Veteran's Day 2025

 My annual photo proving I still fit in the uniform issued to me on July 8, 1970.

First time voter, and mom

 The Blethen ladies got to the polls Tuesday.

 Our granddaughter cast her first vote, and we're so proud!

Korea

 Our world travelers are taking a swing through Southeast Asia. Their group is skipping Vietnam this time, but taking in three weeks or so of Taiwan, Korea and Japan.

He kept me at school

 For me, he is unforgettable.

John Helgeson played Casper, one of three wisemen in our small-town Christmas production of “Amahl and the Night Visitors.” I was the African wiseman, done up in blackface by the drama coach, perhaps killing any chance I would ever have at a future political career.

Earlier, Helgie had appeared as an out-of-place eighth grader on a local kiddie program. KCMT, boasting the tallest television tower in the Midwest, featured Jim Syrdal as Captain Space who, along with sidekick Monk Mooney, thrilled local kindergarteners and tykes with weekly hijinks and cartoons. John and his grinning buddy, Mark, sat amongst the dozen or so kiddie audience one week, sacrificing their dignity for dollars, and thus collected on a plethora of wagers from classmates, who foolishly bet that they would never dare do it.

A chance meeting years later at a Metrodome preview changed my life. I was struggling to stay in college to keep my student deferment until the Vietnam War would hopefully end. (Never did) I bumped into John, we chatted, and I shared that I needed a better job while I kept a required full load at the U. He steered me to a job he was quitting at the Minneapolis War Memorial Blood Bank. I quickly got the job as night attendant, moved into the basement, got paid, and dispatched emergency blood supplies to the city’s 17 area hospitals. Yeah, there were 17 metro hospitals back then and they included General Hospital, where gun shot victims and car accidents didn’t wait for business hours. My days were free for class. 

It was a legacy job. I lived there, got my friends and relatives jobs there. Expanded our roles. Ate all the donor pop and cookies my teenage friends and I could consume, and held fun parties in the absence of authorities. Eventually I graduated, got drafted, but when my service was over, I returned to the blood bank. Little had changed and my friends were still running the place at night. We celebrated. I don’t recall that we toasted John, probably not, but we should have.

John died near his home in Hawaii recently, where he and his wife of 44 years enjoyed restoring and tending six acres of dry-land native forest, not a surprising enterprise for a good man who did so much for others. He joins a growing list of important people in my life who never got a proper thank you from me for their critical impact on it. 

God bless you, Helgie.

Cantilever to Canada

A famous operable railroad bridge linking the U.S. to Canada was swathed in a morning mist as the Rainy River cooled in the lengthening night. Photo by Wayne's friend, who lives nearby.

Pumpkin tree at the Arboretum

A couple of 80 somethings took a fall tour through the nearby Minnesota Landscape Arboretum recently. Kathleen and Bonnie have been pals for decades. The day included a stop at the gift shop where, it is said, a secret purchase was made and set aside for Christmas giving. But that's just a rumor. This pumpkin tree was the perfect background for this souvenir photo.

Our 44th

 Almost as simple as the original ceremony 44 years ago. Our waiter congratulated us, brought us a complimentary brownie and ice cream, then snapped this photo. All good. On our way out, a sweet young couple asked us how many years? They were just getting started and looked very happy after 4. We did not offer any advice, they seemed quite satisfied with themselves so far.

Bubbles

We're cat lovers, so every once in a while we feel compelled to post a picture of The Boss. Please understand. As is said, boarding a cat is like living with fine art, that occasionally vomits on the rug.

 

Linda Engstrom Akenson

While stopping in Tucson to drop off the van, we faked this photo of me and some lovelies, hard at work poolside, for the amusement of readers back home. Linda is at my left.

________________

How I remember Linda. . .

 We hatched our plot in the bathroom at an Augsburg beer party, the only refuge from the cacophony. I had worked long enough by then to earn a vacation and a tricked-out Dodge van. She had just finished college and a relationship.

“Wanna go to California?” I shouted over the noise of the 1975 revelry. She was game for anything. Seems she always was. So almost on a dare, we soon set out on a six-week journey from Seattle to Mazatlan. We weren’t exactly hippies, but I had a beard and hair then, and she had a free-spirit that would open doors for us, all down the West Coast, on this obligatory rite of passage. 

Norwegian Lutherans both, we were not known for our daring-do, but Linda’s bright personality would enrich the road trip immeasurably. She had spunk, curiosity, and guts, and it didn’t hurt that she was attractive, blonde and perky.

A blizzard in South Dakota, and a slide down the icy Rockies of Idaho, were all dutifully recorded in our journal, a book I prize to this day. Expenses were kept there too, and we split them down the middle with an easy-going flourish.

Karl and Sue, high school classmates, showed us the Seattle fish market, in the days before clerks tossed the slippery wares around. We saw the newish Space Needle and tram. Gracious hosts with fond memories. It rained one day of course.

When we got to wine country, a friend of a friend had given us a Sonoma address to check out. As total strangers, we pulled in and asked if we could park overnight in their driveway, and “Hi from Rick and Linda!” That was enough to earn a couple nights indoors, showers, and a wine tour of the famed vinyards.

 

Alcatraz was just closing down then, we toured it, then had crab legs on a blanket in view of the Golden Gate. Haight Ashbury was a must-see, so we did. Neither of us were much for drugs, but we did recognize the wafting scent in the air. Peace, man.

Linda’s classmate, Mary Kay, was working was as a “foot model” in Hollywood and had connections with Mimi Hines’ young caretaker. Remember Mimi? She wasn’t there presently so we happily moved in for a couple days in a Malibu beach house, sorta like in “Two and a Half Men.” Carol King galloped past on the beach. Or at least we thought it was her. 

We gawked at Telly Salvalas at the Universal Studios, which was featuring an animated shark from the hit “Jaws” at the time. Telly was amused by our curiosity, a break from his role as Kojak.

Mary Kay also had a girlfriend who dated a Los Angeles Kings hockey player. Again, he was at an away game. So we squatted a couple days in his palatial suburban home, availing ourselves of all facilities.

Linda insisted we go to Mexico. I was a bit freaked by the idea of driving a van there, so we parked in Tucson at her friends, and took a train to Mazatlan. There she was an instant draw, a cute blonde on the beach in a nation of dark hair. We signed in to a hotel as a “Periodista, dos personas.” Stayed a week, while Linda befriended interesting people on the beach, including the middle-aged bi-lingual bachelor Mario, who had a dark-eyed mistress and called himself “The Ambassador,” because he was often called upon to translate and resolve harbor disputes between authorities and miscreant boat captains.

Without Linda, none of this would have ever happened, of course. But she had even more: Retired friends in Guadalajara, who took us through a new, sparkling mall, the pride of the city. We bused back to Mazatlan as Ugly Americans, taking the first class seats in an unheated conveyance braving the mountain roads. A chilly Linda didn’t know the bus had no working heater or the Spanish words for “turn up the heat!” The helpful driver obliged her gesturing by turning up the radio. “Ya-ta-ta,” boomed the mariachi band. He also had the disconcerting practice of turning off his night headlights, the better to see oncoming traffic rounding the curves ahead in the blackness of the mountain passes. We imagined what would happen if the oncoming driver was using the same trick.

Safely back in Mazatlan, we gathered our things for the train. Linda wanted to take two extra bottles of tequila across the border. Again, freaking me out, I was still unaccustomed to traveling with an attractive blond young woman.

But, alas, white privilege goes only so far. U.S. Customs is apparently immune to these charms so we were soon invited behind the counter to witness an agent as she poured two perfect bottles of the local product down the drain. Darn. Back to reality.

___________

Linda Engstrom Akenson died unexpectedly last month. I have always known her as full of life, perky, positive and a wonderful, platonic travel companion. My condolences to her husband, Tom, her sister, Carol, and the many dear ones who will miss her greatly. We shall miss her too, and hold tightly the memory of that unforgettable time in my life.