So quickly...it was over

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I would bounce him on my knees some more. 

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

Let the Memorial Day adventure begin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The South American steaks hot off the grill

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder he's still alive

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

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

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

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

Uncle Rich and Grandpa getting ready for fishing in Roundup

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh the way Glenn Miller played....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taking “old men” pills

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

Little did she know how prophetic her words would be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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