Misty-watered colored memories

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your loving Dad!

Things you think about when you are turning 50

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last day of vacation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are we there yet?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whose roll is it anyway

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

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

So I ask, whose roll is it anyway?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blogging takes a hiatus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strike Three. You're Out!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Strike Three. You're Out!"