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.