Bald Eagles Calling

Deafening silence

Pine boughs whispering

Eagles calling

 

Campfire

 Orange embers glowing

Flames tickling pine smoke rising

Chili in the pot

World Poetry Day 

Night’s Darkness

Night’s silent darkness

Heavens reveal twinkling stars

Aurora shimmers

 

Charlotte’s Home

Silky web black hole

Tree stump cavity netting

Charlotte’s summer home

 

Angel Aurora

Aurora floating high

Shimmering neon colors

Angel in the sky

 

MN Vikings Haiku

Pre season trading

Superbowl contenders

Rodgers in purple

 

Images borrowed from the googles

Metro Abbesses

Screeching Metro train

Bounding tunnels of blackness

Lone man serenade

Bear Hop

Ursa Minor brew

Ice cold and refreshing beer

India Pale Ale

Distant sky blue horizon

Lake Superior cage view

 

The Old Dock

Old sun weathered dock

Memories of summers past

Crippling wind and waves

 

Eagles to Soar

 Rising mist signals damp chill air

Lake gently caressing granite shore

Cedar and pine scents wafting winds share

Sun’s rising warmth beacons Eagles to soar

Gunmetal Flight

 Low gunmetal clouds

Blanketing the horizon

Gull taking late flight

Cribbage

 There’s a fifteen two

Fifteen four a pair makes six

Now I have you skunked

Morning Coffee

 Morning mist rising

Kettle over open fire

Mayfly in mug

Retirement Walkabout

 

 

It’s been two months and two weeks since I retired from the cube farm.  Thus far it’s been quite awesome.  I have my lawn mowed before noon.  I shop with my fellow whiteheads for groceries.  Odd to see so many non whitehead club members shopping on our time.  Everything is at a slower less harried pace.  The cashier at Cub chats with each customer as though we’ve all known each other for years.  

I’ve formulated new schedules and noticed some things.  Rather than waking up at 6 am each morning; I’m now embracing the day between 7 and 8 am.  My new daily routine is going on walkabouts each morning between 8:30 and 9 am.  Afterwards, coffee out on the deck basking in the shade of the table umbrella.

Interesting to see other people have similar schedules.  I expected to see more whiteheads out and about.  But so far its a 50/50 mix of white/blue rinse heads and 20-50 something’s.  Are they working or hardly working and slacking off while “working” from home?   

I came across yet another construction site along my 5 mile walk this morning.  The crew were napping.  I thought about using the construction equipment.  But the crew is not around to operate the crane to get me up off the ground.

One of the coyotes at the Mill Pond seems to be sleeping late into the morning.  They’re easy to sneak up on, they can’t get away, they have no legs.  They too are slacking off on their duties to keep the hoard of geese away from contributing tons of goose poop all over the park.  

By 10 am the Rotten Ronny McDonny’s  drive thru is lined up with 11 cars waiting to order McSlop.  From Ronny McDonnys past LifeTime Fitness I see all kinds of Rotten Ronny’s wrappers, cups and bags adorning the gutters and boulevard.  A testament of the Ronny McDonny patrons.

Walking across the pedestrian bridge over 169, I pass Elm Creek Brewery, I could go for a beer this time of morning.  Sadly, they open at noon.  Ahead from the bridge I hear the young screams and laughter from Kindercare.  From the bridge, you look down into their outdoor compound. It’s a riot of kidlets running around, riding tricycles into each other.  Theres a splash pad, one kidlet is wearing a plastic sand bucket asa helmet.  Another sprays the adult Kindercare warden.  It’s complete pandemonium and chaos that makes me smile.  

Caribou Coffee has weak iced tea.  Just Love Coffee has better iced tea.  And their sandwiches are made with waffle bread!  Both are busy with a mix of generations.  Some working, some visiting, some meeting discussing business.

Heading into Target to pick up some items, I hear a police siren heading north on 169.  As the sirened squad car heads north, from the woodlot south of Target near the dental office, there’s a chorus of coyotes howling in unison with the squad car.  To add more irony, I spot a 1970 Plymouth Roadrunner in the parking lot.  I hurry into Target in fear of an Acme Anvil falling on me.

The remaining half mile from Target to home is uneventful and alone.  Except for the mail truck delivering mail and a man walking his  Rottweiler.  The Rottie is big and muscular.  Clenched in it’s jaws is his “stick”, a four foot long tree branch the diameter of Folgers 3 pound coffee can.  I say, “thats quite the stick he found!”   He replied he would not leave without it.  What a good dog.

 I look forward to tomorrow’s walkabout. 

Mistress Day?

 

Years ago when I worked second shift, coworker Jerry and I would stop by for lunch before our 2:00 shift.  Always a good time.  One such lunch outing we decided to splurge on ribeyes and dined at Jaxx Cafe in NE Minneapolis.  

We sat eating our ribeye and spuds.  When we noticed we were the only peeps dressed in blue jeans and work shirts.  We also noticed all the other tables were couples dressed up in their finest artire, suits and skirts.  

Thats when it hit Jerry.  He laughed and said to me, “do you know what day it is?  Its February 13th, Mistress Day!”  Sheesh, the day before Valentines Day.  I looked around and sure enough, some of the suits were older men while the skirted females were younger.

We laughed and caused a scene.  I then asked Jerry, “who is the mistess in our situation?”

Hope you all had a great Valentines Day and/ or Mistress Day.  🤣

A New Path

I watched kids walking to the bus stop as I drove by on my way to work.  I got to thinking; those kids do not comprehend their next 40 years of listening to corporate managers and CEOs drone on about maximizing profitability, mission statements and virtue signaling.  

To be young, carefree and innocent again and not bear witness to all that corporate nonsense.  Then I thought, sheesh, this coming May will mark my 40th anniversary graduating from high school.  I can still remember that last year of exuberant excitement to graduate and choose my life’s path.  And leaving high school with no comprehension of the reality that lies ahead.

Much the same way I now feel of leaving the corporate world for a small taste of freedom on this new life path.  More time to learn and explore a more suitable path.  A path less rigidly defined.

However, I will still be working; my new full time career as house husband.  I better start honing my skills as trophy husband, now.

 

Monday morning blues

Weekly stress and anxiety

Recycle repeat

Family Snowman

Today we said our goodbyes to Aunt Ellen.  Her funeral was in Carlton, MN; just under a two hour drive from home.  We reminisced, we cried, we laughed, we ate, and we came together as a family. 

There were no hiccups on the drive north on Interstate 35.  We passed Terry driving Aunt Alma as they took an exit to the rest area.  My sister drove my folks and Aunt Mary.  Karen and my Pop kept texting to report on our travel progress stating we were ten miles behind them.  I sure wish he had warned me of the highway patrols in the center median of I35.  Thankfully, there were no speeding tickets.  Though that would have added hilarity to the day in honor of Aunt Ellen.  We, or I should say I, set the left lane pace with three vehicles keeping pace behind me.  In the center median a few short miles south of our highway 210 exit, I noticed the familiar maroon and white patrol car facing towards the southbound lanes.  Our eyes meet as we flew by him.  Thats when I noted my speed set at eleven over posted.  

Whats funny about this you may be thinking?  Well, Aunt Ellen’s hobby was listening to the Carlton County police scanner.  And about twenty years ago, I ended up being gifted a speeding ticket for ten miles per hour over the posted speed limit.  As we sat there on the highway, my cousin Colleen was laughing stating, “yep, mom is listening to this right now.”  Sure enough, not only did my Aunt Ellen hear of my speeding ticket adventure on the Carlton County police scanner, so did my folks and probably the rest of our relatives.  Aunt Ellen no doubt had a laugh about this close call up there in heaven.  

One time about the same era, Karen and I stopped in to visit Ellen and Lloyd.  We knocked on their door.  The TV was on, but nobody answered.  Perhaps they didn’t hear our knock.  We stepped in; nobody home.  So we left to get something to eat at the truck stop. We met Ellen and Lloyd telling them we stopped by.  Aunt Ellen said if we were hungry, we should have just taken something out of the fridge.  Thats the way it was with family hospitality.  Family was the center.  

It was a joy to see this inflatable snowman by Aunt Ellen’s casket.  You see, this snowman was set in the upper corner of our Grandparent’s farm house.  Its been there since the mid 1960’s where their house was the center of the family.  Everyone simply dropped in to visit.  Food was somehow always involved.  We all stayed at the farm house for weddings in the area.  The living room floor was littered with sleeping bags where many of us cousins slept.  The snowman kept us company watching over us.  None of us could remember a time the snowman wasn’t there.  Amazingly, it never deflated.  Its still the original air Grandpa blew into it.  When Grandma and Grandpa passed on, Aunt Ellen inherited the snowman keeping the tradition of a family gathering place.  It was good to see my family and reminisce our shared memories. 

Dormant Canoes

Dormant canoes

Peaceably resting lakeside

White blankets of snow

Morning Soar

 

Rising mist signals damp chill in air.

Lake gently caressing granite shore.

Cedar and Pine aromas wafting winds share.

Sun’s rising warmth beacons Eagles to soar.

The Misfit Toy Caper

I’ve always wondered about the Island of Misfit Toys in the adventures of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.   Who made these low quality toys?  Certainly these unwanted misfit toys had to be built in Santa’s workshop.  His quality control personal must have been on vacation to let so many misfits slip through.  No child wants such misfits as a Charlie in the Box.  Or a doll that cries and has no nose, a water pistol that only shoots jelly, a polka dotted elephant, a swimming bird, a Cowboy riding an ostrich.   A sinking boat, a flightless airplane, a train with square wheels on it’s caboose.  How did they get onto the island?  Were they kidnapped by King Moonracer?   

 

Early on we see Santa’s elves busily making toys and singing their silly elven songs.  Heck even Santa wasn’t impressed by their singing.  Hermey the elf seemed all too preoccupied with Dentistry rather than toy making.  Strangely, he tries fixing doll’s teeth with a hammer and pliers.  Not to sound anti dentite but what kind of Dentist uses a hammer and pliers to fix teeth?  Could it be that Hermey the Dentist wanna’-be is the original quiet quitter?  All the other elves cherish their toy making tasks and choir practice.   All but Hermey, his painting skills and singing ability are lacking.  Was Hermey responsible for all the toy misfits?

 

As the story unfolds, Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, a district outcast from the reindeer games, meets up with our pre-Dentistry elf Hermey.  They begin their adventures together playing keep away from the Abominable Snowmonster.   Only Rudolph’s bright red nose always gives them away.   Prospector and North Pole Expedition guide Yukon Cornelius guides them directly to the Island of Misfit Toys.  Hermey seems all to aloof and the misfit toys give him little attention.  Something seems not too right there as though the misfit toys know, and Heremy doesn’t wish to draw attention to his poor toy making skills.  Even King Moonracer wanted to be rid of this crew, as if he were plotting something.

 

It stands plausible that these misfit toys were created by Hermey the elf.  His mind was not in the toy making business.  Instead of working, he constantly read the book of dentite.  Between reading dentistry skills and using a hammer improperly on doll’s teeth and toys, we see an elf in phycological distress.  An elf clearly unsuited for toy making.  Why wasn’t HR involved?  Clearly this elf has no toy making skills.  His manager in the green coat should have nurtured this hapless pre-dentite elf into a different position more suited to his skill level. 

 

Was Santa’s work shop a Union Shop?  Union rules were never brought forth, but its plausible.  That may explain why Hermey was never fired.  However, a Union shop would never allow cross job work.  A dentist making toys?  Never.  Was this an independent shop?  Possibly.  Early on Hermey and Rudolph set out to be independent together.  This foreshadowing may explain this not to be a Union shop.   And the misfit toys a simple write off by Santa to King Moonracer who stands to profit by taking the misfits off Santa’s hands.   

It seems Rudolph got his revenge by guiding Santa’s sleigh through a raging blizzard while earning kickbacks from King Moonracer by convincing Santa to pick up these misfit toys.  Santa unwittingly redistributed his shoddy toys at his own expense.  A win win for the island king.  But do the good little children actually receive these unwanted toys?  One of Santa’s elves hands an umbrella to the toys and carpet bombs the world with unwanted misfits.  We do not see where these toys end up.  Do they find their ways into children’s homes, the landfill, or, back on King Moonracer’s Island?  More investigation is needed.

So many birds

 On my commute home from work, the radio was airing that silly Twelve Days of Christmas song.   It got me thinking I need to add seed to the bird feeders.  Somehow, it also got me thinking how many birds we’re to recieve from our true love.   

Day 1 - we’re given a partridge in a pear tree.  In twelve days, thats 12 partridges!  I’ll take that!  I haven’t been out in the woods partridge hunting in years.

Day 2 - we get two turtle doves.  Well, thats fine I guess, can you cook up a turtle dove?  In eleven days we get 22 of these doves.

Day 3 - French hens, 3 of them.  Thats a heckuva’ lot of coq au vin to prepare and cook.  In ten days, thats 30 French hens into the  Le Creuset dutch oven.  

Day 4 - we’re now stuck with 4 calling birds.  With my luck they’re probably cawing crows or squawking bluejays.  In nine days thats 36 of these noisy birds.  Wow!

Day 5 - golden rings well ain’t that nice.  Eight days of five golden rings for a total of 40 rings.

Day 6 - now we’re to get six geese a laying.  In seven days, thats 42 geese a laying eggs.  Well, thats gonna’ be a crapful of eggs.  I suppose we could sell all them eggs.

Day 7 - seven swans a swimming for six days, 42 more aquatic birds.  I sure hope they don’t lay eggs, we’re overflowing with eggs.

Thats 184 birds in total.  Why the hell would our true love give us that many birds?!  Never mind how this is even possible; what are we supposed to do with that many birds?  I guess I better buy more bird seed, eh.

Bob Cratchited

 

FirstDataFiserv, day 4 without heat; 

its 59 degrees in the office and Scrooge still has not repaired the office furnace.  We now know what Bob Cratchit was dealing with.  Instead of a candle, I’m using my Zippo lighter to warm my hands.  At least we’ll get a Christmas goose after the three influencers prance about Ebenezer.  A Christmas miracle, Right?  Poor Tiny Tim…

Little Cedar Tree

 Little cedar tree,

Growing near shore out of rock,

Basks in sunset glow.

Crossroads

 

Standing at the crossroads.  I did not see the devil.  

But he did try to persuade me to keep walking and not go back to the office.

Glinda’s Goal

Imagery from the googles

 I finally caught on to what was going down on that movie “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz”.  Glinda the Good Witch of the North manipulated Dorothy and her crew to whack the Wicked Witch of the East by dropping Auntie Em’s house on her.  And later by whacking Wicked Witch of the West by melting her with a pail of water.  

Dorothy, Toto and her crew created an  insurrection coup d’Etat against the Wonderful Wizard of Oz exposing his sham of an corporate operation.  He self banished himself in a balloon after awarding Dorothy’s crew with meager trinkets.  Oz got the last laugh by leaving Dorothy behind when Toto chased after the conjured up cat.  A just reward for ruining is phony wizardship.

Afterward, Glinda then traded Dorothy’s return to Auntie Em in Kansas for the coveted ruby slippers.  Which no doubt was Glinda the Good Witch of the North’s goal all along.  With all the Witches whacked, the entire empire, Munchkinland et all, is now ruled over by Glinda the Good Witch of the North. 

 

Glinda the “Good” Witch of the North is badass.

Spinach Pie

 

Early in our marriage, we lived on the third floor in an apartment. It was across the hall and to the right of the stairs.  Next to us was a storage room, on the other side was a guy who was never around.  Directly across the hall from our apartment was the laundry room, stairs to the right and a flight attendant whos’ mail complete with Victoria’s secret catalog was usually mixed up with our mail.  It was a very convenient apartment.

We decided to spend a day at  the Renaissance Festival.  A day of time period themed festivities.  Basically, a rural state fair where Cosplay actors went around calling everyone me lady, me lord and whatnot.  Some vendors dressed in costumes accosted festival goers by hawking stuff.  “Buy a stick, the pickle is free!”  Clever.  But I digress. 

We found a booth selling individual sized spinach pies.  They were delicious, and we each enjoyed a second.  My new bride asked if she could get the recipe.  And sure enough withing ten minutes she had the recipe in hand!  It would be weeks later before we tried making our own spinach pie back in the apartment.

We looked forward to this day in making our spinach pies.  It seemed straight forward and easy enough.  Though getting the garlic out of the peeling was time consuming and putzy.  We did have a debate on what is meant by one clove of garlic.  Being young in our twenties, newly married and not worldly in the know, we took a guess.  

One clove of garlic must surely mean the garlic in hand.  How wrong we were.
Almost immediately we could smell garlic wafting out of the oven.  Soon, our apartment was heavy and thick with the aroma of garlic. When the pies were done and ready for tasting, we could not abide the taste.  Now, we enjoy garlic.  Probably more so than most.  But this was too too much.  She spit and tossed her individual pie out.  Not wanting to disappoint my new bride, I said it was kinda’ good, but heavy on the garlic and finished it. 

She asked me to take it all out in the garbage.  I happily obliged.  I grabbed a beer and the garbage bag and headed downstairs.  The garbage bins were across the parking lot, behind the garages in the back lot.  I took my time washing down the garlic treatment with my beer.  Which never really tasted good.  The beer was too garlicky.  I believe I even was sweating garlic.  Opening

 the building’s door, I hit headstrong into a wall of garlic aroma.   This wall was difficult to penetrate, and I debated in leaving for my folk’s place for the night.  No, I must be strong for her.  The higher I climbed the staircase, the stronger the pungency of garlic became.  It was all but unbearable opening our apartment door.  Garlic was so strong my eyes watered.  

It took weeks to rid the building of garlic.  And we learned a few things.  One clove of garlic does not equal the entire bulb.  And a good way to rid the building of inhabitants, cook lots of garlic.  It was a long time before we enjoyed anything with garlic.   Even the spinach pies.

Trees

 

Red Pine standing tall,

Winds whispering through needles,

A tree’s secret told.

High School Carting

 

(Image from the googles)

During our high school days on Friday nights, we’d pile in to one or two cars and head down to Burnsville to the go cart place.  We never bothered to learn the actual name of the business.  We just called it The Go Cart Place which was located west of I35 on Highway 13.  The place had a go cart track, bumper boats and I think mini golf.  I’m not sure.  We only went later in the evenings to go cart.  We’d buy tickets and stand in line waiting to race.  We would pay close attention to see which were the faster carts.  Then as it was our turn, we’d run toward to cart we picked out.  More often than not, someone else took our targeted cart before we could get there.

The track had only one straight away where the pit was to get seated in the cart.  It had only a few overhead lights to illuminate the track.  Once the attendant moved out of the way and said go; we were off!  Turn one was 90 degrees to the left.  A short straightaway led to turn 2, about 180 degrees turn. Then another 180 degrees turn, It was more or less an “S” shape curve back there.  Then a 90 degree turn to the left followed by another leading to the long straightaway with the pit.  Early on, the blacktop track was lined with old tires on the dirt as some sort of makeshift guard rail to keep us on the track.  But, quite often, the attendants had to run onto the track and replace the wayward tires after being bumped into the track.  The carts were low to the ground with a 5-horsepower gasoline engine behind the seat.  The carts reeked of burnt oil, exhaust, and gasoline.  These were set up for smaller kids.  Us that were taller felt cramped.  Obviously, there was a gas and brake pedal.  But we only used the brakes for stopping in the pit when our race was done.  Usually, we’d get back in line to buy another ticket and race again.

We learned the hard way to only purchase one ticket at a time. Occasionally we would get kicked out of there and not allowed to race the rest of the evening.  And yes, we did get kicked out a few times for such infractions as too much bumping or flat out causing an accident.  No, these carts weren’t all that fast.  Thus, we never used the brakes.  We’d jamb our foot down on the accelerator pedal and wedge our toe up under the front frame rail bending the bracket to get a little more speed.  Also, so we wouldn’t lose full open throttle.  The accidents usually happened in the “S” curve.  We were all bunched up at the start of the race and nobody broke away until after this “S” curve.  More spin outs happened there than the rest of the track. With ten competitive people racing into the “S” curve chaos always ensued.  That’s where the tires lining the track managed to bounce onto the track.  One of the guys somehow got his cart on top of the tire unable to proceed.  The attendants had to help the airlifted cart off the tire and restart the engine.

We’d jockey for position on the straightway, usually cutting or bumping into each other for the best line into the first turn.  Somehow, I got bumped and delayed bouncing off the tires watching the group serge ahead.  A buddy got bumped between turns 2 and 3, into and through the tires, he cut a clear straight path over the dirt mound pushing tires out of the way eliminating turns 3 and 4 setting himself up nicely ahead of the pack.  A few others spun out facing me as I zipped by them.  The attendants ran out to replace the tires and help the others get their stalled carts started again and going in the right way yelling at us, “no bumping!”  Of course, we ignored their warnings.  Yet too much bumping caused us to get kicked out. One of the guys was reprimanded for taking an extra lap.

The next autumn school year The Go Cart Place got rid of the tires and installed metal guard rails lining both sides of the track.  No doubt it was the tire misplacement shenanigans of our group that prompted the decision.  Of course this metal guard rail led to other difficulties.  Somehow a few of us managed to get the cart stuck up on top of this ten inch tall guard rail.  Which again led to us getting yelled at by the attendants.  They also installed a drag strip of go cart drag races.  We tried it once.  The carts were slower than the other track.  And there was not enough attendants to keep that going.

Despite helmets not being available, and all our crashing, nobody got hurt.  Well, except perhaps for our thwarted teenage NASCAR ego.  Fun times!  We just don’t see this type of activity anymore.  I guess everyone is racing on video games and cell phones, now.

 

Seventeen Months

  

 (MNDOT photo from the googles)

Seventeen months.  That was a good run.  Seventeen months of easy going carefree rush hour commute; the Covid commute.  In April of 2020, government shut down businesses for the Covid19 pandemic.  “Essential” workers had the freeway system all to ourselves.  It was quite strange not riding the brake pedal, stop and go fashion while creeping along at 20 miles per hour on the freeway.  The lanes were virtually empty!   No more accidents, people did not fall off the freeways.  It was awesome!
 
Admittedly, there were issues at first.  Just like kids let loose at the opening gates at the amusement park; traffic was pretty chaotic in those early days of the pandemic.  Speed limits were ignored.  In the first few weeks, lanes changes were made abruptly and without warning.  Traffic weaved in an out with each other across all lanes.  Some fell off the freeways.  Others had a horrific meet and greet.  Oddly enough, there lacked a highway patrol presence as the chaos unfolded.  It was getting out of hand.
 
On about the third month into our pace care-free rush hour commute, we covid commuters fell into a NASCAR groove.  We all lined up in the left lane drafting each other in a seamless pack.  Right lanes were for entering and exiting to merge into the middle or left lanes to join the NASCAR draft.  Merging traffic speeds matched that of the covid NASCAR drivers.  Exiting, nobody slowed down in the right freeway lane.  Nobody fell off the freeway system.  Traffic flowed quite smoothly at an average of ten mile over posted limits.  My 45 minute commute was reduced to hassle free 15 minutes.  It was even more awesome!
 
But now workers are coming back into the office.  Traffic is building.  We’re now stuck behind timid drivers entering the freeway system right lane 15 to 20 miles per hour below posted.  Some of these halfwit dullards merge to the left lane keeping pace car speeds under the posted speed limit.  These Citiots drive like speed limit vigilantes in their own small world oblivious to surrounding vehicles.  We’re back to slack jawed yokels riding the brakes - slowing down in the right lane to exit.  More accidents are occurring, and more are falling off the freeway.  Ugh, I miss my Covid NASCAR commute.