Random thoughts while walking

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

Now the boys are grown, but their needs have largely been replaced by a Grandpa who likes to eat and be with Steve in the evenings, whether it's reading, playing Scrabble or watching another baseball game on TV.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Odds and ends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So enjoy...and keep the comments coming.

Prescription for a good night's sleep

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If the cat can do it, I can to.

If arrested, would there be enough....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why are we so different...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Summer observations

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here are a few:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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