Christmases past and Christmases future

I might be getting old, but I'm really starting to enjoy Christmas. No, I don't enjoy it the way I did as a kid. Then I wanted nothing more than to open the presents and play with the toys or go sailing down a snowy hill on a new sled. Before Christmas, I would spend hours looking at the Sears "Wish Book" as the Christmas catalog was called. After Christmas, I would spend hours looking at my ViewMaster or playing with my Spirograph, Etch-a-Sketch or some other toy from a different generation.

My brother Randy and I spent many a snowy day inside playing "football" on an electric vibrator board. If my kids saw how clunky that game was, they wouldn't believe it. They are used to playing "Madden" football on the TV with realistic plays, sound effects and players being tossed in the air from some very hard tackles. Electric football on a vibrator board was nothing like that. If there were noises, you were responsible for making them.

Now, Christmas seems to touch my heart because of other things besides toys and football. One is the spiritual nature of Christmas. I like hearing the stories told of Jesus birth, both in Scripture and from the pulpit. I especially like hearing Christmas music. I'm amazed at how many great Christmas songs have been written in my lifetime. It seems that the birth of our Savior is something that continues to inspire artists to this day. We are all blessed by the inspiration of Christ's birth in a manger more than 2000 years ago.

I'm also blessed by family. I had a great family when I was a child. I loved my older brothers and sisters when we all lived under the same roof. When they moved away, I remember talking to them on the telephone when they called on Christmas Eve and we thanked each other for the presents and found out about their holiday activities.

Now as a 50-something adult, I have adult children. I also have a father who lives with us. I see Christmas differently...sort of through their eyes. This year we spent Christmas at Derek and Camila's in Minot. This was a new experience for us. Their home in Minot was beautiful and decked out in holiday finery. There were also what seemed like hundreds of presents under the tree. And a feast of ham to eat after opening the gifts. It was wonderful, and the drive to and from Minot was beautiful with snowy landscapes. The roads were in good condition and the car was warm and snug with five adults. Sometimes we listened to Christmas music on the radio and at other times we just visited in the car.

The games we played in Minot involved standing in front of a TV set and slicing fruit that appeared on the TV screen with our bare hands, or surfing down some river in a jungle setting while jumping up and down in front of the TV to keep from hitting rocks, boulders and other obstacles. Believe me, spirograph doesn't hold a candle to these new video games.

Fifteen years ago, our Christmas tradition included spending Christmas Eve in Glendive with Belinda's side of the family and then driving to Roundup for Christmas day with my parents in Roundup. Often my brothers and their families were also in Roundup. Then for the past seven years, we've spent our Christmas holidays in Mandan with our sons. We opened presents, watched movies and ate Belinda's delicious meals, such as prime rib and twice baked potatoes.

Interestingly, even Belinda's parents were not in Glendive this year. They traveled to Casper, Wyoming, to spend Christmas with their youngest daughter and her family, which includes three grandchildren under the age of six. How special was that Christmas? I would have loved to have been with them to see the Christmas lights sparkle in a two-year-old nephew's eyes. But if Grandma and Grandpa Doll can drive to Wyoming, it just goes to show that we are never too old to start new traditions.

With Christmas out of the way, we have another big event coming up, a two-week trip to Sao Paulo, Brazil. We will have a chance to meet and visit with Camila's parents and her sister and brother. In Brazil, Santa Claus is known as "Papa Noel" and Christmas is "Felix Natal." Maybe some time in the future, we will be celebrating Christmas in Brazil. It will be a far cry from spending Christmas in either Roundup or Glendive, but the world seems to be shrinking or perhaps our family is expanding. Anyway, stay tuned for future Christmas adventures.

Random observations about Christmas

The world today only slightly resembles the world I remember as a small child. Take the Christmas tree, for instance.

When I was growing up in Roundup, our Christmas tree was real. My last live Christmas tree was when I was a bachelor in Glendive. For all my married life, our trees have been artificial. And there have been several. I know there is less fire danger with a fake tree, and in the long run they are a lot cheaper than a live tree...yet I miss a real tree. For one thing, I liked the smell of the evergreen tree when it arrived in your home. Sure, you had to water it, and you probably didn't want it up for a month to dry out, but I still miss it.

I miss the tinsel that we use to hang on the real trees. You don't dare hang tinsel on a fake tree because you would never get it all off, but on the live trees, the tinsel -- which was the last thing you put on -- transformed the tree into a shimmering piece of holiday art.

I also miss the big lights we used to put on the tree. Now we have hundreds and hundreds of little lights, but I don't think they are as pretty as the big colored lights we used to put on our real trees.

The live trees might not have been as full or perfectly formed as an artificial tree, but I don't think you get the same "Christmasy" feeling with an artificial one.

* * *

If someone was trying to figure you out by looking only at your Christmas ornaments, what would he or she find out about you? Ours clearly tell a story. First, we have two sons. The oldest was born in August 1988 and the second in July 1990. There are ornaments that welcomed and announced the arrival of both of them. 

The spy would also discover that we have traveled throughout the United States and we have souvenir ornaments from many of the places we've visited. 

We also like Grandmas. Actually most of these were purchased by Belinda for her Grandma Frohlich. However, they have been returned to us and now they honor all our Grandmas. I loved my Grandmas and I'm sure Belinda did too. Someday, our grandchildren may see them and think they are in honor of their grandparents. 

There are other tell-tale signs of our life that hang on the tree. For instance, a spy would surely thing we are Minnesota Twins fans. And, actually, we are not. The Twins simply are the closest major league team to us and we've purchased several ornaments when we visited the Metrodome to watch them play. For the record, I like the Yankees, Scott likes the Red Sox and Derek likes the Cubs. But we don't have any of those ornaments...just the Twins. 

* * *

One of the traditions I like at Christmas is going caroling with a group from our church. This year we had 18 carolers, which is enough to nearly fill every square inch of the Mandan Living Center with music. Well, not quite, but it was fun to go down a long hall of rooms and hear the voices of the carolers pass by. First, you might hear a bass voice, then a soprano, then a tenor, next a couple of alto voices. It was pretty cool. 

This year we caroled during the afternoon. And it was a nice afternoon. Not quite shirt-sleeve weather, but certainly not winter-coat weather. 

Over the years, caroling has included different instruments. Some years we've used chimes, other years guitars. Almost every year we have Christmas bells, especially for "Jingle Bells," but this year, all we had was our voices. 

The thing that makes caroling so wonderful is the expressions we see on the faces of the people we sing to. No matter their age or condition, I believe that people are transformed into small children when they start hearing familiar Christmas carols. 

* * *

My favorite part of the Christmas season is probably the candlelight service at church on Christmas Eve. This tradition goes back to my childhood. Once the service was over, we would go home and open presents. That's why I liked it as a child, but I like it as it adult because it stirs emotions inside of me...especially at the end of the service when we are singing "Silent Night" by the light of the candles. 

At the Copa, Copacabana...

I can't remember what 8-track tape was blaring out of the speakers on the day I drove east out of Hellgate Canyon in May 1980 when I left my college days behind, but I remember one of my favorites at the time was Barry Manilow. A couple other favorites singers were Crystal Gayle (Don't it make my brown eyes blue) and Jimmy Buffett (Margaritaville).

In fact, I felt a particular kinship with Jimmy Buffet. He helped me pass one of the few radio/TV classes that I took while attending college. I had to tape a 30 minute radio program where I acted as though I were a disc jockey. Since I owned about four long-playing (LP) Jimmy Buffet albums and since I'd seen him in concert at the annual Aber Day festival in Missoula, it seemed like I knew him. Or at least, he knew me. So I spent my 30 minutes "on air" talking about my buddy Jimmy while playing his music.

It's funny, but once I left Missoula, I forgot about Jimmy, Barry and Crystal. My musical tastes turned to other recording stars. Later in 1980 I fell in love with Sheena Easton singing about the "Morning Train" and in 1984, I discovered Wham and their mega-hit "Wake me up before you go, go."

I'm sure there were other songs and singers as well that ought to be mentioned, but the point I want to make is that even though the years passed and other singers and songs took their place, to this day if I hear Boz Skaggs singing "Lido Shuffle" on the radio, I'm instantly transformed to the undergraduate at the University of Montana listienng to that song during lunch hour before I left for my afternoon classes.

Another favorite of mine was B.J. Thomas singing "Hooked on a Feeling." While the song was recorded in the late 1960s, I didn't discover it until I was living off campus my senior year. I would crank up the 8-track and sing at the top of my lungs until I drove my avocado green LeMans to campus. If the song was over, I simply clicked the tape player three times until I had it cued up again and sang along with B.J. one more time.

Now, considering that I went to college during the disco craze, it's amazing -- or maybe not -- that none of my favorite singers were Donna Summers, K.C. and the Sunshine Band or some other disco novelty. While I went to the disco in Missoula a few times, it was never my crowd nor my music.

My favorite dancing spot in Missoula -- well actually, East Missoula -- was the Cabin Bar. It had a house band led by a guy from Miles City who went by the name of "Wild Bill." The Cabin was a country-western bar that played live music seven nights a week and attracted up to 350 people on any given night. I liked to jitterbug and the band at the Cabin could play Bob Wills and A Sleep at the Wheel swing music.

Another group I liked while in college was the vocal trio, The Lettermen. I found their harmonies and their songs very relaxing in the evenings and on the weekends. In looking back, it seems that I used music to either ramp up for classes or relax when I was at home from college.

I might mention that I still have all my LPs from my college days. I also have a turntable. But the records and player are downstairs and I'm upstairs...so I don't listen to them. However, if I ever need to go back to college, it's nice to know that I still have my tunes.

The miracle on second avenue northeast in Mandan

Normally, I would tell you that four-year-old Joshua is a miracle child because of answered prayers when he was an infant. For the first six months of his life, Joshua required multiple blood transfusions because his body didn't produce its own red blood cells. And then suddenly, something changed and he has been better and stronger ever since.

But this latest miracle I wouldn't believe if I hadn't seen it for myself. It occurred this morning while he was getting dressed. His mom was ironing some clothes for him so Joshua was reclining in our livingroom in his underwear. His grandmother -- my sister Janet -- looked at his right foot and noticed that there was some dried blood on one of his toenails.

"What happened here?" she asked.

Up to that point, Joshua had noticed it so didn't really have an answer.

"Did that happen yesterday when you were playing in the dirt?"

"Yes, grandmuh," he said, "I was playing in the duht."

When his mother emerged from the bedroom, Joshua was limping around the frontroom making sure that all his weight was only on the heel of his right foot and not on his bloody toe.

His mother inspected the toe and asked me to get a wash cloth so she could clean off the dried blood and get a better look at the toenail.

Thinking on my feet, I not only got him a warm, wet wash cloth but also a box of Band-aids.

"No Band-aids, no Band-aids," the four-year old cried out.

So I took the Band-aids back to the bathroom medicine chest.

Upon returning, I could see the little boy writhe with pain as his mom took the wash cloth in hand.

"It willy huhts!" he cried out.

I thought I could distract him while she cleaned his toenail, so I moved further past him so he had turn his head and look at me instead of his mom and the washcloth.

To my surprise, his mom said, "This looks more like chocolate than dried blood."

To which the little boy whimpered again just as the wash cloth touched his foot.

She said, "Joshua, I think this is some chocolate from your Pop Tart this morning. He had a Smore's Pop Tart."

With that, the miracle occurred and he was cured. He didn't limp any more and his foot didn't really hurt him anymore.

We all had a great big laugh and I said, "That'll make a nice blog...the miracle of Mandan."

Thoughts on turning 92

Dad will be turning 92 this coming Thursday. As the day approaches, I've been giving it some thought, partly because I doubt I'm going to make it to 92 so I'll take this opportunity.

As I was walking this morning, it occurred to me that dad will have outlived my mom by at least 10 years. I say "at least" because he shows few signs of being in poor health. At this point in time, I wonder if he won't reach 100...thanks in part to modern medicine and good nutrition.

In the spring of 2007, he got a pacemaker and the doctors said the battery would last for eight to 10 years. I remember thinking, "that should last him a lifetime." Now I'm beginning to wonder. He may need a battery replacement after all.

I also remember when dad's 90-some-year-old half brother Glenn would visit mom and dad in Roundup. Glenn had the uncanny ability of falling asleep while holding a conservation with you. Dad doesn't do that but he can fall asleep at a moment's notice. One minute he's watching the Big Bang Theory and laughing and the next minute he's asleep while sitting up on the couch.

This brings me to the topic of dad's cat, "Picasso." Cats like to sleep, especially Picasso. He sleeps all night and he sleeps most of the day. In comparison, dad and his cat have a lot in common. A normal day for dad begins at 7 a.m. with a bowl of corn flakes and cut-up banana. He also swallows about eight pills, which are either for Alzheimer's or his heart. He likes his lunch at noon, and he doesn't seem to be too fussy. If it's on the table, he'll eat it. He also takes three pills with lunch which are an additional heart pill along with a multi-vitamin and an iron pill. For supper, he likes to eat at 6 p.m. and again will eat almost anything. So far, we know he doesn't like asparagus and he's not a big pasta fan. He has another five pills with supper, which are some of the same as his breakfast pills but he also has one for cholesterol. (I'm taken to believe that all Van Dykes take a pill for cholesterol). Dad also requires inhalers in the morning and at night to keep him from wheezing. If I forget to do this, his wheezing breaths will quickly remind me.

He will clear the dishes after every meal and attempt to wash them, even though we will eventually put them in the dish washer. He also cleans the kitty litter every morning and takes the garbage out to the alley in the morning and in the evening, if need be.

On Thursdays, he goes grocery shopping with Belinda and pushes the cart for her. When they get to the checkout line, he not only puts the groceries on the checkout counter, he also arranges the groceries in a manner known only to Grandpa and God. This seems to irritate the cashiers because he is grabbing the ketchup or other items and moving them to the back of the line just about the time the cashier is going to grab it and ring it up. It's an interesting dance to watch.

Belinda works most weekday mornings at the church but that doesn't bother dad because he sleeps most mornings...just like Picasso. As long as lunch is prepared and on the table by noon, he's a happy fellow. If it's not ready, he knows where the candy bar stash is hid and he'll go feed himself.

He likes company as long as he doesn't have to talk. He will sit and listen, and probably nod off. He can't play cards, checkers or Scrabble anymore, but he will sit and watch others play.

So that's what turning 92 is like for dad. Life is comfortable as long as we conform to his schedule.

The college nightmare

It's now been 32 years since I graduated from the University of Montana. I was 17 when I began college and I was 20 when I graduated. The three years of college were filled with adventure. I lived on campus my freshman year and off campus the other two years. I also attended a couple of summers, where I also lived in a dorm.

My mom and dad with me for graduation at the University of Montana

There was quite a bit of difference between summer classes and the rest of the year. The big difference was that were always a number of teachers in my summer classes and it wasn't very hard to do better than the teachers who had returned to campus for continuing education classes. I don't mean to demean the teachers...but I was attending college year-round and had gotten this study thing down to a science. Teachers were only part-time students and, frankly, I'm not sure their hearts were into it. It's hard to believe now, but the teachers actually dressed worse and looked worse than the full-time students.

All in all, college life was a fairly pleasant experience. Sure, I had the obnoxious professor who thought it was beneath him to be teaching. There was also the foreign professor whom you couldn't understand. And the very liberal professors who would have been better teaching out East than in Missoula, Montana, but I digress.

If there was a downside to college, it was that I was always broke. I had part-time jobs, such as working as an umpire for softball games or at Eddy's Bakery when I was a junior, but I was still broke. I remember writing my senior paper while eating Salted Nut Rolls and drinking Mountain Dew. Going out for a drink meant going somewhere where the pitchers of beer cost a dollar. Hopefully, the popcorn was free.

But  I seemed to take all of this in stride because all of my college friends were also broke. I guess misery loves company. Anyway, being poor didn't seem to be too big of a hardship.

But now that I'm older, I seem to have a recurring nightmare about college. It doesn't have to do with snooty professors, part-time jobs or what I was eating...it has to do with not showing up for classes because I somehow always manage to forget my class schedule.

Like most nightmares, there isn't really a lot of rhyme or reason. In fact, sometimes it seems I'm still in high school because there seems to be a central locker where I'm going to load and unload my books. There were no lockers at college. A backpack or a briefcase, yes, but no locker.

But the real nightmare starts when I begin to hunt and search for my different classrooms. Now I do remember this being somewhat of a chore because my classes were often in different buildings and the buildings could be located north and south, east and west on campus. That meant for a lot of walking. What made it more difficult was there were 8,000 other students also trying to traverse the campus at the same time as me.

Still, when I went to college, this didn't seem like such a difficult chore and I rarely missed a class. I wasn't sick very much and I generally liked my classes...which is why I took them.

But in my nightmare, I always seem to forget where my classes are...because I haven't gone in a couple of weeks. And to make matters worse, I forget the combination to my locker. What I've been doing instead is always a mystery, but it hasn't been school work. Perhaps I go on a two-week bender...who knows.

Now I don't know how many times I've had that particular nightmare, but it seems to pop up a couple times a year. And it always ends bad because I have to take a test for a class that I haven't attended nor have I read the book or completed the assignments. Hopefully, I wake up before I get my final grade because it isn't going to be good.

A couple of weeks ago, I was visiting with brother-in-law Rich Graves who graduated from Eastern Montana College about 10 years before I graduated. We were talking about nightmares and both of us shared this one about college. It was almost word for word. Both of us agreed that while in college, we attended our classes. But in our nightmares, we don't go for some odd reason until we can't even remember where the classes are.

So I'm writing today not to relive this nightmare one more time, but I'm wondering if others share this same frightening experience. Maybe it's not about college, maybe it's about high school. But somehow, there is always that final humiliation because I've not studied, I've not read the material and I haven't heard the lectures. Boy, talk about taking a test with your eyes closed.

Again, my college was nothing like this. I enjoyed college. I really did. But I don't enjoy this recurring nightmare.

Memories of the Babe Waitress

Once upon a time, the boys were little and Belinda was a stay-at-home mom. She watched a little girl – Allison Haider – who was as close to a sister as my boys ever had. But alas, when Scott went to first grade, Belinda wanted to quit her day care business and get a job where she would actually have conversations with adults. So she went to work at our church as a part-time secretary…the same job she has today.

About that same time, she was invited to join the Prairie Rose Lions Club. Again, she wanted to interact with adults. I belonged to the North Star Lions Club and wouldn’t you know it, the two clubs met once a month on the same night. Well, it didn’t make any sense for us to get a babysitter so we could attend our separate Lions Clubs meetings and, frankly, I was getting enough adult interaction at my job at MDU, so I quit my Lions Club so Belinda could join hers.

This created the perfect situation for me and the boys to have one night out a month by ourselves, which became known as “Boys Night Out.”

As was customary, Derek, Scott and I always went to the same restaurant, month after month….Red Lobster. And the stories are legendary.

For instance, there’s the time that Derek bet me a dollar that he could eat the “Ultimate Feast” by himself. I’m guessing he was about 10 years old at the time. Anyway, I took the bet thinking that this was a no-lose proposition for me. Not only would I get a dollar from him when I won the bet, but I would also get to eat the rest of his shrimp, lobster and crab when he was full.

Much to my chagrin, Derek ate every bite of his meal. So not only did I owe him a dollar but I also had to pay for his meal…which was about $15 at the time.

Our drink of choice in those days was rootbeer. Normally if you need a refill at Red Lobster, the servers are johnny-on-the-spot with another glass of pop. However, when you order root beer, it comes in a brown glass bottle, and when one bottle is gone, you have to order another. So the first time this happened, we were surprised at how fast our bill grew because we were sucking down the bottles of rootbeer like people crossing a desert and eating salty potato chips at the same time.

But the funniest story that ever occurred involved a young, bouncy blonde whom we referred to as the “Babe Waitress.” The boys and I thought we had died and gone to heaven just to eat at Red Lobster but to also get the Babe Waitress was really an extraordinary event.

At the time, it seemed the Babe Waitress only served tables way in the back of the restaurant so if we got seated at a table in the back, our pulse would race thinking that our chances had improved that we would get the Babe Waitress. Even if she didn’t wait on our table, at least we got to stare at her for an hour while we ate our meal.

Anyway, the stars aligned this one Thursday night. Belinda went to her Lions meeting. Derek, Scott and I were seated in the back of the restaurant and we had the Babe Waitress…and probably three rootbeers sitting in front of us. Just as we were about to order, our bubble was popped and we slowly floated back down to earth.

Belinda’s Lions Club had canceled its meeting and Belinda had walked into the Red Lobster to eat dinner with her family. I think Derek was the first person to spot mom walking toward our table.

He gave me a look that resembled the face of a worried safe cracker who has just seen the cops enter the bank.

Just as the Babe Waitress was approaching our table to take our order, Belinda sat down with us. Suddenly the three bachelors out for a good time sipping on rootbeers turned into a married husband, a wife and two little sons of their mother.

Somehow the atmosphere had changed. Now Belinda is not one to spend our money foolishly, so I think the boys’ meal selection changed from the Ultimate Feast to popcorn shrimp.

Still, it was one of those unforgettable memories that still gets talked about today when we are eating at Red Lobster. By the way, what ever happened to the Babe Waitress? 

It’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight

Summers in Roundup, Montana, were hot. But firecrackers, sparklers and things that go “bang” in the night, seemed to make the heat tolerable.

My first memories of Fourth of July celebrations were the parade of floats and horses down Main Street. We generally were sitting or standing in the shade of the trees that lined Main Street by the Catholic Church. It was only a block away from where my Grandma Anderson lived.

The highlight, of course, was collecting all the candy that was thrown from the floats…and the firemen squirting us with water at the end of the parade.

As I got older, I played the tuba on the band float…and then I went away to college.

Memories of fireworks always involved the rivalry between Black Cat and Zebra firecrackers. My brother Randy swore that one of them was better than the other. Whatever he liked, I had to like the other.

Randy was an ant hill’s worst enemy when it came to firecrackers. There was one humungous ant hill up in the first hills not far from our house. One summer, Randy nearly annihilated all the ants by placing firecrackers in all their little holes in the ant hill and then watching them explode.

Rodeos were also a part of Fourth of July celebrations. My parents didn’t go to the rodeos but my aunts and uncles did. One of our neighbors – Donny Tomlin – was one of the cowboys competing. Later on, one of my classmates – Wayne Kelly – competed at the local level. Knowing some of the cowboys made it more interesting. But the part of the rodeo I liked best was visiting with people and eating the grilled hamburgers.

We have a rodeo on the Fourth of July in Mandan and I’ve never been to it. I guess the memories of the scorching heat and waiting and waiting for the next rider at the Roundup rodeo took some of the fun away.

The other thing that I remember about the Fourth was the family picnics. We always seemed to be involved in a picnic. When I really young, the picnic might have been at Grandma Anderson’s. It would involve my aunts and uncles…but mostly it involved my cousins. And in those day, my cousins in Roundup were as thick as ticks on a dog’s back in June. When Grandma died in 1972, the picnic migrated to our yard. Later on, more and more people got invited and the picnic was held at the city park.

Still, what I remember about the Fourth was that it didn’t take a lot of money to have a lot of fun.

It was a nice holiday…a good time to feel patriotic, eat a little food and watch a parade.

Now that I’ve grown up and moved away from Roundup, I think of these things with some nostalgia. The parade in my adopted hometown of Mandan lasts about two hours long and is even broadcast on a local TV station. The rodeo is also a much bigger event and draws cowboys from several states and Canada. Even the fireworks shot off after the rodeo are much bigger and brighter…they can be seen from miles around.

Still, you don’t forget about your childhood…how good the watermelon tasted, the smell of a burning punk and sitting on a bale of hay playing the tuba in the hometown parade. Those days are gone…and some of the people are gone, too….but the memories live on.

So quickly...it was over

I have never experienced anything like it. You know that iconic photo of the sailor being hugged in Times Square after World War 2? That lucky guy must have felt like me at the Denver airport on Friday afternoon. Belinda, Grandpa and I had walked off the plane and were stumbling through the big airport looking for baggage claim. Suddenly, it felt like I was being tackled. Someone or something had grabbed me around the knees and wasn't letting go. When I looked down, there was my four year-old grandnephew Joshua Baker holding onto me with the biggest, widest grin on his face. "Unka Steeeeeve." 

We had arrived for a short three-day weekend in Aurora, Colorado, and Joshua came with his dad to take us to their home. The flight had been uneventful, even pleasant. I say that because flying for 80 minutes beats the heck out of driving for 15 hours. 

The only downfall of the flight involved dad getting a "patdown" by a TSA officer at the Bismarck airport. Ninety-one-year-old men don't like to be touched -- period -- yet be touched by a 25-year-old guy who they don't know in a strange place (I'm not talking about the airport). Dad looked at me with a quizzical expression. I think a couple more "pats" and dad would have floored the guy. (The TSA screening in Denver on the return flight went a lot better because they had a machine that x-rayed dad for any guns or other contraband.)

Our trip to the Baker residence was a ride in the family van listening to kid's tunes on the stereo. There was a song that seemed to fit Joshua to a "T." It was something about "me and my energy." Who ever wrote that song either knew Joshua personally or knew a boy who was identical to Joshua. 

After arriving, we enjoyed a delicious barbecued meal of vegetables, beef and chicken. I think all of them were cooked with a different seasoning or marinade, but they were all delicious. We sat outside on their deck to eat and visit. Nothing like living it up in warm temperatures when the family you left back home is freezing on Memorial Day. Our family in Montana even had to suffer through snow. 

When we went to bed, what I worried about most came to pass. Dad was "nervous from the service" so I gave him a couple of Benadryl with a sip of water. He fell asleep and didn't wake up until 2 a.m.....what, 2 a.m.? Yes, you read right. And he had to go to the bathroom at 2 a.m., 3 a.m., 4 a.m., 5 a.m. and was up for good at 6 a.m. 

The next night we tried something stronger...Tylenol PM. Again he slept like a log until 3 a.m.! And then he was up every hour going to the bathroom just like the night before. On the third night, I thought things would be different. After all, he hadn't slept well for two nights and didn't take a nap during the days either. So I thought he could go to bed without any pills. Nothing doing. Within minutes, he was up and going to the bathroom again. So I gave him two Tylenol PM and he slept from 9 p.m. until 6 a.m. This was truly a blessing, because I got to sleep as well. 

Other than that, we ate like kings. On Saturday for lunch we ate a rib's place, the food was delicious. There was also a lot of it. For dinner on Saturday, we were treated again to Luke's delectable barbecue skills -- this time it was burgers and roasted ears of corn on the gas grill. The corn on the cob tasted so sweet. 

On Sunday, we went to church -- across the alley from their house -- and heard Luke preach. I believe that Luke was born to preach. He can stir up your blood with a good sermon. There were only two people in the church that weren't mesmerized by his preaching -- one was his son Joshua who threw a pencil that whizzed past the head of the person sitting in front of him, and the other was my dad who kept looking at watch. As the time approached noon -- which is dad's time to eat lunch -- Luke made an altar call for the unsaved souls in the church. It was at that moment that dad uttered a common barnyard phrase that I'll euphemistically translate as "Oh, Nuts!" Again, the only people who heard it were the in-laws of the man who earlier had seen the pencil fly by. 

So, the lesson learned, is never sit in front of Joshua and his great-grandparent if it appears the sermon is going to run long. Before I leave the preaching completely, I want to give Luke credit for something he said that was an outstanding analogy. He said, "Church is like an airport. Just as an airport isn't your destination, neither is church. An airport --like a church -- helps you reach your final destination." I told Luke later, "That'll preach." It did. 

Other than that, we had a great time. Mary makes the best raspberry, white chocolate scones for breakfast. Their other son, Jonas, could become quite a rodeo rider. I would bounce him on my knees until both of them would hurt from arthritis, and then he would come to me and say with all the sincerity that a one-year-old can muster "Down", which of course meant "Up." He was ready to ride into the sunset. While he was bouncing, I would sing the tune to "Bonanza!"

And I would bounce him on my knees some more. 

We had a great time. It was filled with fun, adventure, great food (don't get me started on the potluck after church on Sunday - the food went on forever) and lots of great family time. All in all, it was a memorable Memorial Day weekend.  

Let the Memorial Day adventure begin

Tomorrow, Belinda, Grandpa and I are going to step out of our comfort zone. We're going to fly to Denver to visit my niece Mary, her husband Luke and their two young sons Joshua and Jonas.

The idea of flying to Denver intrigued me when I learned that Frontier Airlines flew non-stop between Bismarck and Denver and didn't charge an arm and a leg to do it. Mary and her family moved to Denver in February, so we now had a reason to do it.

The Colorado Rockies aren't playing at home over the Memorial Day weekend, so no one can think that I'm really using my niece as an excuse to see a professional baseball game -- although the thought did cross my mind.

Belinda and I have both been to Denver before but not as a couple. Both of us went before we were married....and we didn't travel together. When I went, I was working for Mid-Rivers Telephone Cooperative and I traveled to Aurora to learn how to use a Compugraphic typesetter. It might as well have been a lead-based Linotype machine, because both of them have long been put out to pasture and probably can only be seen today in museums.

Anyway, my hotel was right beside the training center so I didn't see a lot of Denver, but I do remember that the traffic was terrible, there was a street named after Martin Luther King, and airport was a mess....but that was more than 25 years ago. I can only imagine that Denver has grown up since 1984, has a new airport and the traffic is probably even worse today.

However, we won't have to go to Denver...unless Luke or Mary are driving. We will land at the airport that is east of Denver and go to the Baker residence, that is also east of Denver.

Now Belinda and I like to fly so the trip is not out of our comfort zone. It is, however, for Grandpa Van Dyke. Although he traveled by plane during World War 2 in India, Pakistan and Burma when he was in the Army Air Corps, he didn't do a lot of flying when he was a civilian. I remember he flew to Houston once when he was employed with Continental Pipeline Company. I think they wanted him to move his family to Houston, but dad was too close to retirement and wanted to stay in Montana.

He also flew from Roundup to Mandan in a single engine aircraft when he moved to North Dakota in July 2006. This flight was mostly so he wouldn't get out of the car and try to head back to Roundup when we were somewhere around Miles City or Glenidve. It seemed safer that he would stay in the airplane than he would in a car. Plus, the trip was an hour and a half by airplane and it was six hours by car.

So dad will be flying and earning his wings once again. I think that it shouldn't be much of a problem as he only has to sit on the plane for 90 minutes between Bismarck and Denver. If they serve us a cold pop and a bag of peanuts, it takes almost 90 minutes for the flight attendants to serve everyone on the plane and pick up the trash.

My next worry is dad sleeping in a different house. Dad seems to get nervous when he's not sleeping in his own bed, and if he doesn't sleep, I don't sleep. My "cure" for this is a couple of Benadryl. They seem to put him to sleep, and once a sleep, he rests for a long time.

So tomorrow will begin an adventure. Hopefully, everything goes according to Hoyle and we all enjoy our Memorial Day vacation.

More than one way to skin a cat....

Belinda and I have celebrated 26 wedding anniversaries...all of them in Mandan. Most of our anniversaries were celebrated at the Seven Seas on the northwest edge of town. My favorite meal was the king-sized South American steak. I loved that steak so much that I looked for all kinds of opportunities to go to the Seven Seas and eat my favorite meal. A number of my relatives have also enjoyed eating at the Seven Seas with me and enjoying the steak as much as me.

However, two or three years ago, that changed. The Seven Seas became Montana Mike's. The decor changed from an upscale dining establishment to something that now resembles a hunting lodge on Lolo Pass. The servers also changed. Instead of the matronly ladies dressed in black dresses with white trim, we are now greeted by teenagers dressed in blue jeans and T-shirts.

The South American steaks hot off the grill

But the biggest change was the menu. No longer could I order the South American steak. This baffles me to this day because the same people own Montana Mike's who previously owned the Seven Seas. I know they still have the recipe. However, when I ate at Montana Mike's and ordered a South American steak, my server told me that they served 21 different kinds of steak, but none of them were the South American variety.

Really, I thought, you couldn't serve 22 varieties of steak...including my favorite. I tried to think of the hundreds of times I ordered that steak. Not once did I write a bum check or not leave a nice tip for the servers, so why in the world did I deserve this punishment.

Now supposedly, the recipe of the secret sauce for the South American steak is held by only a few select people in the world...however, I happen to be one of them. So tonight, Belinda and I decided to splurge for old time sake and make our favorite steaks. First we grilled a couple of T-bones outside. Then we brought them in and slathered them with South American steak sauce. And just to make sure that I had enough of the sauce on my beef, I dipped every piece I ate in small bowl of sauce...just like I used to do at the restaurant.

Belinda's first try at a blooming onion...it was delicious!

To make our dinner even more special, Belinda fried up a blooming onion, served us baked potatoes and her delicious cucumber salad. I'm sure our entire meal didn't approach the price of even one steak at Montana Mike's.

If you would like to make your own South American steak sauce and be one of the growing number of people in the world to possess the recipe, here it is: 15 ounces of reduced sodium soy sauce, 6 ounces of tomato paste, 6 tablespoons of white vinegar, 3 teaspoons of garlic powder, one and half teaspoons cayenne pepper, 1 teaspoon of paprika, 1/2 teaspoon of cumin and one half teaspoon of sage. 

The moral to my story is this...if I can't eat my favorite steak at my former favorite restaurant, at least I can eat it every once in a while at home. And now you can too!

If I could write a pilot for a TV sitcom....

I've spent a good deal of my life sitting in front of the TV set watching situation comedies. Some of them -- like Seinfeld, The Office, King of the Hill, Modern Family and the Big Bang Theory -- I nearly have memorized.

So it seems to me that I could write for any of them. I know the characters. I understand their distinct speech patterns so I can write dialogue for all of the characters from Bobby Hill to Sheldon Cooper.

But what I would really like to do is write a pilot for a new sitcom. Call it the "Steve Van Dyke Show." The stars would be my family. We don't have a quirky neighbor but we do have a quirky guest who lives with us 24-hours-a-day...my dad.

Last night for instance, he sat in the exact spot where Scott wanted to sit on the couch. Scott came home from work about 6:45 p.m. so the rest of us had already finished dinner in the kitchen.

Scott was warming up his food while hoping to settle down on the couch, enjoy dinner and watch the Red Sox game. To mark his spot, Scott placed his water glass on a stand next to the spot he hoped to sit.

Unfortunately, Scott was still putting the final touches on his soup and sandwich when Grandpa sat down...in Scott's spot. Scott had to sit in the middle of the couch, much to his dismay.

Normally, this isn't a big deal as dad has a hard time sitting still and gets up several times to check on his cat, go to the bathroom, feed his cat, go to the bathroom or just generally roam around the house.

But last night was different. Grandpa sat down at the end of the couch and a Mack truck couldn't budge him.

Scott really wanted to sit next to his water and watch the Red Sox, so he got up and found dad's cat. He placed Picasso next to his kitty food dish in hopes that Grandpa would spring to his feet to see if the cat had food. But Grandpa didn't move.

Picasso wasn't hungry so the cat simply looked at his food dish and then slowly wandered into the livingroom and then back to the office where he proceeded to take a nap.

Finally, Scott needed a drink of water. No problem. He asked for his water and Grandpa ignored him. Probably because Grandpa can't hear. So I picked up Scott's water and handed it to Grandpa to hand it to Scott. However, Grandpa said he didn't want any water. He wasn't thirsty.

I loudly told him that it wasn't for him. Scott wanted the water. So Grandpa got involved in the process and passed the water to Scott. However, after Scott had gotten a drink of water, Grandpa again didn't want to take the glass because he still wasn't thirsty.

After a while, I got up to go to the bathroom. This finally tilted the game in Scott's favor.

Grandpa had to see where I had gone, so I when I emerged from the hallway, I could see that all was right with the world. Grandpa was in the office by his cat and Scott was sitting next to his water.

I don't know if there are enough laughs in my TV pilot or not, but I know I sure enjoyed laughing at the antics of Scott and how Grandpa just ignored him.

No wonder he's still alive

I was walking to church this morning and thinking about things that my dad taught me...especially his sayings. Here's a few:

• "What you eat in private shows up in public."
• "What a wicked web we weave when first we practice to conceive." (Apologies to Sir Walter Scott)
• "Once begun, half done."

But another had to do with fishing. "Your time spent fishing isn't taken away from your time on Earth."

That last saying has to be true...because dad is still here. He certainly spent years fishing...if you count them all up. Going fishing with dad was almost one big fishing story after another. He told about taking mom's brothers Wayne and Harold fishing. Another time he took his brother Edgar fishing and they caught so many fish they hid them in side panels of the door so they wouldn't get stopped by the game warden on the way home. 

Uncle Rich and Grandpa getting ready for fishing in Roundup

Another time he went fishing up by Checkerboard -- about 100 miles west of Roundup -- and he had to soak the wooden spokes on the wheels in linseed oil to keep them from cracking. 

One thing I knew about dad and fishing...the fish didn't stand a chance. When you are as lucky at fishing as him, it's probably not luck. He seemed to have a sense of where the fish were - whether it was a lake, a reservoir, a creek or the muddy Musselshell River. It also didn't seem to matter if he was ice fishing. He always was catching fish. 

But he just wasn't good at fishing. He was also an expert gardener, hunter and rock collector. If dad set his mind to it, he was good at it. He was pretty good at plumbing and fixing cars. 

I hated when he wanted me to be his helper. I lack the skills of being handy. I also wasn't very good at catching fish. I couldn't see well enough to be a hunter. I do like to garden...but that's about as close to learning some of dad's skills as I ever got. 

My brothers are pretty good fishermen, too. I'm not sure why I stunk at it. Maybe because I have no patience. I expect the fish to almost jump out of the water and into my creel. 

However, I do have a lot of fond memories of going fishing with mom and dad. When I was growing up, mom and dad both worked and both had Mondays and Tuesdays off. It seems to me that they would go to Billings one day and the other day they would go fishing. One of their favorite spots was a reservoir near Winnett. I wasn't much for fishing, but I liked to read books while my fishing hook was in the water. And I especially liked cooking hotdogs over a hot fire and eating pork and beans and potato chips. 

I remember that my oldest nephew and niece -- Dave and Karen -- used to come along. Karen would need a nap in the afternoon and Dave would be running up and down the bank throwing stuff into the water. However, he soon took to fishing and became pretty good at it. 

Mom was a pretty good fisherman, too. But again, she was a patient woman. I liked to cast and reel. But staring at a red and white bobber or waiting for my pole to bend over from a fish biting wasn't something that interested me much. Instead, I liked to read adventure novels. 

Still, these are all fond memories. They remind me of something dad wrote in an autograph book that has long been lost...."When the summer sun is setting and from cares your mind is free...and of others you are thinking, won't you sometimes think of me." 

Oh the way Glenn Miller played....

Do you remember the theme song to the TV comedy "All in the family?" Edith and Archie sat at a piano while she played some chords and their voices rang out with..."Oh, the way Glenn Miller played. Songs that made the Hit Parade. Geez, our old LaSalle ran great. Those were the days."

Well, I thought for something different, I would return to Belinda's diaries and see what the Van Dyke family was up to 25, 20, 15, 10 and five years ago...since those were the "Good Old Days." I've never been one to be superstitious, so the 13th is always just another day. The daily entries in Belinda's diaries are like a snapshot of our family life at different periods. For instance, 25 years ago, our boys weren't born. Twenty years ago, Derek was a toddler and Scott was a baby. 15 years ago, they were both in grade school. 10 years ago Scott was in 6th grade and Derek was in 8th grade. Five years ago, Scott was a high school junior and Derek was a freshmen in college. Also, another point of reference is that dad moved in with us in July of 2006.

These are taken straight from the diaries so I'll put any notes from me in parenthesis. Also, it appears that through the years, Belinda washed clothes on the 13th. When I got home today, she told me that she had washed two loads of clothes, washed windows and cleaned the bathroom.

March 13, 1987 (This is before kids as Derek was born in 1988 and Scott in 1990) - Friday the 13th. "After supper, we went to Grandma Frohlich's to play cards. Steve won most of the money. We got home about 10 p.m. and watched TV. Steve played guitar for a while. I washed three loads of clothes."

March 13, 1992 - Friday the 13th. "Steve worked until 6 p.m. We had lasagna for supper. Darcy (Belinda's youngest sister who was attending the University of Mary) was here for supper. Steve's mom called and said Willis had a lump removed from his neck and is doing fine. Scott went to bed at 8 p.m. After supper, Herbie and Darlene (Belinda's aunt and uncle) came to visit until about 9:30 p.m. Derek went to bed at 10 p.m. Then Darcy and I went to buy groceries for $81. Darcy left at 11:45 p.m."

March 13, 1997 - Thursday - "A windy and snowy day. High was 15 degrees with a minus 30 windchill in the afternoon. We woke up to about four inches of fluffy snow. It snowed a few more inches in the morning so I had to snowblow before I could drive up the driveway after working at the church in the morning. Steve ate lunch with Floyd and Sharron Waddingham. After lunch Allison (a little girl Belinda babysat) napped from 2 p.m. to 3:15 p.m. I washed four loads of clothes. Steve blew the driveway when he got home from work. We had fish sticks and Rice-a-Roni for supper. After supper we played cards. The boys went to bed about 9 p.m. Steve and I proofread The Resource (the employee magazine at MDU). He also practiced his speech for the MDU Management Conference."

March 13, 2002 - Wednesday - "Steve made breakfast before he went to work. I took the kids to school. Steve and Scott were home for lunch. After lunch, I made spaghetti sauce for supper at church. I picked the kids up from school and we went to Wonderful Wednesday (an after school program at our church). We had three different kinds of spaghetti sauces and homemade Italian bread and gilletto with our spaghetti. Steve and the boys attended the youth group. I went to a freshmen registration meeting. When we got home, I studied with Derek for his history test. We went to bed at 10:30 p.m."

March 13, 2007 - Tuesday - "High 52. Steve and I walked this morning. Scott went to school at 7 a.m. Steve went to work at 7:30. I made sausage omelettes for breakfast. Julie, Jessica (Julie is Belinda's younger sister and Jessica is her oldest daughter) and I went shopping until 11:30. Derek was home and so was Willis. They met us at Paradiso for lunch. I did some work on the church bulletin and washed three loads of clothes in the afternoon. Willis napped. After Scott got home from school, we went to see an oral surgeon. It will cost $1,475 to have his wisdom teeth cut out. We will have pay about half as we have dental insurance. We had leftover roast, potatoes and carrots for supper. Steve went to Men's Club at the church. Steve, Willis and I played two games of Scrabble. Willis went to bed at 9 p.m. Steve at 10 p.m. and Scott and I at 11 p.m."

Taking “old men” pills

My dental hygienist is a sweet lady, mother of two, about my age. When I told her about my prescriptions due to my heart failure (yes, that’s what it’s called), she said, “You are taking old men pills.”

Little did she know how prophetic her words would be.

Just before Christmas, I made the mistake of swallowing my dad’s handful of pills instead of my own about dinner time.

Derek was home from Minot; Scott was working; and Belinda was ringing the bell at the Salvation Army in in south Bismarck.

I thought, no big deal, I’ll just gag myself and the pills will be gone.

Not so fast…the pills didn’t want to come up.

By this time, Derek is on the computer and the phone talking to the poison center.

Suddenly, I remembered something I learned in my childhood. I think it was my Grandma Van Dyke who told me that if you drink the raw white of the egg – called the albumen – it will make you throw up. So I separated an egg and drank the albumen. NOTHING.

So, thinking I might have gotten this wrong, I swallowed the raw egg yolk. Still nothing.

I then cracked another egg and swallowed that raw. Still nothing.

By this time, Derek had become frantic and decided the next course of action was to take me to the emergency room in Bismarck. We loaded up Grandpa and a way we went. On the way over, he was calling Scott and mom to tell them where we were going. Belinda’s shift was about over so she was to meet me at the ER.

Derek dropped me off at the hospital and then he and Grandpa went back to Mandan.

I walked into the ER only to find a sign that said, “Identification and insurance card required.”

I had neither with me. All I had was a handful of my dad’s pills in my stomach.

Luckily, the receptionist and my wife share the same Aunt Darlene. So she recognized me and allowed me to pass through the two iron doors that lead to the ER.

A nurse began quizzing me about the pills that I had swallowed and I told her that a few of them are actually the same pills that I take. But a couple of them are for Alzheimer’s, and I don’t have a prescription for them.

By this time, Belinda arrived and we were listening to a man behind a curtain curse on his cellphone. We’re not sure why he was in the ER, but he had a terrible mouth. As soon as he finished one call, he called someone else and started his tirade of curse words again.

In a few minutes the doctor arrived and he asked me to repeat the same information I had already given the nurse. The doctor was an older gentleman…say about 65. Anyway, he laughed when he heard what I had done and told me I would be fine and the Alzheimer’s pills would probably “remind me not to pee my pants.”

With that, he released me with the instructions not to take my dad’s pills anymore and not to double up on the pills that I had already taken.

The next morning, I awoke feeling no worse for having taken the wrong pills. And all would have been forgotten…except that I took the “memory” medicine and so haven’t forgotten this silly episode of my life. 

A teachable moment

Sure, the children aren't kids anymore, but once a father, always a father.

So, we were bowling one afternoon and I said something about the privilege of owning my own bowling shoes. "I don't like sharing bowling shoes with everyone else in town, so I'm glad I own my own."

Yes, I'm a bit of a "germaphobe," as are my two sons. So I wasn't surprised when the youngest one snuck off to the Pro Shop and came back the proud owner of a new pair of bowling shoes. Not only are they new, but they also don't look like the circus shoes that bowling alleys have. Whoops, I used the ancient term for "Family Fun Centers", but that's another blog.

Anyway, Scott bought the shoes as we were leaving so he didn't have a chance to actually use them.

The next day Scott was working, shopping, visiting or something. Anyway, he wasn't around when Derek and I decided to go to Mandan's other bowling alley.

I told Derek he might as well use Scott's new bowling shoes. That way he wouldn't need to put his feet into shoes that have been worn by everyone else in town.

That must have sounded good to Derek, so off we went.

When we got to the bowling alley, we noticed that Scott's shoes still had the price tag on them, and it was snapped on with plastic to the shoe laces. No problem, Derek simply snipped the plastic in two and found that the shoes fit him to a "T."

After a couple of games, Derek tied the shoes back together and placed the price tag back in the laces of the shoes, without the plastic cord.

As we drove home, much to our chagrin, we noticed that mom and Scott were both home.

Never mind, we'll just nonchalantly enter the house, put our bowling balls away and Derek will discreetly take the shoes from his bag and slip them into Scott's. No one will be the wiser.

Well, the plan worked perfectly except that Derek and I couldn't keep a straight face to save our lives. Belinda was asking us what was going on, just as Scott got off the couch and went into the room with the bowling balls to inspect his. There he found his shoes and, he said, "My shoes are still hot. Who's been wearing them?"

Derek admitted that he had worn them, but since they fit him, he would buy Scott a new pair and keep the pair he had worn.

So they left and went back to the family fun center, but there were no more bowling shoes of that size to be purchased.

So, Scott and Derek came back home.

This is where I thought I would provide the teachable moment. You know that thing that your mother teaches you when you are about two: "If it doesn't belong to you, don't touch it."

However, right when I got to the part where I asked Derek, "Did you learn anything today?"

His reply was: "Yeah, don't listen to dad!"

Remembering our loved ones

“Remember, spend time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever. Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side. Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent. Remember to say, ‘I love you’ to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all, mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you. Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.” – George Carlin

There is something about a friendly reminder. A person sharing a reminder is not calling us stupid, but simply reminding us about something that we know, but might have forgotten.

George Carlin was one of my favorite comedians when I was growing up. He looked like an old hippie, but his observations about life showed a great insight into the character of humans. I think he would have been a great guy to hang out with at college, although I’m not sure I would have wanted to share a dorm room with him.

One of my cousins posted this little reminder from the late comedian recently and it got me to thinking about people from my past. As a Christian, I hope to be re-united with these people someday in heaven. But for right now, people like my mom and my grandmas are part of the nostalgia that we cling to as we grow older.

Both of my grandmas were all about family. My Grandma Anderson had two bachelor uncles that lived across the avenue from the home where I grew up. If it was Sunday, Grandma had her two brothers visiting her…not just for an hour in the evening, but for all day.  Grandma Anderson died in 1972 when I was 12 years old. She was born in 1899, so the year was always her age…she died when she was 72. I remember that she was the first person I knew that had sugar diabetes. Since that time, my mom had it and my two brothers have it. My kidney doctor told me I have it but that I’m controlling it with my diet and exercise.

My Grandma was also musically inclined and could strum the guitar. She chewed her nails and was a wonderful cook. I loved to eat whatever she was cooking, especially her cookies and pies. She was also very nice to her grandchildren. I loved to stop at her home when she lived across the street from the hospital. Her home was on my way home from school.

I remember when my Grandma Van Dyke used to live with us. She liked to eat jelly on saltine crackers. I used to eat them with her, but I wouldn’t eat them today. She also had very soft hands. I remember holding her hand when she walked and I was amazed at how soft they were.

My mom was very special to me, but I suppose all moms are special to their children. Mom was also a wonderful cook. She was also a great person to visit with. There wasn’t anyone who didn’t like visiting with her. She had a naturally cheerful disposition and a positive outlook on life. She was also a great one for entertaining company, especially when it was family. I remember having her house full of music with guitars, a banjo and mandolin and her brother Harold blowing on a harmonica. She loved music, and she liked to go to dances and barbecues in Melstone when I was a younger.

There are others that have passed on that have also shaped my life…hopefully for the better. I had favorite professors in college and teachers in school. When I look at photographs from 20 or 30 years ago, there are lots of people that have since died. Like my brother Randy once told me, the people who made the town of Roundup so special to us when we were growing up are now resting in one of the town’s cemeteries.

And as the circle of life progresses, it will be my turn to be the person in the photograph that others are missing. So as we live our lives on earth, let’s be kind to each other, offer a word of praise or thanksgiving…and more importantly, let’s lead Christian lives so when we die from this Earth, we have a new home in heaven to spend eternity. That is my hope and my prayer.