Thoughts about a couple of great women

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can you fry chicken?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh those embarrassing moments...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An incomparable Brazilian vacation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To really get to know someone....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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