Original characters

Spent Sunday afternoon with Granddaughter Emily and the unique characters she has created on her iPad using some graphic software. When I first saw them, I assumed she'd copied and pasted them from some Japanese animation. Not true. Our 12-year-old showed me how she built them and colored them in from scratch, layering them, and using tools to enhance her creativity.  The characters all have names and personalities she has created. Stunning. And that's not just a proud grandparent speaking, although Grandma and Grandpa and everyone is very much so.
She has acrylic paints too and when she mentioned that she was low on red, you can be sure Grandpa rushed out today to Michael's to get some with her. She has been exposed to Photoshop but finds it a bit complex and challenging at her age. When she's ready. . .

Copyright 2018 Emily Ethen

Meet Titania, Infinity, Indiglo, Dementia, and four others in Emily's cast of
characters. They're gender neutral so far and are still developing personalities.
Some of them have borrowed Emily's clothes.

Crossing the Mississippi headwaters in 1955

From left, Solveig, Stephen, Stanley, Rebecca, Beverly, Virgil, Linda. At Itasca State Park, Dad took the photo. Haircuts by Mom.

Urban planning

We didn't get up North to see the leaf changes. I am sure they are gorgeous; there are woods around here too and we enjoy them. Today's walk provided a striking alternative to natural selection. Here's the pleasing result of urban planning on our nearby Rolling Hills Road. Very nice.

The three-legged pig

Friends munched on pork sandwiches and thought about getting pork chops at the bonfire Saturday night so I figured it was the perfect time to tell a joke that my daughter, Jennifer, had told me not long ago. I began retelling it, then realized I didn’t remember all of it. My friends were soon amused though, not by the joke, but by my struggles.

In an effort to recoup some dignity, I consulted my source, and offer this now, to complete the record.

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A man walks into a bar with a three-legged pig.

“I’ll have a beer,” he says. “And one for my pig.”

“Well,” says the bartender, “You can have a beer but we don’t serve pigs here.”

“Oh, but this is a special pig. He saved my life. I was pinned under my tractor and he jumped into the seat, put it in reverse and backed it off of me. He saved my life, and he saved my family too. They were in a burning house, he found a hose then ran inside and got everyone out. If it wasn’t for him, they were goners. He saved all of their lives.”

“Well alright,” says the bartender. “I will serve your pig a beer. But first you have to tell me one thing,” he said, looking at the pig. “Why does he only have three legs?”

“Oh that,” says the man. “This is a very special pig. A pig like that you just don’t eat all at once.”

Bonfire last night at Waconia winery

Nightfall brought on a glorious bonfire last night at the Schram Vineyards, winery and brewery.

From left, Stacy, Kitty, Kathleen, Stan

We added years to our lifespan last night with fits of laughter, but then we gave them all back to the bacchanalian delights at the annual Schram Vineyards and Brewery festival on the rolling hills near Waconia. It was a crisp fall night, one band (too loud for old folks) played inside near the wine bottles and the beer taps, another played outside near the wine bottles and the beer taps.

Food trucks offered portable pizza, pulled pork and more. So Stan tried to tell a funny story about the talented three-legged pig who got served in a bar. He forgot all the critical details, but got laughs anyway.
It was cold enough to keep your beer or wine properly chilled, so when they torched a massive bonfire, tended by a friendly stalwart from the Chanhassen fire department, it drew the crowd closer. (The fireman is the youngest son of Kitty, who, along with new husband Stacy, were our hosts for the night.)

Nearby, grapes hung unpicked in the hillside vineyard, moldy victims of the vagaries of Minnesota climate and testament to the difficulties of making wine locally.
Nevertheless, last night the winery introduced a vintage, appropriately named “Bonfire.” A Big Red American Blend, we bought a bottle and, while drinking it, read the label that promised it would start off good times and great traditions.
They were right.

Now that's service

When he was running out of gas in his two-toned blue and white Edsel station wagon, (seats 9 with 3 in the front, no safety belts) Dad would almost always pull into the APCO station on Broadway in Alexandria to fill ‘er up with Ethyl. Mr. Fahlberg would bounce out of the clean windowed station and cheerfully greet him by name through the driver window. You didn’t have to fill, of course, you could just ask for $5 worth, or ten gallons, or even an embarrassing $1 jolt just to get you home so somebody else could fill it later.

While the gasoline was running into the tank, Mr. Fahlberg was busy squirting light blue fluid on the windows and rubbing them down with worn-out red rags. He’d ask if you’d like the oil checked, and if you did, the hood came up and the dipstick came out, got wiped, re-inserted and checked. He’d bring it around to show you that, upon close examination, you were down a quart and then you’d have to remember what weight of oil you were currently using, and he’d go fetch a can and put it in for you.

He’d check your tire pressure too if you asked, pulling the gauge easily from his chest pocket.

You didn't need to go inside the station to pay; what was the point, there were just wiper blades, tires, oil cans, free maps, a desk and cash register. Everything had to do with servicing autos. Maybe a Ford penny candy dispenser with colorful gumballs.

At 10 below zero with the wind whipping, you just stayed in the car and spoke through a crack in the driver window.

Finished with the fill, Mr. Fahlberg would announce the cost (gas averaged 32 cents a gallon in 1960, sometimes a dime during a gas war) and make your change, running back to the station to get it, or dispensing it from the little change-maker strapped around his waist. Tipping just wasn’t done, restaurants only. We didn't know about credit cards; they would take a local check within limits. Transaction complete, he would thank us for our business and ask us to come again.

I mention all this now, because I realized today that most Americans have no idea what full service is like. And Making America Great Again would just have to include gas stations.

Look who's here!

Andrew finally dropped by to check out the new digs. He's been working day and night on a house near here in Chanhassen, trying to get it ready for renters. But he hadn't stopped by yet for an inspection tour of Leaping Deer Lane.

He did yesterday.
He approves. Says it's much more suitable for us than our place in St. Paul. Bigger, better. Didn't like that St. Paul place at all, he didn't get it, reminded him of an apartment in college days.
UFF DA.That's kind of rough, Andrew.
Anyway, the new place meets his standards and hopefully he and Mrs. Colombo will make it here often. We like it here too.

Fall montage

Walking briskly today, cool damp, prescient. Ducks gather, leaves ready to turn, awaiting the signals, many unknown to us.