It's here!

Finally, after a summer of port delays, uncertainty, and 30 days in US Customs, our foreign-made Maxfoot MF 35 Landau arrived! Curbed delivery of the 90 percent assembled trike that came in a big box the size of a refrigerator. We made quick work of the cardboard and neighbor John helped with the rest. We're thrilled. The battery came charged so it wasn't long before we took a spin around the parking lot.

This powerful silent beast is a definite upgrade from our previous trike. A bench seat allows Kathleen to hang on for dear life as we navigate the myriad nature trails and sidewalks (and shopping) that surround our home at Southwest Station. Heretofore, she only looked at the creek and pond. Now we (and Alex) will be out and about in it.

Asians have a ton of experience with rickshaws, pedi-cabs and the like. It shows. So far, we haven't found anything to complain about. And no tariff.

 

Strawberries, rhubarbs revealed

 K is the most modest person I know. Never showing the slightest cleavage, double checking the window shades, etc. 

Today she brought a jar of her famous rhubarb strawberry preserves to our dear neighbors, Fifi and Dr A. He’s retired from a life of Medicine at a prestigious Saudi hospital, she is a healthy survivor of a double transplant at the U last year. Practicing Moslems, they are very tolerant of Western ways, adopting many as their own. Their English ain’t bad either. And they’ve always taken an interest in the aches and pains of friends. Kind and sweet. 

Monday Kathleen took a tumble at Byerly's grocery store while shopping there with Jordanne, her helper. She’s grateful to be just bruised, it could have been so much worse. She fell backwards and now has a huge bruise on her elbow….and buttock. 

Fifi and Dr. A had heard via text about the fall, and greeted her today with genuine concern. "The elbow will heal," the good doctor opined after checking it out. “You are fortunate it didn’t fracture. “

And now for the butt. The doctor gestured that he wanted to see her backside. The look of horror on modest Kathleen’s face, made Fifi reassure her. “Is ok” she said, “I am here” perhaps thinking of cultural norms of behaviour prohibiting a married man from seeing another man’s wife. “Is ok,” she insisted to the shocked woman who had just come to deliver a pint of jam to friends, with no idea that she’d be asked to take her pants down.

 

Fifi had no idea that Kathleen’s reticence came from a life of Catholic modesty. 

Somehow, Dr A was able to convince her and so there she stood in her neighbors kitchen, as the retired, qualified physician examined a black and blue bruise that I will never be able to show you. 

Eventually, Kathleen pulled her pants up and headed back home, now giggling to herself of the absurdity of the whole situation, but also grateful that the doctor saw no troubling aspect. 

Now to explain to her husband how a strawberry/rhubarb jam delivery can take such a surprise twist.

Summer's End

 

Last night on Rainy Lake, my friend and colleague Wayne Kasich snapped this jewel on has way home, while piloting a pontoon load of fun seekers after a day of frivolity. Enjoy your weekend, Wayne, it ends soon in our northern reaches. Our friends in Canada, who live there on the horizon, know this too.

Our daughter, not forgotten

Jennifer would have been 54 today. We all paused to remember her life too short.

 

Bob Suel eulogy

Here's the eulogy Stan delivered at former employee Bob Suel's funeral this month.

I have been asked to say a few words about Bob Suel today. That’s a problem. I write, I do not speak. But Pat and Mike said I could just read something, so, with your permission, that’s what I’ll do.

Bob Suel came to work for us sometime after his graduation in 1972. He never left us. During his tenure, we watched him become a loving husband, a father, a survivor, a homeowner, and a basement railroad engineer.. His remarkable consistency and unquestioning support were the hallmarks of his longevity. 

You could count on Bob.

When he opposed something, it was not for selfish reasons, but for what he believed was best for the company. He cherished his role in the informal inner circle of decision makers, meeting over a beer in the boss’s green room, genuinely guiding the future of the enterprise he felt was in his personal care. He was a truly rare and comforting asset when we were making difficult decisions.

Pat can recall the dreaded 2 a.m. phone calls on Thursday mornings, when something wasn’t right, faraway at the newspaper printing plant, a midnight pressmen calling for a quick decision from Bob. She remembers the relief that followed after he had solved it. Thank you, Pat, for those nights of interrupted sleep, the supportive anxiety, and helping Bob to get his paper to bed.

Bob wasn’t high tech. He reached his clients the old school way, shoe leather and friendships. His clients grew fond of his steady ways, and trusted him, relied on him. 

Whenever a competitive challenge or bad idea loomed that he felt would spell trouble for the company, he was fond of saying, “We will have to stomp on those dragon eggs” in other words, get ahead of this thing before it is big enough to bite us.

He came to work about 50 years ago. Newspaper owner Bill McGarry was a good friend of Bob’s father, the late Brendan Suel. Bill acquired Brendan’s son Bob over a cup of coffee and a donut one morning. 

Then Bill came around and told me to find a place for him. Bob thought he might like to be a writer, one of those journalists. So we sent him on a wing and a prayer to the Victoria City Council meeting.  

We decided that a better fit might be on the sales team, where he had some experience, by representing the company on the main street in Chaska. We had one telephone line and an extension phone at the time, so Bob had his work cut out. He put on a tie and went to work in a role he would never leave.

His buddies had all picked up various entry level jobs, and were astonished to see Bob going to work so soon wearing that tie. Where ever is he going, many wondered. How could it be?

Bob dressed for success from that point forward. Years later, when “casual Friday” was in vogue and his partner came to work without a tie and wearing jeans, he was quickly admonished by Bob, “Oh no, we don’t do that on the Southwest sales team” he reminded the junior miscreant.

A few years before Bob took his own bride, he did me a solid: He volunteered his father, then the clerk of Scott County court, to marry me to Kathleen and her family, under a gorgeous maple tree in Chanhassen’s Lake Ann Park. Both marriages remained durable throughout the tumult of newspaper challenges.

Bob deserved many thanks for his lifetime of service, unwavering through thick and thin. Our success as a growing firm lay squarely on his shoulders, and many others like him, who put the good of the organization above their own immediate needs. Thanks go to Bob, a good and faithful man.

Look Who Met at the Great Get-together

 

Marcy was waiting for her big sister, Missy, to arrive on the bus today, when lo and behold, of the thousands of dudes strolling the Minnesota State Fair, someone she knew! Her own son, Maxwell, out and about himself at the Fair. Didn't say if Maxwell's aunt Missy got there in time for a
fulsome family reunion. 

Cars keep steaming into the parking ramp here in Eden Prairie, as more fun seekers find the trip to the fair is a lot more pleasant on the $6 round trip bus service made to the fair front gate. The two ramps top out with the Renaissance traffic and the State Fair combined. 

Golf team

Early bird golfers: Cloid, Ashly, Jordanne's Mom Jeanne, K, Stan, Jordanne.
 

Topgolf domestic challenge

 It was deep into the third frame at the Topgolf venue in Brooklyn Center when it happened. Lord Stanley had taken an early lead in the five-way battle royal and was just settling into a second round of sliders and chips as Katie stepped into the box for her final round. 

Jordanne was there today with her Indiana mother and random friends, an enthusiastic bunch, gathered at the week’s end. Some fun seekers were top shelf driving range competitors. Some, not all.

Trailing most of the game, St. Paul Katie had put herself in a hole, and she knew it. Her golf companion for the day encouraged and steadied her, lest the force and impact of Katie’s swing send her reeling. Her first two shots were middling. Her final shot was not! She crushed the Angry Birds target completely, decimating the entire assemblage.

The crowd hushed as the official scoreboard tallied the damage. Had she kicked her husband’s butt?

Not quite, but good enough to be declared co-champion, and vowing to settle the crown in a future grudge match.

If you see something, say something!

 My dear brother-in-law tried to cheat death with a tackle box worth of vitamins and supplements. Arrayed alphabetically, the pills promised him a longer life… and probably other things too. Twice daily he sat at the kitchen table, opened the magic box and indulged in longevity.

He once told the social security interviewer that he would live forever. Must have gotten an eye roll from her. He lived in a nice two-story neighborhood in St. Paul with his younger wife. They may have been pill poppers, but never anything illegal, hallucinogenic or even fun. Never. Her sister, my wife, has claimed to have been high in her younger years, once, by sharing a communal joint, but even that story is somewhat dubious.

Then one day in his St. Paul home came the knock on the brother-in-laws door from the authorities. Yes. Two agents asking for an interview. Flabbergasted, the couple consented immediately. There had been reports of illegal activity at this residence, it seemed. No mistake. Eyewitness. This was the exact location, the St. Paul detectives insisted.

Gradually, facts emerged. The neighboring eyewitness, from the vantage point of her upstairs window. had peered down into their kitchen and seen him repeatedly. Very suspicious indeed, she said. Yes, he had flipped open a tackle box and revealed an enormous array of pills. The witness knew that no one in his right mind would amass such a collection of vitamins. It had to be drugs. Authorities were called.

If you see something, say something.

Sadly, despite his heroic efforts, my brother-in-law did not live forever. A mere mortal, he died an ordinary death at or near the table of expectancy of the Social Security Administration.

They had left their St. Paul neighborhood long before his demise, selling their home, but probably with the kitchen shades still pulled, to avoid any further reports of suspicious activity.