competencies, value added, maximizing shareholder value, etc. Then when you hear your business experts speaking at the next conference, you start marking off the words until you can stand up and yell "BINGO."

One of my biggest pet peeves is having someone at a brainstorming session pounce on your idea with this gem, "That dog won't hunt." Hey, if you are trying to brainstorm, then every idea has merit...later you can judge the good from the bad.

Another one I'm quickly getting tired of is "being thrown under the bus."

Maybe it's too graphic, I don't know. But I'm also tired of it because it's said much too often.

But it's not just words that bother me. I went shopping last night, and there were a few people at the grocery store who were starting to get on my nerves. Like the lady on her cell phone who was maneuvering her cart between me and the milk...while I was trying to reach and get a couple cartons of 2 percent. When I caught her eye, she looked at me with an "I didn't see you there" expression on her face. I was about ready to heave one of the cartons of milk at her to see if she saw that coming!

Then there were two old ladies in the parking lot who first looked like they were trying to hit me with their car when I was putting my cart in the "cart corral" but later I figured out they were both blind as they parked their car at a "jaunty angle" taking up the better parts of two parking spaces.

But the coup de gras came at home when I tried to open up the screen door while packing six bags. I managed to jam my left ring finger into something metallic that didn't give but managed to raise my finger nail about six inches. Nothing like seeing blood spurt into your grocery sacks.

But I must end on a high note...so let me tell you about lunch today. A young man at KFC gave Dad and I both a senior citizens discount for the buffet. So instead of paying $8 a head, we only paid $7. Now is that a compliment to get a dollar off, or is it a smear to be thought of as a senior citizen while I'm still in my forties. Or maybe 49 is when old age occurs?

Oh well....what are your pet peeves?

Toastmasters...not an end, but a journey

Today, I won my third Toastmasters Contest in row. I'm continuing to use my same speech about customer service and I can use it one more time -- for the district competition in Deadwood. After that, I need to come up with a totally new speech.

So I was thinking what else might I like to talk about and the title above came to mind.

I first joined Toastmasters in 1989. I joined because I had a severe fear of public speaking. As in...I completely lost my appetite and was petrified beyond belief to get up in front of others. And finally, I realized I needed to overcome this fear. My tool would be Toastmasters.

For those of you who know no fear, let me tell you that phobias can be crippling. In fact, I not only feared public speaking but I also feared flying and a host of other things. But somehow overcoming my fear of speaking help me overcome these others as well...as if by magic.

But it took a great deal of work and time to get to where I felt comfortable being in front of a crowd and talking. And while I was doing that...I figured I might as also advance in whatever Toastmasters had to offer, namely communications and leadership training.

In 1994, I served as the district governor for about 60 clubs that stretched from western North Dakota to the western third of Minnesota. So from Alexandria, Minnesota, to Alexander, North Dakota sat my District 20 clubs.

The most important thing I learned about leadership was that if I can inspire volunteers to help me, I can inspire people who are actually getting paid to help me. The secret is what sounds like the call letters of a radio station - WIIFM. However, in this case, the letters stand for "What's in it for me?"

People are more likely to do something if they see a benefit for them rather than for you. They don't care if you win an award for being the district governor, but they want to win a ribbon or a plaque for being the president of the best club in the district. So if you inspire them to achieve their goals at the club level, you can achieve your goals as a district governor...simple as that.

But you never really feel like you mastered everything Toastmasters has to offer because Toastmasters isn't an end in itself. For instance, I achieved the highest distinction Toastmasters offers -- Distinguished Toastmaster or DTM. However, that's not important. What's important is that I use my skills that I learned in Toastmasters to do the things I like to do...such as teach a Sunday School class, be the song leader during church service or serve as the chairman of the church's administrative board. I also learned how to write a pretty good speech for executives, which has kept me gainfully employed!

I learned to be organized and communicate well by being a club and then a district officer. And I learned to speak well and, most importantly, be interesting by being a member of not one, but three Toastmasters clubs.

I now only belong to one club, but when I was younger, I had a red hot passion for Toastmasters because like everything else in life...the more you put into it, the more you get out of it.

Or as Paul wrote to the church in Galatia, as you sow, so shall you reap.

Here's a picture of me with the speech trophy I won at Toastmasters today. My son Derek proudly displays his trophy for being an outstanding college TV weather personality. The legacy of Toastmasters continues to a second generation. Both Scott and Derek excelled at speech in high school -- both reaching the national forensic finals -- because they never feared public speaking. I guess they simply thought, "If dad can do it, there's nothing to it."

Random thoughts while channel surfing

I felt terrible last night. I've had a head cold for a few days and rather than seeing the doctor, I decided I would just tough this one out. I guess I'm coming to the realization that if you see the doctor, you're out about $150 for the office call and drugs and the cold still lasts for about three or four days. So if you tough it out and take over the counter medicine to feel a little better and eat lots of chicken soup, the cold lasts about a half a week.

So I had no energy. However, Grandpa had lots of energy. We went for a walk and we read and we cut his toenails. Eventually, he decided it was time for him and the kitty to go to bed. At last, I thought, I can grease up with Vicks and watch the news channels -- CNN, Fox News and...if things get slow...I'll skip over to MSNBC and watch Olbermann's three worse people in the world schtick which is always the same, Bill O'Rielly, Sean Hannity and some Republican lawmaker who had the guts to stand up to the Obama "dream" machine.

CNN was focused on the President's trip to London, but most of the coverage seemed to be centered on the President's wife. No news there, just empty, mindless drivel about how Michelle has risen like a Phoenix from a working class family, attended the best schools in America and appears at ease among the world's leaders and England's royal family. My only question is, "what did they expect?" That she would spill soup on her clothes and show up for her visit with the queen with a red stain on her yellow blouse?

Then it was on to Sean Hannity who had some wierd trio of "experts" trying to decipher the meaning of the President's first 70 days in office and how our kids will never live in a world that is free of paying off the national debt. As I got to thinking about this, I'm pretty sure that I've never lived in the United States when it didn't have a national debt. As far as I know, we're still paying for the Vietnam War, which was fought on credit.

So at the appropriate time, I changed to MSNBC and Olbermann's nightly attack on Fox News. As I listened, it occurred to me that Olbermann is actually promoting Sean Hannity and Bill O'Reilly as he tries to skewer them Monday through Friday. I mean, wouldn't you like to find out for yourself if these two guys are really as "over the top" as Olbermann's portrays them to be?

And the worst person in world was the House minority leader who had the guts to say that cap and trade would cost the average American household about $3,100 more a year. Not so, Olberman said, the actual price is $31 a year.

Yeah, right....he seems to forget that coal is where Americans get their electricity, natural gas is how we heat our homes and gasoline is how we fuel our cars. So if he thinks $31 a year is the right number, turns out Olbermann is the worst person in the world. There's a term called "pipe dream" which comes from people who smoke hallucinigenics in pipes. Seems Olbermann has had a pipedream....though it's hard to tell through his skowl. My guess is that he's one of those who people who turns meaner when he's under the influence.

Anyone buying the prattle of MSNBC's Olbermann deserves what they get.

But there was still more to come. Starting next Monday, MSNBC will debut the "Ed Show" featuring another former sports commentator turned liberal lackie -- Olbermann also is a former host of Sports Center for those with alzheimer's.

Ed Schultz has hit the big time. The bombastic one will now be one of MSNBC's left swingers -- although Ed used to swing from the right. I heard on his regional radio talk show a couple of weeks ago a spot-on imitation of Barney Frank's lisp. I'm wondering if he'll do that on MSNBC.

With that...it was time to go to bed. But I'm feeling better today. The cold seems to be going away...along with my memories of last night's "news."

A great day for lemonade

This is the second day this winter that I've stayed home from work because the roads to and from were such that traveling is at your own risk. Actually, I probably should have stayed home another two days but went to work at my own peril. And, of course, if you included the lousy traveling conditions that occurred when I was off on Christmas vacation, there were probably another two days that could have been classified as "snow days."

Last week, I saw a picture of a frozen, white longsleeved shirt "flying' from a pole in the snowbank in eastern North Dakota that said, "We surrender" written with red spray paint. That's the way I feel.

Generally, this time of year, I want to start a few tomato plants in my house that can be transplanted into the garden in late May. This year, however, I didn't plant any tomatoes. Perhaps it's because it seems May will never arrive. Instead, we'll just keep having more snow days....perhaps through July.

It used to be that North Dakota was the only state that seemed to get hit by this miserable winter...but now the winter seems to have widened and blanketed everything west of the Mississippi.

Anyway, today is a quiet time away from the office. It's a perfect day to eat some home-made soup, take a nap and catch up on a couple of projects that you never seem to have time for.

When life hands you a lemon, make lemonade.

Jobs that I would hate to have...

On Monday night during the blizzard, guess who showed up on my doorstep dressed in his yellow slicker with a big smile on his face?

Give up? It was the Schwan man!

Then it dawned on me that if he wasn't out selling his frozen foods in the freezing froth, he wouldn't be making any commission. Hmmm...that doesn't sound like a job I'd like to have. Instead, I came home early on Monday because they were pulling the plows off the streets in Mandan and I wanted to make sure I got home.

I got paid for the last two hours of the day...but I didn't really work.

Then tonight it occurred to me that there's another job I wouldn't want. That's being a weather forecaster on the news.

Right now, there is absolutely no right forecast. Grandpa wants it to heat up and melt the snow. But if the snow melts, there is more chance of flooding. So the people who have river water running up to their homes don't want to see a warm up...at least not quite yet.

Well, the forecast wasn't for warmer temperatures any how. It was for more snow and cold weather. So Grandpa said a curse word at the weatherman.

I'm not sure if curse words travel through the TV screen, but my bet is that people fed up with this terrible winter have actually cursed the weatherman to his face.

Can you imagine going to the grocery store or Starbucks and having an irate viewer lay into you because of your weather forecast?

That reminds me of another job I wouldn't want to have...working for Northwest Airlines. The other night the midnight flight to Bismarck got diverted back to Minneapolis because of fog. The next flight with open seats to North Dakota's capital city was at 8:20 the next evening. On hearing that joyful news, many of the passengers decided that they would just return to their town of origin. But there was a glitch. The airline wouldn't give the customers their luggage.

Yes, that's right. The luggage had to fly to Bismarck the next night whether the passenger was going or not.

Can you imagine the bedlam of unhappy campers at the Northwest ticket booth when they heard that news?

So I guess I'm more contented than ever with my job.

What jobs would you hate to have?