The Christmas letter

The Christmas letter is often disparaged because it's not particularly personal. What you write to a family member is the same stuff that's read by your college roommate whom you haven't seen in 30 years. However, I look forward to reading the letters that accompany the Christmas cards. In fact, I would rather read the letters than the cards...although I do like looking at the pretty pictures on the cards.

We've been exchanging letters and cards with friends and family for years. I write one for my dad and also one for Belinda every year.

When my parents lived in Roundup, MT, my mom would ask me to write their letter. To help me out, she would hand me their calendar that had various notations written on specific days. Some would say, "Dr. appt. - Billings". Others would say, "Susan visited". Or "hair appt."

Needless to say, the calendar notations didn't give me much to go one. But since I talked to my parents at least once a week, I generally knew what they had been up to and could draft up a letter and then let mom look at it and add or change some specific details so that it sounded more like her writing the letter and less like me.

I tried to do this with dad also after he moved to Mandan, ND, in 2006, but this year I just wrote a letter for him and included it in his cards. He no longer can sign his name, so I didn't see any reason in pretending that he's better than he really is. I didn't think it came out too bad. I'm pretty sure that most people knew I was writing the letter for him anyway, so no use pretending.

Dad's mailing list has changed over the years also. Eight years ago, the people who received his cards were more his age -- relatives and friends in their 80s. So there was Florence Schwab, a cousin of mom's, and Sylvia Burch, the widow of a former pastor. They both are dead now along with several others. So they've been replaced on dad's Christmas letter list by more of his grandchildren. Once a grandchild leaves their parent's home, I try to add them to the list. This year I had more empty spaces to fill, so I added Krystal, my brother Gene's youngest daughter, and also Derek, our oldest son.

I keep Grandpa's list at exactly 30 people, which is as many labels as there are one page. So there's nothing magic about the number. This year, Grandpa's card consisted of a photo of him and a holiday greeting. I never know what it will be from year to year. Sometimes I send cards.

Now Belinda's Christmas card list has more than doubled over the nearly 30 years of marriage. In 1986, she sent about 40 cards. This year, it was about 90 cards...and she still dropped a couple of her friends who had stopped sending cards.

Writing Belinda's letter was easy this year. First of all, this was a really great year. I think as you get older, the years go by faster and they seem to be a lot more enjoyable.

Our trip to Brazil was definitely an unforgettable highlight, but we had several others as well. While we were in Mandan and Scott was in Colorado over the Memorial Day weekend, he proposed to Taylor. We felt like we were right there with them. First, we knew what was going to happen because we were in on the planning. I had even mailed the package to Scott's cousin Mary in Aurora that contained the T-shirts that were central to the marriage proposal.

And thanks to Facebook, we saw the photos of the proposal about as quickly as the event happened.

There were lots of other great things that happened as well. We were excited to go back to Roundup in August for a family reunion. To make it even more fun, we rented an airplane, which allowed Scott, Taylor and Derek to join Grandpa, Belinda and me on the trip. This was our first family reunion in Roundup in four years and it's fun to see how the little kids have changed. What's not so fun is when you see (or don't see) your older relatives because they are too sick to attend or perhaps they died in between reunions.

So, this year, read the Christmas letters. Soak up every last bit of them, whether you consider it bragging or just a bland, impersonal letter. There's so much that each of us can be proud of...and for some of us, we like to share the experience in a letter to our family and friends at Christmas.

Here's to a new year, and blessings to each of you.

How patient are you?

When I drive to work in the morning, I see a line of cars...sometimes six or more...waiting in line to go through the drive-up at a popular, Seattle-based coffee hut. Whenever I see that many cars, I wonder who would have the patience or be that addicted to caffeine to wait a half an hour in line for a $4 to $5 latte or some other coffee-based concoction?

Certainly not me. To this day, I have all the patience I was born with, because I certainly have never used any. 

A month ago I went to a chain bank in Mandan where Grandpa does his banking. Grandpa had a certificate of deposit due so we came to the bank to renew it. The interest rate is so low -- nearly non-existent -- that it really wouldn't matter if the money was in a simple savings account or a CD.

Anyway, I walked into the bank with Grandpa and we were greeted by a teller. I told the teller what we needed to do and the teller informed me that we would need to wait for the next available "personal banker." So we went and sat down, only to find an old woman and a young couple also waiting.

I asked the woman how long she had been waiting. She told me a half hour. She also said the young couple had been waiting longer than her. So I asked them how long they had been waiting. The answer was "nearly an hour."

I couldn't believe it. Since I inherited my patience from my dad, there was no way we were going to sit in the bank for an hour to see a  "personal banker" to renew a CD. So we got up and walked out.

The friendly teller noticed this activity and asked me if there was anything she could do. Since she was friendly, I was friendly. I told her that I thought the bank needed to do a better job at providing service to its customers and that there was no way that I would wait an hour for such a simple task.

She took our names and phone number and told me that a  "personal banker" would be calling me to set up an appointment for next week. I did get a call and I did show up and finished our banking activities...a week later than I had initially planned.

So then I got to thinking...what would I wait for the longest? Well, I've waited a long time to see a doctor. They have a little trick at the doctor's office. They call you out of the waiting room and take you to a little  room in the back somewhere. A nurse takes your temperature and checks your vital signs. And then you wait and wait and wait to see a doctor.

When dad lived in Roundup, he actually got up and walked out of the little room at the doctor's office because he got tired of waiting. I haven't done that yet, but I'm tempted.

I also hate waiting to get a haircut. However, I always have to wait because I take dad with me and he always gets his hair cut first. Luckily, though, I generally don't have to wait too long. But if I walked into the barber shop and saw six guys ahead of me, I would turn tail and run.

Do my stories sound familiar or are you a more patient person than me? How long would you wait for a cappuccino?

Some thoughts about our living Lord

Generally, the only time I discuss my faith is when I'm in our Sunday School class or I've been asked to fill in for the preacher. I'm a guy who believes that the best "testimony" we can give is by how we lead our lives as individuals.

But this past week, the Lord has been speaking to me and I wanted to share some thoughts.

Sarah Fredricks preaching 

First, last Sunday, I went to the Bismarck Nazarene Church to hear the message from Sarah Fredricks, a young lady from Mandan who is attending college in Kansas with the hope of becoming a Christian missionary.

Her message was a simple one, "God can use anyone to advance the good news." For Biblical text, she referred to Moses who was trying to wiggle out of God's request for his life. "Pick my brother, Aaron," Moses said. "He speaks better than me." But God picked Moses...and the rest is history.

Her message spoke to me on so many levels. She talked about how we are not the ones who provide the living water. That is Christ, but our lives are to be conduits of the living water to others. Yet, we manage to clog up our pipes with all kinds of messy things that don't allow the love that God has for us to flow through us. For me, a couple of the clogs are "busyness" and "lazyness." There is probably also self-centeredness...but who wants to talk about that...we might go from preaching to meddling.

Then last week I saw the following on Facebook, " If we don't teach our children to follow Christ, the world will teach them not to."

That statement struck me because our church was in the midst of Vacation Bible School when little children attending our church or little children in the neighborhood or community come to our church to learn about Christ's love for them.

Lots of young children participate in VBS

Today in our worship service we saw those little children sing, dance and clap their hands as they celebrated not only Vacation Bible School, but also that they are the Lord's children.

I'm only guessing, but there may have been some adults sitting in the pews today who thought, "Why are these little kids taking up our church service...where's our sermon?"

My answer would be, "those kids are your sermon." That's how we should feel in the presence of the Lord, like those uninhibited children whom the Holy Spirit has filled with love for God.

And then I was reminded that "God can use anybody." Even the little children.

On my drive home from church, I was thinking about the two wonderful young ladies that our sons have picked for their wives. Both of them are God-centered. Then I thought about my wife and my own mom and Belinda's mom. All led faith-centered lives. God can use all of us to further his kingdom.

God is good. And God is alive. Amen.

Memories of the Medora Musical

I arrived in Beach, North Dakota, as a cub reporter for the Golden Valley News and the Billings County Pioneer in June 1980. My first story assignment was a feature about the nearby musical in Medora, a restored town that had its hey-day in the 1880s. To this day, I can remember some of the jokes (Why do cowboys turn up the brims of their hats? So they can fit three to a pickup.) and some of the songs (I'm just a girl who can't say 'No.' and Marty Robbin's 'El Paso') that floated on the summer wind that night. The newspaper hired a young college kid to be a photographer. I don’t remember his name anymore, but I remember that he was from Park River, ND, and we traveled together in a little red pickup. At the Musical, I sat beside a family from Lemmon, SD. The mom was married to a pastor and she tried her best to “save” this Montana transplant right before the musical started.

Anyway, that was my introduction to the Medora Musical. Between the photos and my narrative, the weekly paper had a great spread about the Musical.

The Musical always ends with a patriotic number. 

By the next year, I had moved from Beach to Baker, MT. Whenever I needed to get out of town or entertain someone in Baker, I always made sure we went to Medora. The Musical just got better with the passing years. At the time, the stage wasn’t as nice as it is today and we didn’t have chairs, just benches to sit on.

A couple of years later I had moved from Baker to Glendive. When I took my future wife to the Musical, we picked one of those very busy nights and we ended up sitting on the hillside, on a blanket.

My mom and dad had the “enjoyment” of going to the musical with me several times when I was in my early 20s. Now they have an elevator to get you up and down the outdoor amphitheater in style, but in the early days, you had only a never ending flight of stairs that wound down the hill, which my mom despised.

By 1985, I had moved to Bismarck to work for MDU Resources, but my love for the Musical continued. John Stewart, who retired as the MDU vice president of communications in about 1987, joined the Theodore Roosevelt Foundation and helped raise money for improvements to the amphitheater. When it was completed, the Medora Musical had more than a facelift, it was a complete makeover. The fore-mentioned elevator and ample plastic seats made watching the Musical a true night of enjoyment.

Lots of people from Bismarck would come to Medora every night, so it didn’t matter when you went, there were always people you knew at the Cowboy Café or Ye Olde Ice Cream Parlor. When my boys were born, we made it a point to take them with us. One time, when Scott was a little baby, the hostess -- Chuck Wagon Charlie -- came out into the crowd and took Scott back with her to show him off to the audience. At the time, Scott was in love with his little hand and he admired his hand all the time. That was the case this particular night. He held out his arm and started admiring his hand. However, the audience was sure that the little baby was waving to them and they started cheering and applauding as Scott continued to admire his little hand.

Later that night as the musical continued, Scott fell asleep. When we were leaving the amphitheater and riding the elevator, the crowd was still whispering about the little boy who had waved to them from the stage.

As the editor of the employee magazine for MDU, I somehow got my name on a list of North Dakota media…mostly weekly newspapers. Anyway, the Foundation would send me an invitation every year to take my family for an all-expense paid vacation to see the Musical, stay at a Medora motel and take in any of the sites in town that we wanted to. We also got to eat at the various cafes and the pitchfork fondue all free of charge. Well, you can bet that we went to Medora every summer when the boys were growing up…and it was all free.

Over the past 33 years that I’ve lived in or near North Dakota, I’ve been to the Musical more than 30 times. Heck, there were some summers when I went to the Musical a half dozen times, especially when I lived in Baker, Beach and Glendive. I often had all the songs memorized by the time the summer was over.

I don’t know if I’ll get to Medora this summer or not, but if I don’t, I’ll still remember all the memories of the Musical when I drive by the exit to Historic Medora on the Interstate. Over the years, I’ve taken several nephews and both of my sisters to the Musical and I have promoted the Musical to all of my relatives. It’s one of the truly great events in the Flickertail State. If you have the opportunity to go, I would encourage you to attend. It will become one of your favorite memories. 

Ross, Austin and Fur-ball

I could look it up, but I’m guessing the boys were about nine and 11 when we went to a summer church camp. At the time, attendance at summer camps was being promoted quite heavily in our church. Derek, Scott and I decided to attend a United Methodist camp at Lake Poinsett, near Watertown, South Dakota, because our pastor’s wife was going to be a counselor at the camp.

We left Mandan and drove to Aberdeen where we would spend the night. Upon arriving, we noticed that there was a park on the north end of town that had a bunch of Wizard of Oz statues. At the time, we didn’t know the park was in honor of Frank Baum…who had been a doctor in Aberdeen 40 years earlier. Baum wrote the novel, which the 1939 movie was based on.

Anyway, we reached Aberdeen, found our motel, ate at a Chinese restaurant and then went to the Wizard of Oz park before heading to the motel to swim and spend the night.

The next morning we drove to Lake Poinsett. On the way, we were passed by some people in a station wagon. When they passed us, they drove over a turtle on the highway. The turtle went flying as the car picked it and sent it airborne. We continued to follow the car all the way to the church camp. We paid particular attention to the driver…only to find out later that she was the “nurse” for the camp. Needless to say, we didn’t want to get sick there.

Another thing we noticed was this family with a little boy. After the family had checked the little boy into camp, we couldn’t help but notice the change in the parent’s attitudes. Suddenly, they were happy as a lark and nearly skipped back to their car where they drove off…free of the child…at least for a couple of days.

The little boy’s name was Austin. And we learned a lot about Austin over the next couple of days while we were at camp. Austin was a one-boy wrecking ball. He didn’t want to do anything that you were supposed to…it was if he was allergic to a schedule. Instead, he liked to break things. We made it a point to stay away from Austin and the camp nurse.

There was another boy that caught our eye. His name was Ross. I might be wrong, but it seemed like Ross’s mom had sent him to camp with his dad so they could get to know each other. Ross was a tiny, fragile boy with a pale complexion. His dad was a tall, overweight man. The two were different in nearly every way.

The defining moment, however, was at dinner. We were eating chicken and each of us was given one piece of chicken to start with. The promise was made that we could have more if we wanted it. Anyway, Ross not only devoured his chicken, he was licking any remaining shred of meat off the bones. When a young kitchen helper came by with a plate of full of extra chicken, he asked Ross if he would like another piece.

“Why, of course, he would,” I thought.

But to my astonishment, Ross’s dad said, “No, Ross doesn’t really like chicken.”

Boy, I didn’t see that coming. Like I said, I think they were trying to get to know each other better.

Our time at Lake Poinsett including swimming and canoeing in the lake, lots of activities and even a few sermons. One thing I remember was this young pastor trying to explain the word “abide” to a bunch of children. He finally said that “abide” meant to “hang out.” I thought it the writer of the hymn “Abide with me” might have turned over in his grave if he had been at Lake Poinsett that day.

There was another character at the camp. His name was Monte, and he put me in mind of my mild-mannered brother-in-law Rich Graves. Monte, however, had one really distinguishing characteristic. He was the hairiest man we had ever seen. You could have braided the hair on his legs and arms.

Somebody before us decided to call him “Fur-ball.” So we called him Fur-ball, also. Anyway, Monte had a beautiful voice and would serenade his side of the cabin to sleep every night with a song.

We didn’t really want to go to that side of the cabin because Austin bunked over there, but the thought of hearing Monte sing was too enticing. On our last night at camp, we went to hear Monte sing.

First, however, Monte had to calm Austin down and get him into bed…no easy task. Finally, though, Monte threatened him. He said that if Austin didn’t climb into bed, Monte wasn’t going to sing. It must have been peer pressure that finally got Austin between the sheets. And then Monte started singing a most beautiful song. When it was over, we went back to our side of the cabin knowing we had truly heard the voice of an angel.

The next day, we drove back to Mandan and I never went to another church camp. Heck, I didn’t feel I needed to…I had plenty of stories to tell about Austin, Ross and Fur-ball.  And the stories continue to this day. 

Thoughts about a couple of great women

There's a lot of reasons why a boy should love his mom and a husband should love his wife...but the older I get, the more my mind seems to center on one thing...food. Both my mom and my wife are great cooks.

I guess I started thinking about this last Sunday when Belinda was gone and I was in charge of making lunch for dad and me. I used to fancy myself as quite a cook. I remember when the boys were in grade school and they used to write papers about their dad cooking breakfast for them on the weekend. The publicity must have gone to my head because I really did think I was a good cook, the master of both the kitchen and the barbecue grill. Last Sunday, the fame came crashing down on me as I looked at my plate and decided that I can't cook. I have no talent for cooking and if I was left to my own devices, I probably would have starved to death long ago.

That's why I'm so happy to have a mom and a wife. There's something to be said for people who can cook. It's really not so much about having the most expensive cuts of meats or anything else. It's really about preparing a meal so that people want to eat it.

If you gave me the same ingredients as Belinda, whatever I made wouldn't taste as good. I'm sure of it. I'm also not much of a BBQer as my family will attest. A lot of what I cook ends up in the microwave as my family doesn't like eating beef that's still mooing. (I have a Type A personality and I don't seem to have the patience to grill meat until it's done.)

Now, my diet requires very little salt. So something has to take the place of the salt shaker to make food taste good. My mom required the same diet. What I should have done was pay a little more attention and watched how she cooked. But I didn't.

So now when I cook without salt, the food is fairly tasteless. This is in addition to generally not being done or overdone. I'm a fairly tough critic of my cooking, but the real critic is dad. When you put something on his plate and he doesn't like it, you know it. He's not above putting a paper napkin on it and scraping it off into the garbage can. Of course, before that, he'll ask me if I would like to eat it. This really galls me because I'm having a hard time eating as it is...and then he wants to give me his, too? What kind of madman is he? No, I don't want to eat his food. I don't want to eat mine.

So, I go back to my original premise. Thank goodness for the women in my life. I know there are men that can cook and some of the best chefs are men. But not me.

Food is important to me. Some might say it's too important. But let's face it. You need food to be healthy and you need food for energy.

When I was growing up, my mom was my favorite cook. And when you get married, you want your wife to cook just like your mom....but you can't tell her that...so you give her little subtle hints, like, "Boy, I sure like my mom's scalloped potatoes and ham...which you could cook like that."

No, I'm kidding. No matter how bad you want to say that, you never do. Luckily, I married a gal who can cook. And while I'm not in love with her German dishes (although my boys are), I love most everything else that she cooks.

On Wednesdays, she cooks dinner at our church. Now I could cook for dad and me...and hate what I make. Or we could eat out and consume way too much salt. Instead, dad and I make it a point to go up to the church and eat with our church family because we know the food is going to be good and good for us.

So, yes, I loved my mom's cooking and I love Belinda's. So if a way to a man's heart is through his stomach, I'll be sticking pretty close to my wife for a long, long time.

1985-86...when we moved to North Dakota

Belinda and I were married on October 26, 1985, in Glendive, Montana. Soon after our wedding, I learned that Mid-Rivers Telephone Cooperative was going to "down-size" its work force. Not wanting to take any chances, I started looking for a new job and was hired by MDU Resources Group, Inc., which meant that we would be moving from Glendive to Mandan about the first of the year. Here's an account of our move and our first few days in our new home:

Belinda and I moved to Mandan, North Dakota, on December 27, 1985, a Friday. We were going to move on the 26th but the roads were closed. Belinda's dad, Leo Doll, drove a U-Haul truck filled with our furniture. Rosaline, Belinda's mom, drove Belinda’s car, a 1980 Brown Skylark, which was filled with boxes of food and TV sets. Belinda, Molly our cat, and I drove down in my 1981 Honda Accord. 

The roads were atrocious, lots of ice and snow blowing around. When we arrived at our new home in Mandan, the Bob Lutkats, the previous owners, were still here moving things so we went out and ate lunch. When we got back to our new home, they were gone. 

Leo backed the U-Haul up to our door. Belinda’s uncles Philip, Clifford and Herbie helped us unload the boxes. Our new home is at 1302 Second Street Northeast in Mandan. We had boxes piled everywhere and in every room, upstairs and down. 

We were tired when we finished so we took Leo, Rosaline and Belinda's youngest sister Darcy to Skippers along with Grandma Frohlich and Uncle Philip. We spent our first night at Grandma and Philip’s house. 

The next morning (December 28) we ate at Dakota Farms. Leo paid. Then we back to Grandma’s. Leo called his son John to see how the roads near Glendive were. John said the Conoco station where we borrowed the U-Haul from was already asking for it. Leo, Rosaline and Darcy headed back for Glendive. 

Belinda and I went to our new home to begin unpacking. We spent our first night at our home. We slept in the living room on our couch which makes into a bed. We still had lots of boxes to unpack. 

On Monday, December 30, I started working at MDU. I was pretty much in awe and thought everything was happening pretty fast. When I was at work, Belinda was getting our house in order. 

This is how we began our new lives as a married couple for only two months in a new state with a new job. 

Can you fry chicken?

Some years ago, a man in his early 60s was offered $200,000 for a motel-restaurant-gas station business that he had devoted his life to. He turned the offer down because he was too young to retire. By the time he turned 65, he was flat broke because a new highway bypassed his business. So with his Social Security check in hand, he decided to set out in his battered car with a pressure cooker and a can of specially prepared flour...determined to make a new life for himself.

Of course, that's the story of Harland Sanders, the man who started the chain still called Kentucky Fried Chicken or KFC. The Colonel's face still adorns the buckets of chicken that are sold everyday of the week. His is a true American success story.

But it got me to wondering, what else could I do so I could feed my family if my job were to end at the Lignite Energy Council? Well, I used to be the editor of a weekly newspaper and spent about half my time running a printing press. I'm not sure I could learn that trade again because it's been 30 years since I ran a press and I'm sure technology is quite a bit different than the early 1980s. In fact, the modern copier and the computer has made a lot of printing jobs obsolete. Maybe I should look elsewhere.

When I was in college, I worked in a bakery, but we don't have a bakery in Bismarck anymore. Or at least not one that makes bread and rolls like we did at Eddy's bakery in Missoula. There's a bakery called "Bread Poets" but its a small "mom and pop" operation that has a few employees but basically bakes bread and cookies for people who pop in and buy their goods. They are not widely distributed to grocery stores, but maybe I could get a job at Bread Poets.

What else could I do? Well I could try to get another job in public relations or with a newspaper, but that's not as adventuresome as Colonel Sanders.

Some misguided people have thought I missed my calling and I really should have been a preacher. But since my wife is the secretary of our church, I'm well aware of all the heartburn that a preacher puts up with. I'm not sure I'm cut out to be a preacher. In fact, I think it might be depressing. I met a man through Toastmasters who was a former Lutheran minister in Minot. He told me he quit working as a pastor because he was clinically depressed. I'm afraid I might join him if I decided to be part of the clergy.

So what else is left? I fancied myself as an artist when I was young...however, after taking an art class, I found myself completely devoid of artistic talent.

I see these buses driving around Bismarck without a single passenger in them. I suppose I could drive a city bus. I mean, there would be no one to complain if the bus was late, because no one rides the bus. However, our city streets are often ice covered in the winter. I'm not sure I would want to drive a bus on icy roads eight hours a day.

Hmmm, I'm running out of choices. I know a couple of people who used to have jobs like mine and when they found themselves unemployed, they tried their hand at sales. However, I don't think that ended very well for them because there are lots of people selling everything. The competition is fierce. I think some people were meant for sales, but I'm not sure it's me. I tried to sell newspaper ads years ago and didn't have very good luck at it. I doubt I would be much better at selling houses or cars.

Well, I've about run out of options. I guess my best hope is to keep the job I have. I'm not sure there is anything else I can do...or at least, not very well. So if someone wants to know if I can fry chicken, I better tell them "no."

Actually, this reminds me a lot of when I graduated from high school and my classmates were undecided about their career choices because they could choose so many different fields. Me? I went into journalism because it was the one thing I was good at. I can't fry chicken, but I can write and I have a pretty good imagination. Maybe I could be a novelist. No, that wouldn't work....I need something that brings home a paycheck. I better continue to bloom where I've been planted.

Oh those embarrassing moments...

The human mind is a funny thing. If you are like me, you can't remember dates or names, but you can remember a good story...or an embarrassing moment.

Over the years, I've had trouble with pants. The first time was in seventh grade. I was sitting in front of Rochelle Satterthwait in Miss Nelson's English class when I bent over to pick something up and my pants split. I don't remember much more but I remember the moment they split. I thought they made a ripping sound loud enough to raise the dead.

About the same time, only in August because it was my sister Susan's wedding, I dropped something in the crotch of my pants. I don't remember what it was, but I remember it stained my light green pants. So I spent most of the rest of the time with my hands crossed in my lap.

Then there was an annual meeting in Grass Range, Montana, when I worked for Mid-Rivers Telephone Cooperative. I drove a little yellow car from Glendive to Grass Range to attend the meeting. To my surprise, I received an award for community service from the co-op. However, before I had to go in front of the small crowd to accept my award, my pants again split...just like I was in seventh grade. But not to worry...my pants fiasco was minor compared to the director of the cooperative whose chair fell off the crowded podium. Still I remember driving back along the barren eastern Montana landscape by Jordan with a hole in my pants...and my award sitting in the passenger's chair.

So why do these memories come to mind? Because today, right before I had to leave for the North Dakota capitol for a meeting in the governor's conference room, I went to the bathroom at my office -- as men my age are accustomed to doing. Anyway, my pants didn't split, but the button that held them together broke off. The thread didn't come out, the button broke in the middle.

I had no time to go home and change pants, but I did have time to ask for safety pin. A lady who used to work in our office before I worked here had "willed" the company a small box of pins and safety pins. But I couldn't get the safety pin to work. No matter how I struggled, I couldn't work the safety pin into two layers of pants. So instead, I cinched my belt real tight, went over to the capitol and attended my meeting. No one was the wiser.

Still, the next time I'm called to the governor's conference room, you can bet that I'll remember the day -- today -- when my button broke on my pants.

Luckily, those little embarrassing moments do serve a purpose....they give me something to write about on my blog. 

On a mid-winter's night....

We're working our way toward the middle of February and I can tell you that I'm ready for spring. Back in November when I saw my heart doctor, I was told that lying on the couch and getting fatter wouldn't be appropriate behavior for me this winter. So I've tried to be more active and lose weight. Now, three months later, I can tell you that it was good advice. Most noon hours, you can find me walking at an indoor gym in north Bismarck. I've also been lifting weights, playing some tennis and racquetball along with bowling on Friday nights.

Most of these things put me in mind of when I was either single or didn't have children. This might shock you, but I actually engaged in some distance jogging before I was married. I was never a cross country or marathon runner, but I do remember jogging from my home in Glendive along Marsh road, which was adjacent to the badlands on the outskirts of town. I had a running partner and we would talk as we jogged.

I also used to play racquetball and tennis when I lived in Glendive. If you looked at my wedding pictures, you would see a young and trim 26-old groom. However, marriage and children slowed me down. I'm sure I'm using these as excuses, but you don't have the same amount of time once your married that you do when you are single. And I also started eating better. I have never been much of a cook...other than cookies, bacon and pancakes. Not exactly diet food.

So, now at 53, the children are raised and grandpa goes to bed at 7 p.m...and I once again have plenty of free time. I also have something else than I didn't have in my early 20s...money. So I can join a gym that gives me protection from the harsh winter elements and I can enjoy a game of indoor tennis while the wind swirls the snow around outside the heated tennis courts.

Tonight after work, I'm meeting up with our son Scott for an hour of tennis. From the gym, I'll have enough time to go home and get my bowling ball for three lines of bowling. This exercise will all be on top of the two miles that I walk over the noon hour with Belinda.

When the snow finally melts and spring arrives in Mandan, Belinda and I will be ready for walks in the morning before work. In the winter, we hardly have any sunlight in North Dakota and in the summer we hardly have any nighttime, so we can be walking at 6 a.m. and the sun will be shining in June, July and August.

A couple of other things I've been doing this winter include eating more salads and not eating any snacks in the evenings. The combination of exercise and better eating habits has allowed me to shed a few pounds and lower my blood sugar, which my heart doctor also told me to do.

So while I haven't found the "fountain of youth", in some ways, I feel as though I have. As long as my knees don't give out on me, I'm living it like it's the early 1980s...only I'm not celebrating my athletic achievements with any beer, wine or spirits. I'm also not eating salty popcorn or frozen, pop-in-the-oven, breaded chicken...which were staples for me when I was in my early 20s.

It's funny how life changes. Some things come around again, like exercising and toning your body, and some things don't. So here's to the many seasons in all of our lives....(as I hoist a caffeine-free, sugar-free can of Fanta orange soda)!

An incomparable Brazilian vacation

I just woke up from a Sunday afternoon nap, and when I was dreaming, I was back in Brazil. This is interesting because when I was in Brazil, my dreams were in the United States. However, it gave me some time to reflect on our adventures over the past two weeks.

First, it was great to get out of the cold winter weather of North Dakota in January. Second, it was wonderful to meet all of Camila's relatives and see the city where she grew up. Third, I wasted a lot of time worrying about the food. Whatever they fed me, I ate, and it was all good. They know how to cook. That's the big stuff, now let's look at a few specifics.

Sao Paulo was large, crowded and noisy. Our little vacation home in the country was like a small piece of paradise. The country agreed with me...the city, well, not so much.

Regarding the all the fruit that we ate, I think my son Derek summed it up best, "We didn't eat a bad piece of fruit in Brazil." The bananas tasted better, the watermelon was also the best I ever tasted. Then there were a number of different fruit that I had never seen or eaten before and they were all good.

Unfortunately, we couldn't speak Portuguese. I hope we learn because I would love to hear stories told by Camila's dad and her uncles. I did have young people who translated some for me, but I know I missed a lot. For instance, when I heard the relatives laughing uncontrollably, I would ask this one guy, "What did they say?" His answer was always the same, "It doesn't translate well."

Still, we got to meet a lot of people and they all had wonderful qualities. One of my favorites was Uncle Carlos. You could tell from the instant you met him that he had a wonderful heart and loved all of his family...even the new ones from America. He also was the chief chef at every barbecue. This was a position that he had earned and he took a lot of pride in. He was also a very hard worker at the barbecues...he would wash the grills, fire them up, trim the meat and cook it all to perfection. He was always the last to eat. He had a very lovely wife as well...she always wore a smile on her face. Another fascinating thing about Carlos and Eleana was that we kept running into them...at the market and at a shopping mall. Remember, Sao Paulo is a city of 20 million people so it's a wonderful coincidence when you actually run into someone you know. Carlos was also one of our many drivers who brought us to and from the city.

Camila's cousin Paula was also one of our many drivers and she took us shopping one day -- not to a mall -- but to actual stores, cramped and crowded in the city. We found many bargains there. In fact, the prices were the best in these small stores and the highest at the malls. Paula also has a daughter who speaks English and she holds a special place in my heart because we had a good chat with her mom and grandma because she could translate our words almost effortlessly.

Camila's immediate family were a treasure trove of love. Her brother Rodrigo was very playful. Because we were there during their summer, Rodrigo was out of school and spent many days at our vacation home with us. We enjoyed his playful nature while playing cards and swimming. And since he spoke the language of Brazil, he also helped us out at the store and dealing with our landlord at the vacation home.

Aline, Camila's sister, is beautiful and she has a wonderful, sparkling personality. A room really does light up when Aline enters it. She also was tremendously busy while we were there as she worked until 6 p.m. and also was the chief planner for Derek and Camila's beautiful wedding. She also drove us to and from the city on some of the nights when the highway was less than hospitable. One night, she drove in thick fog and one night the steam from a rain reducing visibility.

I spoke in the previous blog about Camila's parents. I still marvel at them as they had to be extremely brave to send their teenaged-daughter to the United States. They were both very gracious and loving to Derek and his family.

I hope no one feels as though I left them out of my blog, because all we met have a special place in my heart. There was a young man we met whose name is Rafael. He told me at the wedding that I would always be in his heart. He and his relatives will also remain in my heart as well. Even though we are about 5,000 miles apart, I know that Camila's Brazilian family and her American family all believe in the same God, so one way we can stay closer is by praying for each other. Tonight, when I'm on my knees in prayer, I will pray for each of them...and I'm sure they will do the same.

To really get to know someone....

You have  probably heard the expression, "To really get to know someone, you have to walk a mile in their shoes."

Well, I'm not literally walking a mile in her shoes, but I am getting to know my daughter-in-law a lot better by traveling to her country and meeting her relatives. Our daughter-in-law is Camila, a native of Sau Paulo, Brazil, a city of 20 million people.

First of all, I know that she is extremely brave to have left her home in Brazil while in high school and move to the United States to stay with a family she didn't even know. As luck would have it, the family was the Steve Ash family in Beulah...a nicer bunch of people you would never meet. But still, think about traveling thousands of miles to live in a climate a lot colder than yours. And even if you know English, you don't know it as well as the people who speak it as their native tongue.

I also always knew that our daughter-in-law Camila could be very intense and also very funny. After meeting her parents in Brazil, I see that she comes by this naturally. Her dad and mom both run successful businesses. They know business, they understand money, and they can almost pierce you with their eyes when speaking to you. And then in a blink of an eye, they can be laughing and enjoying themselves. They love life. They love their families and they love the families who love their children. I can appreciate that...I feel the same way.

What ironic about this is that her dad puts me so much in mind of Belinda's dad. He's a big guy and can overwhelm you by his size. What's ironic is that Grandpa Doll and Camila didn't hit off every well. It was at Derek's college graduation when the two of them first met. Someone said, "Camila, this is Derek's grandpa." So, Camila said, "Hello, Grandpa." But Grandpa Doll's retort was, "Not yet, I'm not."

Oh well, a couple of years later and Derek and Camila were married and now Grandpa Doll is also her grandpa. Still, I could see something similar happening with her dad. He drove us from the airport to a bakery for breakfast the other morning. While he only speaks Portuguese and I don't, I could tell that he "got down to business" when talking to his daughter on the one-hour drive. I could only guess what they were talking about...but I knew it wasn't small talk. It probably had to do with his daughter's upcoming wedding in Brazil...or maybe her college classes...or her husband...or her job at Minot State University. Or perhaps it was to tell Camila about his job as a fish marketer in Brazil. A couple of times on the drive, his cell phone rang, and he spoke to whomever he was talking to in the same stern voice that he talked to his daughter.

Now think about it, as a dad, he sees his daughter at the most about twice a year and sometimes only once in two years. Just that thought breaks my heart. I need to see my family a lot more often than that.

Now let me talk about Camila's mother. First, let me say, she is a hard worker and a great cook. You can tell that she would be a great mother. There would be no sacrifice that she wouldn't make for her children. In fact, she sold her car so she could send Camila to college in the United States. To this day, she doesn't own a car.

She owns and operates a beauty salon, next to the house she grew up in on a busy street in Sau Paulo. She took Camila to her salon so she could wash her daughter's long black hair. While there, one of Camila's aunts stopped by to visit. She lives only a couple of houses down from the salon. The aunt is of Italian descent and has blond hair with blue eyes. This stands out in Brazil. She looked like she could be a sister to a family of girls I grew up with in Roundup. Among her many attributes are her cooking skills, She said she doesn't like pizza but she loves to make pasta. Well, I like pizza and pasta, so she's my kind of relative.

The aunt's husband is Carlos, a good soul who also came to the airport as we had way too much luggage. The cars in Brazil are small because the roads are narrow and the price of gas is expensive.

Let me tell you about another relative I met. I think her name is Paula...but it's pronounced Pah-ool-a. Anyway, we met this sweetheart at the grocery store yesterday and she drove the car that took me and Camila's brother Rodrigo to our vacation home 30 miles north of the city. She too is a kind soul and a fun-loving individual. When we drove down a particularly steep hill, we would yell "Wee!" and fling our arms in the air like you do when riding a roller coaster.

Well, there will probably be more adventures to tell as the next week and a half progresses, but for now...Chao...or er, um, Bye.