Your blogger isn’t as rabid about not flying as John Madden who used to pass on the NFL Pro Bowl because it was either swim to Hawaii or take a very slow boat.  I don’t know what Madden’s demons are.  Mine are simpler. 

 

I’m not afraid of terrorists.  I’m really not afraid that the plane in and of itself will just fall out of the sky.  As I’ve said before, I’m afraid of the clowns running the airlines, and now of those flying the planes, or not flying them. 

 

Case in point: that Northwest Airlines crew (or whatever it’s called these days) overflew Minneapolis, giving passengers a bonus tour of Eau Claire, Wisconsin.  I think Eau Claire means “Clear Water” in French although the circumstances of the detour are still anything but clear. 

 

First the pilots were said to be arguing about company policy.  The later story said they were playing with their laptops.  I’ve even heard it suggested that maybe a stewardess was the laptop, as in the old “Coffee, Tea or Me” days.  I think the more likely explanation is they just fell asleep. 

 

The fact is, that the main function of a pilot these days is to make sure that the auto pilot is doing its job.  The human pilots turn on the auto pilot almost before the plane leaves the runway.  That was one of the factors in the flight that flew golfer Payne Stewart into the ground near Aberdeen.  Every on board was already dead, but the plane just flew itself.  Conventional wisdom is that something like that happened on the Eau Claire adventure only it ended better. 

 

This is an easy one to solve.  I saw a documentary about railroad locomotives safety.  Even when it’s on cruise control ripping down the track, the engineer has to touch a specific button or any control at short intervals.  I don’t remember if the train comes to a screeching halt if he falls asleep at the switch.  That obviously wouldn’t work at 30 thousand feet, but such a device could certainly sound an ear piercing or blinding alarm that would awaken anybody but a dead pilot.  It’s simple and it could lead to a lot more “live” passengers and fewer impromptu tours of Eau Claire.  Like the cruise control in your car, auto pilot was devised as an “assist,” not as a substitute for a hands-on pilot. 

 

My lack of fear of flying used to hinge on the concept that the pilot didn’t want to die…or divert…any more than I did.  Then I met a few…

 

Hi, I’m Steve Hemmingsen.  Join me in Hawaii…or maybe Midway…or Samoa…

 

I was brought up believing that if you help out or do something nice for somebody..just do it and shut up about it.

So, I’m sort of going against my raisin’ here by mentioning that Linda and I joined with other members of our church last week serving at The Banquet in Sioux Falls.

I only bring it up because the feeding ministry has a special need..which I’ll get to later.

I’ve done lots of stories on The Banquet for KELO over the years but this was the first time I’d ever actually taken part in the process of getting up close and personal with the people who go there to eat.

They were already lining up when we arrived..nearly an hour before  the doors officially opened at 6pm.

Unlike the old facility downtown, there is room at the new one at 8^th and Indiana for guests to come inside and out of the elements.

“Man, they must really be hungry or just have nothing else to do,” I said under my breath as we entered the back door to receive instructions, work assignments and a prayer.

“Please keep in mind that these people are our guests and to be treated with respect,” said Dan who, along with his wife, Lyndia are two of the unpaid Banquet staff members who regularly guide volunteers through their paces before each meal. “When it’s your turn to eat, go sit with some of the guests,” said Dan. “Don’t preach to them..just visit and “listen” to what they may have to say.”

I’d rather just work in the background..I thought. I’d be happy to do dishes. I have no idea what to say to these folks.

“Doug and Linda, we’ll have you serve beverages, okay?” Dan said. “We go through a lot of milk..so that’ll keep one of you busy.”  Linda grabbed the milk jug before I had a chance..leaving me with the task of pouring water and coffee which aren’t nearly as popular.

That left me ample time to stand there and observe the operation and appreciate the efficiency of it.

Then I saw a couple of the guests motion for me to come over..so I did, with water and coffee in hand. But they weren’t thirsty. “Doug, how’s retirement going?” one of them said. “We watched you on the news for years and miss seeing you.”  

I almost said “What are you doing here?” before it got through my thick head that The Banquet isn’t just for the homeless and destitute or those with various physical and mental challenges. It’s also a gathering place for folks who may be down on their luck or just plain lonely.

Who among us has not been there?

I’m afraid I stink as a beverage server but really did enjoy doing the very thing I’d been dreading; sitting down and talking with the guests.

Linda, on the other hand, was hopping all evening on the milk detail..which brings me to the point of this whole thing.

Milk is one of the Banquet food services biggest expenses and it recently lost the supplier that was providing it for free.

It just seems to me that a place that provides such a wonderful service should not have to worry about paying the milk bill and there may be somebody out in blogland able to alleviate that concern.

For information on who to contact and find out more about The Banquet  CLICK HERE to check out it’s web site and give ‘em a call.

By the way, I guess we were there on a pretty slow night; just under 300 guests served including about 30 kids. But like Dan says, winter’s coming and when the temperature goes down..the guest list goes up.

I hope they don’t run out of milk.

 

This H1N1 business has been confusing from the start.  First it was Swine Flu, then it wasn’t.  I’ve been having trouble tracking it ever since.  Are we supposed to get shots?  Is there a shot?  Is the shot…if there is one…worse than the ailment?  This one affects kids more than old people? 

 

Let’s see.  We’re not supposed to inhale, exhale, shake hands, kiss or exchange fluids. 

I’m okay with the handshaking part.  That’s just the human equivalent of canine butt sniffing, anyway. 

 

We’re supposed to wash our hands in restrooms.  Employees have to.  We don’t.  Did you ever worry about a food place that has to order its workers to wash their hands? 

Worse, I have seen why those signs are there first hand. 

 

On my recent road trip, I saw stalls where the previous occupant had carefully lined the seat with toilet paper…and left it for the next person who is presumably less worried about H1N1 and sanitation in general. 

 

All of these extraordinary measures are pointless.  Here’s why. 

When is the last time in a fast food joint you managed to pull just one cup cover from the pile?  What do you do, throw the extras away once you’ve pried them apart?  Not likely, nor has anybody else.  Same deal with the ketchup cups, and jeez, how about the napkins you have to fish out of an under filled dispenser or rip out of an over filled one?  Maybe you will have been first in the sanitary pecking order, but the odds are slim. 

 

I once asked Bobbi Lower, when she was KELO’s Health Beat reporter, what about those grocery carts where people put their diapered, slobbering kid right on top of their groceries, and subsequently, yours?  That concern was pretty much written off.  Now most big stores have some sort of sanitary wipe so you can de-bacterialize that cart. 

 

My point is that you can take all the precautions you want, but you can’t escape other people’s transgressions in hygiene.  I also suspect that if we achieve this germ-free existence we’re striving for, we’ll be worse off rather than better.  How will our immune systems get the exercise they need to function when the chips are down? 

Baltimore at Cleveland - BAL, BAL, BAL

 

Here’s the deal.  Hendricks, Minnesota…the little town by the lake…has a cat problem.  Here’s the solution: Veterans’ Day in Astoria, South Dakota, eight miles away. 

 

Knowing that the American Legion lutefisk supper is usually sold out well in advance, I figured I was safe asking my friend Tryg if I could come in a shoot some pictures…and leave before I was overcome.  Wrong!  Tryg scrounged or scalped or something one more ticket, so I had to tough it out.

 

The Main Street in Astoria, about the only paved one, is only a couple of blocks long, but I have to tell you…and I’m not kidding…you could smell the pot boiling a block away.  Uffdah!

 

Not knowing the protocol, I sat with Tryg’s brother Phil and his wife Roberta.  Phil documented a gastronomic advenutre worthy of guy on cable, Andrew Zimmern, who will eat anything.   Hold your nose and be glad it isn’t smell-a-vision…

 

It was like being a smoker among non-smokers.  I just threw my clothes in the hamper as soon as I got home.  As for the cats, just open the door to the Legion Hall and they’ll troop over for the supper to end all suppers.  If you’re an a-fisk-anado, you might want to book ahead for next Veterans’ Day.  The guest list is limited to about 100.  It is served family style, so you can eat all you want, even if you work around the main event.  They have Norwegian meatballs the size of tennis balls. 

I’m sure a lot of you can appreciate how lucky I’ve been to have had Dave Dedrick as a friend for 35 plus years.

After all, I grew up with him on television too..both as a Kelo personality and, of course, as Captain 11.

Because of that, many people, who know that Dave has been in the hospital for several weeks now, have been asking me how he’s doing and what the heck is wrong.

 

Well, to the best of my knowledge, he went in to deal with back pain that has been excruciating for some time. In the course of treating that, other old health issues have cropped up to the point that he has been confined to bed.

 

My pal, Lyle Bamsey and I decided to defy the ban on visitors because of swine flu concerns and stopped by Avera Select to see the Captain this morning.

 

Laying flat on his back, he noticed us come in and, with a big smile and handshake, said “Doogle and Bammer..good to see you.”

 

The old fart is still sharp as they come and still able to intimidate me with his intellect and wit. For example, during a lull in the conversation, I said..”So, Dave, are you in much pain?”

Here’s a guy with a spine like a dry twig laying there with instructions posted all around his bedside for staff to be especially careful in moving him..and I ask a dumb question like that.

He just looked at Bammer and rolled his eyes, then laughed.

God, I love that man and hate it that his body can’t keep up with his brain any longer.

I frankly don’t know what his prognosis is but am sure of one thing..he needs your continued prayers or positive thoughts or whatever cosmic energy you call upon to make things better.

He loves the fact that so many of you have sent greetings over the Facebook web site called “Friends of Captain 11”  He gets regular updates from his wife, Marjean..son, Dana and daughter, Sunshine..so keep ‘em coming. There were over 5 thousand of you at last count. 

Oh, one other thing that is so typical of my friend.  He wanted to do something nice for the hospital staff so ..sick as he is..he ordered pizzas for everybody and was surprised when the appreciative crew said that’s the first time a patient had ever done anything like that.

Oh, Lord..the world needs this guy around awhile longer…a LOT longer.
Please?

 

  

 

Fits and starts.  That’s the story I heard about our almost non-existent summer from Sioux Falls to the tip of Maine, the lobster villages that are the easternmost point in the United States, not the continental United States like the Alaskan and Hawaiian appendages, but the whole United States.  

It occurred to me as I nestled into one of those little villages for a week and got to know some of the fishermen that they are really a coastal version of the Midwest farmers.  They have their booms and busts, their ups and downs, weather angst and the pressure to get bigger. 

 

The small ones…and there are about 500 of them in Jonesport and Beal’s Island…are more interesting, the guys who run one and two-man boats.




Jonesport and Beal’s Island have 22 hundred people, practically all of them…a lot of Alleys and Beals…fisher folk in one way or another.  Everybody knows how to work a boat and the sea bottom.

It seems only fitting that Art Wollmann’s funeral be held on Veterans Day because he was not only a gallant World War II veteran but a hero in every sense of the word.

I am one who believes that the word “hero” has been applied a bit too freely in recent years diminishing its meaning.  But with Art, it is a truly deserved recognition..even though he, himself, never considered his actions on the field of battle in the Pacific Theater as anything heroic.

I did an Eye On Keloland story 8 years ago about Arthur Wollmann’s war experiences after he called and said it was time to get some of the things he’d kept bottled up inside out in the open. This was not for any personal glory..but a need to vent about the things he saw and did during 600 days of combat..including being wounded four times and single handedly killing 21 Japanese soldiers he encountered at the base of a hill.

I recounted his story a year ago on this blog..some of which I am repeating here as a Veterans Day tribute and because Arthur’s heart finally gave out last Saturday at the V.A. Hospital.

 

11-11-08

Art was my first wife’s uncle and totally different from any of my Norwegian relatives. He grew up, tough as nails, on a farm near Freeman where the whole family spoke German. He was never able to shake that thick accent which, to me, made Art sort of mysterious because he sounded just like those German soldiers depicted in movies and on television.

Anyway, Art never talked about what he did in World War II. All we knew is that injures he suffered prevented him from working on the farm and led to his long career at the V.A. Hospital lab.

When he called wondering if I’d be interested in hearing his story, I considered it a privilege and it’s an honor to share it again with you here.

Just click play.

 

GAME	ELSEN (77-39)	MCCOY (79-37)	BROWN (84-32)
Washington at Atlanta	ATL	ATL	ATL
Arizona at Chicago	ARI	CHI	CHI
Baltimore at Cincinnati	BAL	BAL	BAL
Houston at Indianapolis	IND	IND	IND
Miami at New England	NE	NE	NE
Green Bay at Tampa Bay	GB	GB	GB
Kansas City at Jacksonville	JAX	JAX	KC
Detroit at Seattle	SEA	SEA	SEA
Carolina at New Orleans	NO	NO	NO
San Diego at NY Giants	NYG	NYG	NYG
Tennessee at San Francisco	SF	SF	SF
Dallas at Philadelphia	PHI	PHI	PHI
Pittsburgh at Denver	PIT	PIT	PIT

 

A piece of old Sioux Falls is gone, “old” Sioux Falls to a Minnesota kid who hit the ground in 1969, living in the biggest city he had ever lived in. 

 

Sid Epstein hit that same ground in the 1940s, part of that draft of émigrés from the east coast that also included the likes of Phil and Kathryn Graham.  They came here to train for their roles in World War II.  Most, like the Grahams, went home, in their case to run the Washington Post, becoming household names during the Nixon Watergate scandal and beyond.  Some stayed, and married local, like Sid. 

 

Sioux Falls, even then, was the biggest city around, but still small enough for an individual to make a difference…and Sid and his late wife Judee Koplow did. 

They weren’t noisy about it.  They just did it.  Much like their liquor store, they were involved in all levels of Sioux Falls society, such as it was.  Sid was involved in everything, often simply lending a quiet helping hand. 

The liquor store he opened in 1947 was something of a 100 proof oasis.  It crossed all social barriers.  At any given time you would see bankers at the counter right alongside the people they wouldn’t lend money to, the top and bottom shelf of the social order, such as it was in Sioux Falls at that time.  There wasn’t that much distance between the castes then. 

 

Sid was an advisor.  Years ago, a naïve young reporter and customer (me) asked him…he was Jewish…about the mess in the Middle East.  He just said: “We should stay out of it.  They’re all cousins.” 

If you were throwing a party, Sid could tell you how many beers people would drink despite their braggadocio bragging.  “Figure two each.” 

He was right on.  Talk is cheap; whisky costs money.   

 

One night, after the news, I stopped in to stock up.  There was a gay bar in the next block.  The counter was its usual eclectic mix, including a guy in drag.  The guy standing next to me looks at this…person…and mutters: “I went to school with him…her.”

 

Sid also knew trouble when it walked in the door and had a knack for heading ‘em off with an eastern-accented: “Hey, you.  Outta here!” 

That was it.  No cops, no problem.  The night I retired, Sid showed up with a bottle of champagne.  Yes, a piece of Sioux Falls’ core, a remnant from an early corps, is gone. 

 

Lincoln County Minnesota is also minus one of its characters.  Ambrose Citterman was a fixture around the Hendricks and Ivanhoe areas, a retired farmer who talked with a thick Polish accent.  Ambrose’s health started failing several months ago.  Recently it was decided that his time had come.  Ambrose had been mostly unconscious as his doctor and his family discussed the possibilities.  During the conversation, Ambrose’s eyes, I’m told, flickered open briefly.  In that Polish accent he said: “Time to pull da pluck (plug).” 

That was Ambrose.  Right to the point, a class act in the rough. 

 

Ambrose was 86, Sid was 95.  Their spirit will be missed. 

 

 

 

 

Your trusty blogger has long held that the only difference between Blue Dog Democrats and main stream Republicans is that the Blue Dogs believe in abortion.  A “woman’s right to choose” is the tactful catchphrase. 

 

Princess Stephanie has just thrown a little more proof in the file with her announcement that she can’t vote for the Nancy Pelosi health reform plan in the House.  “It’s not right for South Dakotans,” is her reasoning and she goes into taxes and this and that.  Hell, she sounds like John Thune.  They could sing harmony on most issues as far as I can tell. 

 

The Princess, of course, doesn’t offer an alternative that would be “right” for our right wing bastion except for offering feeble support for that feeble plan in the Senate that has suddenly sprouted a public option that states can…an would, I suspect…opt out of. 

 

Steph is so in line with Republican thinking in South Dakota I don’t know why she doesn’t just jump the fence over and win with 100 percent of the vote next time out. 

 

Sometimes the right thing to do isn’t necessarily what the home folks think is right. 

We are so bombarded with propaganda on both sides of the health issue that nobody except somebody square in the eye of the storm can make the right choices.  Instead, the choices have more to do with the next election and the popular perception of right than what is actually right.  And you can’t go wrong drifting right in South Dakota. 

 

Here’s an unrelated tidbit.  Researchers at the University of Minnesota say they have found startling similarities between the DNA of horses and that of humans.  Maybe that would explain an anomaly that I have been curious about: why there are so few horses and so many horses’ butts. 

Well, wadda ya know..there’s going to be a bit of Indian Summer after all.

My old colleague, Gary Weckwerth recently commented on Facebook about the political correctness of using that term to describe a burst of Autumn warmth..but nobody’s ever accused me of being too politically correct anyway so I’ll take my lumps if some take offense.

I finally got the yard work done Thursday. Once again the lawn was buried in shin-deep leaves, ours and the neighbors. It’s just killer back-breaking work getting them all raked up and hauled away.

At least that’s what the guys from Peter’s Landscaping said when I was writing out their check. No sir…there may be a recession going on and the government may have frozen our social security payments..but I’m done dealing with that chore forever and will gladly cut expenses somewhere else if need be in order to pay Peter and his all-Russian crew to come over with their riding lawn vacuums and other power equipment that lets them complete the task without even breaking a sweat.

They did it in less than two hours.

Last year, it took Linda and me 2 days..not to mention enduring the embarrassment of making several trips through town to the drop-off site in my old Lincoln..crammed with up to 16 bags of leaves.

Please don’t tell me how the exercise would do me good.

It won’t do me good. In fact, such violent interruptions to my sedentary lifestyle could easily have my body reaching for the heart\off switch and the next thing you know, Linda would be picking out plots for a long dirt nap.

I’ve always had an aversion to manual labor..even before I joined the world of the fat and fluffy.

That’s not to say I haven’t done it. I have. One of my summer jobs in high school was as a block tender for Gross Construction. For those who don’t know what that is..let me enlighten.

You get up at sunrise to face a day in the hot sun hauling concrete blocks..one in each hand.. carrying them over to the skilled mason who would cement them in place. As the wall got taller, the lifts became higher and my arms grew wearier.

“Getting’ a little heavy for ya, there Doug,” Clarence Mast would say with a Pall Mall in his lips and a smile on his face.

“Hard work never hurt anyone,” he’d say.

“Oh no?” “Tell that to the widows of the 112 guys who croaked building Hoover Dam.”  

I thought it but didn’t say it.

To this day I’ve never seen anybody who is jogging or lifting or stair-stepping or any other form of strenuous activity that seems remotely happy while doing it. Red faced, wincing in pain, gasping..yes. Smiling..no.  

Of course it’s possible that I’m just lazy…okay “probable.”

But it’s something I can live with.

Coming home from a road trip and sorting through three weeks of mail is boring; or it was until I came across this little item from my doctor. 

 

Far be it from me to criticize the medical profession (Ha!) but I think there is a case to be made that there are too many tests and too much paperwork.  It’s the best laugh straight out of the bill pile in a long time.  

Why, of course, it was Sanford.  Do they call it the Sanford Smear, now?  I’m kind of looking forward to my visit, too, just out of curiosity.  I couldn’t resist calling the nurse who is, I’m sure, still laughing.  I also give them permission to forego my privacy rights on this one and pass it around the office.  

Definitely LOL!

 

 

Architect's rendering of renovations at Sioux Falls airport. (And a depiction of how many residents will use Sioux Falls airport if things don't change.)

To pay for the project, the airport authority intends to impose a $4.50 facility fee on airline tickets. That is certainly not a huge amount compared to the fees charged by other airports I have visited, especially when many (unlike Sioux Falls) have degraded to the condition of bus terminals. But as things are right now, I may never have to pay that fee – because prices set by the major airlines serving Sioux Falls have forced me to take my business to other airports.

Previously, I have written about the dramatic cost savings by driving to catch a flight in Omaha, because competition (mainly from Southwest) keeps air fares there very low.

Now, as I find myself needing to take a trip to Atlanta in January, I have realized that driving to ANY airport in the Midwest will result in better fares than those charged in Sioux Falls.

Here are the actual, lowest fares posted on the web for a round trip flight to Atlanta on Saturday, January 16, returning Wednesday, January 20. Flying on Saturday and Wednesday gives the airlines every benefit, because those are two of the cheapest days of the week on which to fly. Examining the numbers, I was not surprised that it is significantly more expensive to fly out of Sioux Falls than Omaha or Minneapolis. But I was amazed to find that it is much cheaper to fly to Atlanta on those dates by driving to airports in Sioux City, Fargo, or even Rapid City!

---Cheapest round trip fares (taxes and fees included) to Atlanta from six Midwest cities on Jan 16, 2010, returning Jan 20, 2010. Fares posted as of 10 AM on November 4, 2009:

                        Delta                            United             

FSD                566.91                         568.00

OMA               358.59                         346.90            

MSP                224.20                         245.40

SUX                459.80                         -

FAR                 360.40                         480.00

RAP                 320.40                         367.00

Out of curiosity, I checked the price by flying the route backwards, from Atlanta to Sioux Falls on those same dates. Delta charges $20 dollars less for that route. It seems like the only way to get affordable air fares out of Sioux Falls is by visiting one of the destinations Allegiant serves.

I am not a penny-pincher trying to squeeze a nickel. I am not opposed to paying extra money to use Sioux Falls airport. But when the additional cost to “fly local” is in the hundreds of dollars, I object and vote by packing my baggage in my car – and taking my travel business elsewhere.

I fully intended to post this blog on Monday but had to delay because of a phone call I received.

It was from Digger calling to say some of the boys were gathering at the Brandon Golf Course for, what could be our last chance to play this season. So, at 12:30, four of us teed off into a stiff north wind that caused my eyes to water and nearly miss the ball. At least that’s the excuse I’m using. Still, it was great to be out in the sunshine sharing shivers and laughs with friends who love this goofy game as much as I.  In fact, we’re going to try it again on Friday if the weather forecast doesn’t slip into ooops, sorry, mode.

Sadly, the week-long visit by our granddaughter, Zoey, came to an end Friday as we packed up her little suitcase, together with lots of extra stuff acquired from spoiling grandparents, then drove her back home to Lincoln, Nebraska in time for her 8^th birthday party on Saturday followed by Halloween trick or treating.

Just a side note here: If you are an impatient person and easily frustrated, DO NOT..REPEAT..DO NOT travel south on Interstate 29. I was pulling out great tufts of hair as we encountered one construction zone after another. It took a full half hour to get through Sioux City where work has been going on since Eisenhower was president.  Huge chunks of interstate between Sioux City and Omaha are still ripped up. Expect two lane traffic through the winter months and well beyond. I-80 between Omaha and Lincoln remains a sea of orange cones and barrels with speed limits varying between 75 and 50 a dozen times over the 46 miles.

I know, I know, these projects take time but it seems odd that a road crew guy can have a full career working along that same stretch of highway.

Eventually, though, we made it to Cornhusker City and Zoey’s parents were as excited to see her as we were sad to give her back.

Zoey was excited too because Saturday, 12 little girls were coming over to help celebrate her birthday with a dress-up party.

Her dad and grandpas were the only men allowed at this little soiree and each of us had job assignments.

Zoey, the birthday girl, is lower right in the pink hat.

Upon arrival, every little girl received a colorful hat and boa then proceeded to various stations around the house where they would have make-up applied,and get their nails done.(Linda’s job)

Then it was on to the game room where I was in charge of music beginning with a rousing rendition of “Little Sally Walker” in which the kids form a circle with one girl in the middle who skips, sings and dances; “Little sally walker walking down the street, didn’t know what to do so she jumped in front of me, singing hey girl do your thing, do your thing, hey girl do your thing, now switch”.

And, switch they did until everyone had a turn.

I admit to feeling a bit silly..this big old guy dressed in a Nebraska Cornhuskers sweatshirt..singing “hey girl do your thing”..but that’s what grandpa’s with assigned tasks do. Next up I was in charge of the CD player for a game of musical chairs only instead of chairs, the girls passed a purse filled with prizes around a circle. The one holding the purse when the music stopped got to fish around inside and grab a gift.  Unfortunately, I proved to be a lousy deejay because I lost track of which girls had not received a prize; an error that was realized after receiving an icy stare from a pair of big blue eyes about to fill with tears because the mean old guy running the music had passed her by.

Well, I made up for it on the next round and everybody seemed to be happy when they left my station to the one next door where they were making bookmarks.

From there it was on to the photography station where each little girl had her picture taken with the guest of honor to take home. Then  to the bakery station where the kids decorated cupcakes that I had made the night before (Yes, I did!) and everyone sat at their assigned seats..sang Happy Birthday and dug in to the cakes and ice cream.

Daughter, Suzan, makes sure every guest has a candle to blow out. 
That's Zoey's other grandpa, Paul in the background. His job was to dry the girls' painted fingernails with a hair dryer.

 
As I sat in the background watching Zoey open her birthday presents..squealing with delight at each one..I got to thinking about how blessed we are..both as a family and a country that we might experience such privilege and joy. 

It made me realize that life is too short to waste on being aggravated over things like road construction.

But, rather than run the risk of losing that warm/fuzzy feeling, I decided to skip the interstate and take old highway 77 home.

Yahoo, Nebraska is real pretty this time of year.

 
Just a couple hours after the birthday party it was time to change into Zoey's Halloween costume.
She decided a year ago to dress up as "Puss 'n Boots." The look was made complete thanks to some make-up expertly applied by her daddy.

Today our economy is looking up because things aren’t falling as quickly.  Tomorrow, who knows?  If you want a good gauge of where our country has been, the top of the mountain, I suggest a visit to Dearborn, Michigan…Detroit. 

 

There are company towns, like Lead, South Dakota, used to be in the Homestake gold mining heyday.  The company owned the town, literally.  Then, there are company cities, and that would be Dearborn, the birthplace of the Ford Motor Company, the company that put America on wheels and in the air and put tractors in the fields.  I have to admit awe as I sought out the Henry Ford Museum, as I drive past mile after mile of Ford: Ford offices, Ford factories, Ford test facilities.  I had no grasp of how big this industry was…is, not even when Ford turned in a one billion dollar profit for the last three months.  No matter how far it has fallen, the American auto industry is still a huge presence.  Huge.  Titanic.  Overwhelming.   I’m told the GM and Chrysler complexes on the other side of town are equally overpowering. 

The Ford Museum isn’t just a collection of Fords.  Henry was an admirer of engineering.  Most of the exhibits, like the Kennedy presidential limo are the real deal.  Yes, that Kennedy limo, the one from Dallas.  I wonder what the CSI chicks with a QTip could find in that automobile. 

There’s the biggest steam locomotive I have ever seen, that I have ever stood next to, designed to haul big loads of coal over the Allegheny Mountains. 

 
The Allegheny locomotive and coal tender weigh 600 tons.  I weigh somewhat less.

There are airplanes, if not the real thing, precise replicas. 

And there are more cars, including what is possibly the most expensive car in history, a rare Hispano Suisa that the museum docents…retired Ford workers…fire up for parades from time to time. 
 

The Rosa Parks bus that lit a fire under the civil rights movement is here someplace.

Charles Kuralt’s last “On The Road” RV is here, a 1975 model powered by a Chrysler engine.  The odometer has to include some miles across KELOLAND; Crazy Horse and Korczak, a bill ball of baler twine in western Minnesota, probably even Sioux Falls. 

Word has it that the sculpture and the wordsmith spent a couple of convivial days before getting down to work on that story, and that for one moving shot of the monument-yet-to-be the photographer was pulled in a kids’ coaster wagon.  Don’t know if it’s true, but it makes good lore. 

 

I’m a museum breezer, I don’t spent a lot of time reading every word, every statistic, but I’m still in this one building for three hours.  I ponder the two hour tour of the famous River Rouge plant where they make F150 pickups, the most popular truck on the road.  I sit in my Chevy Silverado and ponder a trip through the legendary Greenfield Village, but I’ve had enough museum.  They will still be there for another trip by your Road Warrior; reason for another trip, another time.   The open road…peppered with toll booths...is calling.

 

 

 

 

You can hardly look into any corner of our arcane health care system without finding something that needs fixin.’  Money spent on kids’ castles…albeit donated…that could be better spent on cures, overpriced insurance and drugs and on and on. 

 

Here’s one more twig for this fire of reform that glows hopefully and then dims depending on the day and who is handing out the biggest campaign contributions; bribes.   This one isn’t even high on my personal list of things that needs doing, just one more twig. 

 

On the way home from my recent New England road trip, I stopped to visit an old friend who is battling cancer.  I mean “old” in the sense of life-long friend, not age.  Age has never been a factor with her.  She’s in home health care, which is a great program, but with a catch.  Isn’t there always a catch in our health system?

 

As I understand it, if you’re in health homecare you are, more or less, under medical house arrest.  If you’re seen outside your home, you could lose your home health care. 

The intent is clear.  There are people who would take advantage and flat out commit fraud, people who would use home health care as a cleaning service and party on.

 

This is hardly the case with my friend.  She is very sick, very, but that is not to say that she is immobile on good days.  She has been very active in her community, the same community in which she has lived and raised her children since I was a third grader…or was it fourth…the same house? 

 

Knowing her as I do, I would think a short field trip on a good day, a cup of coffee uptown instead of in bed, maybe a lunch with friends, would be therapeutic.  But, under the rules, as I understand them, such an event could leave her high and dry on the bad days; a real life Catch 22.  The solution seems simple since we’re so big on decisions being made by doctors and patients.  Couldn’t a doctor point out that the patient would have difficulty tending to her or himself fulltime, but could stand a little uplift, a bit of R and R, a furlough from time to time? 

 

Isn’t this an exact example of what the right wing nuts are worried about if the government gets deeper into our health care, the loss of individual freedom and judgment?  Yes, it is.  But I’m still willing to risk it and fix it as opposed to leaving the medical privateers in charge.  A privateer was a pirate who operated with a government license.  In the end, a lot of them still wound up on a gallows. 

 

Anyway, my friend an I still had a good visit, talking about the politics of medicine and education and the lunacy of life in general.  As gripes go, I doubt if this one is very high on either of our lists at the moment, just another good program that needs some tweaking.