A special gift

 

She has never painted a dog before. She chose a great subject. Birdie Rolfsrud died a couple of weeks ago, enough time for our 14 year-old granddaughter to immortalize her in oil and present it for Christmas. A silver lining to today's isolation? Time to spend on projects like these. 

Tradititions

Mrs. Murphy's legacy provided old fashioned Pumpkin Bread today, for a fresh Christmas Eve treat. The late Mrs. Murphy was an early influence on Kathleen and her time and recipes shared keep on giving. Stan never met the legend but has enjoyed numerous baked goods credited to her memory these many years. K kept any spatter away today with her sister-in-law's "Golden Goose" apron, a cherished remnant from the storied Saddlebrooke, AZ thrift store, snagged and washed and presented long ago. Merry Christmas. Even though there won't be as many folks around this year, there are still lots of traditions to celebrate.

Celebrate the winter solstice.

 It gets brighter from here on out!

Our Granddaughter is the super hero, we think

 

We bought granddaughter Emily the digital pen she wanted. Here's a piece of original art she returned today. Meet Attoteki Teiko, a super hero who can control air currents at will. She is also capable of reflecting any attack back at the attacker. Perfect hero for these times, wouldn't you say? She was inspired by a friend's devotion to fantasy super heroes, so she created one of her own. We got our money's worth out of the pen, wouldn't you say? She's 13.

Brighter Days Ahead

Bright sunlight blasted the facade of the Elevate Apartments in Eden Prairie this afternoon on a gorgeous December 9, reaching 52 degrees.

Minnesota will receive its first Corona vaccines on the darkest, shortest day of the year. It will gradually be getting brighter after that. Promise.

Remember what the monkey said after he accidentally cut off his tail: "It won't be long now!"

Birdie 2/03/09 12/07/20

All Dogs Go to Heaven, it is said. 

Last night Birdie went to her new home. A faithful companion and a daily comfort, she gave us all the love that she could muster, especially throughout the darkness of the past year. She alertly sensed our tragic personal loss, and softened this dreadful isolation as well.  She always did her eager best, a gentle presence and welcome distraction in our time of need. 

But her failing 12-year-old heart was finally emptied, and now she is at peace. We will miss the joyful greeting at our return home, the playfulness, the demands for affection, her desire to participate, and so much more. . 

Thanking you now for your sympathy,

Kathleen and Stan

Here is the way we will gratefully think of her:

https://youtu.be/5VZolG4Tjhw

Continuing the fight

 

So proud of my great nephew’s girlfriend. After a summer of serving the elderly and keeping herself away from clubs and crowds, etc, she’s rolled up her sleeves (actually covered them) and continues in the battle against Covid in a hospital. We don’t know where all this leads in her young life, but we do know that America needs more like her, and fewer weenies whining about mask mandates.

Table talk

Discovered today that Dad has his biography on Wikipedia. Don’t know how long its been up there, my brother's Tucson golfing partner mentioned it.

Quite a nice and extensive write up.

But, alas, as my brother pointed out, there’s not a mention of his six kids.

Oh well. Please pass the potatoes. Wikipedia will have to wait.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erling_Nicolai_Rolfsrud

Rolfsrud clan, 2007, Keene, North Dakota

 

Cheers!

 

One hour later. . .

An hour-long battle in Mexican waters yielded a 200-pound striped marlin this week. Veteran ocean fisherman and former workmate, Hai Dang, fought the monster, then had it cut up and shared with his fellow nimrods who didn’t do as well this trip. The sea gulls got the rest. He’ll tackle the coveted blue fin later next week. His biggest accomplishment, this week, however, was marking a two-month smoke-free success, much more difficult to do than boating one of these monsters. We say Congratulations Hai! Oh. The fish is nice too.

Kathleen shot a deer on Leaping Deer Lane

 Bright and early this morning, Kathleen and Birdie were outside, tending to their usual business, when. . .

Lo and behold, a deer on Leaping Deer Lane, a rare sight just across the street, well within Kathleen’s throwing range, prancing down the street, a doe in magnificent condition. Birdie stiffened, as did her awestruck master on the other end of the leash. Silent. No camera.

And then, before it totally disappeared from view, there followed a huge buck, focused on his intended one, paying little heed to transfixed bystanders. He eventually sauntered between neighboring townhomes, and Kathleen, no longer frozen, rushed indoors for her cellphone. By now in the backyard, the buck continued its horny pursuit, his rack as big as any seen lately in these parts.

She snapped a few from long range, and we’ve blown them up here, not great wildlife photography, just undeniable evidence of a large male deer on Leaping Deer Lane.

Old Birdie took up her usual position on the couch, unimpressed, starting her morning nap.

A celebration of sideburns

Steve checks this blog from time to time, so herewith is presented evidence that he didn't always look like a judge or a lawyer. That's Amy Jo on Erling's lap, and, parents Becky and Al,:Virgil, Stan and Mom and Dad round out this photo found on a google search last week.

Documenting the pour

 

No calls, please. Text only.

Big cement pour starting 8 a.m. Monday on light rail construction project. I will not be able to take calls, as supervising responsibilities will not permit interruptions. Visitors must wear hard hats and masks while standing on observation platform. We only have one chance to get this right. No do-overs.

Give me shelter

Wild though he may be,
I bet this never happens to Byron.

They were giving free jars of all-natural organic non-gmo, unsalted peanut butter at Byerle’s Thursday, so Kathleen took one, with me in mind, of course. A good sport about such things, this guinea pig found a layer of oily separation on top that needing mixing. Then, feeling a bit like Elvis Presley, he smeared it over a smashed banana on a slice of white bread.

It was a mistake, realized at 2 a.m. later that night.

Fall has brought its usual incursion of pests, seeking shelter and sensing warm drafts and inviting scents emanating from every minute house crack in the neighborhood. Their aggression found a weakness somewhere in our walkout foundation and evidence of their presence was noticed by observers. We’ve trapped a few, but the battle is not won.

A brazen scout caught the corner of my eye while watching the Twins bow to the Reds yesterday. The mouse scampered along the baseline seeking whatever mice seek. If I had my old school Nikon handy, I would have at least six evidentiary photos in quick order for your inspection, but unfortunately I only have an iPhone now. It can do so many things that it takes a while for it to figure out that you want to use the camera now.

By the time I was locked and loaded, the mouse was under the bar fridge gloating, having evaded the humane Victor traps awaiting him and friends, which was very disappointing because I had just got done lathering them with all-natural organic non-gmo unsalted peanut butter.

Come On. I dare you.
I double dare you

Back to watching the Twins, it was not long before the vermin had poked his nose out and was looking at me with his beady eyes. Perhaps inspired by Byron Buxton, my new hero, I seized a broom and made a wild swing which would have been most deadly if only I had connected. I did not. Hey, Byron often doesn’t connect either and merely strikes out.

My swing and miss was catastrophic, however. I had failed to reseal the peanut butter jar on the baiting table and now the oily separation was oozing all over the basement shaggy carpet. I fell to my knees, limited the damage, and started scrubbing. Simple water will do on all-natural organic non-gmo unsalted peanut butter products, I learned. Two beady eyes monitored my progress from under the fridge.

Finally returning to the game, I wasn’t the only one losing. But before the end of the next inning, for crissake, there he was again. I thought I had thoroughly cleaned the carpet. Not so. He was feasting like a late-night Elvis with his favorite snack.

Wary of my broomstick, I couldn’t get near, but I inched a trap closer to his last location, thinking he would return. He did. Drunk now on un-salted peanut butter, he ignored the trap, and reveled in his new-found riches, the essence of which he was finding between my scrubbed shag fibers.

 

The better mousetrap is 
at the right.

Outraged now, and a losing Twins game not helping, I employed stealth and patience. Delicacy prohibits me from giving a full accounting. Suffice that I became a Kepler, a Rosario with greatly improved accuracy, earning full rights to the rally robe, if only for a moment.

The inspector comes Monday to find the crack and fill it. Maybe there’s more than one place. He’s a professional. He will find it. I will take his picture for you, if I can get him to stand still long enough for my iPhone.

Remembering Fran

Kathleen's childhood forever friend, Frances Reiser, second from left, in this 1965 photograph. Kathleen's late brothers, Jim and Dan, flank this photo. Her sister Mary Lou is maid of honor.

 Andrew took a short work break and headed north to Bad Medicine Lake yesterday and caught this huge bass. Gave quite a fight, he said. Must have made a dandy supper. But it's not all good. In  the excitement, the South Minneapolis nimrod stomped down on his open tackle box, scattering lures, lines, sinkers and hooks throughout the boat bottom. The baits have since been reorganized and are at the ready for another fresh water specimen.

She looks like a lady

 

Our new pandemic apartment gives a balcony view of the $2 billion light rail green line, which terminates beside our rental. The other end is the Twins ballpark and other downtown attractions. The green line extension employs a ton of skilled workers and it is a kick watching them assemble the track and station. Two carpenters. Which one is female? You can only tell by the voice. Every one hustles. Pouring the roadway next month. Fun to supervise.

Thanks, Sam

 As if fires and earthquakes aren’t enough, today my sister Solveig sends word from California of a new menace: Her front yard tarantula. Coaxed from its hiding place in a bucket, it thanked her husband by brushing past his leg, then went on to do whatever tarantulas do when left alone.

They apparently do make occasional appearances in her Sunol, California, back yard, but are rare enough to warrant a thoughtful photograph for her squeamish brother in Minnesota.

 

 

Correction

A previous post described people crossing the southern border as "rapists and thieves." That is not correct and we apologize for the error. The correct quotation would be "rapists and murderers." We regret the error. 

Lock him up!

So much on-line scamming of good people, trying to do the right thing. Turns out the “We Build The Wall” fundraiser, fathered by Steve Bannon and friends, with promises to spend every cent constructing the wall, was merely an old-fashioned scam to bilk working people, frightened of the “rapists and thieves” heading this way. Gives the Go Fund Me site a bad name, have to believe Go Fund Me does God’s work at times, but you have to be cautious. Hope they throw the book at them, but not before they can be pardoned. 

Don’t worry about Steve. He’s avoiding the covid, living on a friendly yacht this summer; Covid will be gone by the time he is jailed.

Lock Him UP!

Jennifer Kathleen Blethen

A lovely midsummer Minnesota day sparkled over Jennifer’s Celebration of Life Saturday, the long-awaited acknowledgement of the loss of the youngest child.

Her older sisters carried it out at last, fighting back the challenges of Covid 19 and the occasional tears for one gone too soon and dearly missed.

Friends and relatives came and went, maintaining safe distances, under the huge pavilion reserved for the occasion in Roslund Park, Edina. There were three hours of memories, laughter and tears, videos, photo boards, zoom attendees from as far away as Switzerland, and a fresh buffet lunch, much as Jennifer would have served.

Three bouquets, taken from Jennifer’s floral design past, were imitated from photos given to Bachmann’s, arranged thusly, and admired by guests.

A positive atmosphere prevailed, friends in masks wondered why old acquaintances couldn’t recognize them. Some from grade school days weren't even recognized with their masks off, of course. Renewal and newsy exchanges abounded amidst the fond shared stories from Jennifer's life.

In case you missed it, here’s Jennifer’s vita, put together by her mother, Kathleen:

Jennifer Kathleen Blethen, August 30, 1971  - December 23, 2019.

Captain, Garden, Picture

Captain, Garden, Picture.

I took my annual Medicare wellness exam yesterday and I was just fantastic. The doctor gave me three words to remember, then asked me to draw a clock face and make it say 9:20. I did. It was the best clock face ever. Then he asked me if I remembered my three words.

Captain, Garden, Picture, I said.

The doctor was amazed and said that this had hardly ever been done before. Just outstanding. Then he asked if I had fallen recently. I said yes, I was catching  my granddaughter’s fast pitch and I lunged at one that got away, wide right. We were playing on a sidehill so I took a tumble. No injury. Simply amazing.

Captain, Garden, Picture

I still remember those three fantastic words today. Imagine that. I must be special. Gifted.

Sadly, someday I may join the milions of Americans with some form of dementia and for whom this test is intended to diagnose. But for now, my intelligence test results are so amazing I could be President of the United States!

Starting on a lawn tractor, he's still operating

Chris trained on Dad’s lawn tractor. He’s still operating.

Today he’s ram-rodding a crew through a perilous cut in a magnificent mountain pass, blasting 28 foot boulders and digging a state-sponsored four-step pool, presumably to help salmon in their annual struggle upstream to lay eggs. Normally he supervises from a pickup with his faithful bulldog at his side, but the other day, one of his operators was a no show, so he took over a backhoe, extra large.  The old boy still has it. I have a video to prove it. Don't make me post it.



Chris is my partner from the Big Brother program in the 70s. We’ve stayed in touch, though he has moved to the West. He is still my brother. Once a state champion heavy-weight wrestler, he’s always had a love for heavy-weight equipment and sent us pictures from time to time, putting an ever bigger machine to work. But our favorite picture will always be the one where we’re both astride the little tractor in Alexandria, mowing Dad’s lawn. Who knew? No one can be prouder. Hmm. Wonder if he’d let me try my hand sometime?

When the project is complete, we’ll post another picture.

Club chairs go to south Minneapolis

Sold! We're downsizing and offered a couple of our leather club chairs on Marketplace. With an eye for a bargain, Libbi, a pre-law student from South Minneapolis, snapped them up. She brought along Andy to help her load the heavy furniture. The young couple was going to rent a truck, but Stan felt like a drive today and so delivered the chairs in his van, the couple leading the way in their Honda Fit, a typical Democrat's vehicle. They're delighted with the furniture, we're happy they go to a good home, and the tip was nice too. Libbi is already imagining curling up with law books in one of the chairs. The chairs were originally rescued from vandals at the Stonebrooke Country Club, sanded and redone. They served in the green room for years, occasionally catching a whisky Manhattan.

Out it goes to a good home

Eight feet of poker table was slid into the back of a pickup truck today. We kept the memories, lost a pain to haul around.

Look at those arms. An obvious
choice for a poker table home.

When you're parting with a bulky sentimental item, it's always good to know it's going to a good home. In 2005, at the height of the Texas Hold' Em craze, Stan built this table top for his wife, St. Paul Katie. Many home games were played around it, lots of memories and bad beats and money changing hands. But interest in the game has faded, and it became hard to gather a group big enough to sit around the table to play poker. Of course, Katie's interest never waned, she still enjoys the game at a variety of venues. Nevertheless, we sadly advertised the tabletop for sale during our present down-sizing effort. And what do you know? Among the bidders was Brian B., a professional poker player from South St. Paul, who has taken to offering home games during this pandemic, with Las Vegas games and his livelihood shut down. Brian assures us that the home games on this additional table will start up immediately, with local poker players galore ready to shuffle up and deal! He promises some photos of enthusiastic players gathered around the homemade poker table. Socially distant, of course.

For Sale

Stan built this in 2005 for his poker-playing wife and she hosted numerous parties at it. Interest in poker has waned and we go out for poker now. So today the table top went on the Facebook Marketplace for $50 to anybody who wants to haul it out of the basement.. The honker is heavy and eight feet long; certainly not the item for a couple looking for their next home.

Yellowtail wonder where everyone's been?

Covid restrictions have been lifted on The Liberty, so my man Hai headed three miles out into the Pacific and soon had his limit of five 30-pound yellowtail tuna. Hai doesn't eat fish (that's another story) but was happy to give his up to some newcomers who had immediately gotten sick aboard the ocean-going vessel, and weren't able to dip a line.

Bye, bye Jemima

Quaker Oats is taking Aunt Jemima off the shelf?

First black person I ever saw was a woman paid to depict ever-smiling Aunt Jemima and appear at an all-white Alexandria supermarket to promote sweet syrup on pancakes. Also, summers we’d see an occasional black servant, shopping for some rich white people vacationing in our fair lake city. We gossiped about such an oddity.

That was pretty much the extent of my inter-racial experience. So when our renown choir director proposed that our quartet appear in blackface and sing a blatantly racist song about African Americans caught stealing corn from a white man’s field, I was all for it. Um. We didn’t sing "African Americans." The N word was right there in the lyrics. We memorized them and I enthusiastically sang the bass lines. I could sing it today -- if I had a willing group.

Our sophomore quartet was quickly supplied with the school’s handy black-and -white minstrel show grease paint. We didn’t win the talent show, but we got a big round of applause from a packed gym largely as ignorant as we were.

I am the only surviving member of that black-face, white shoe quartet; Paul, Steve and Mike are gone, as well as our esteemed director. 

But I think they would all agree today that we’ve got a lot to learn about systemic racism.

The toilet paper shortage is over!

The toilet paper shortage is over! Eden Prairie street crews used miles of it again to protect cars from new, wet tar. A small sign, but we are getting out of this pandemic, one thing at a time.

Cast iron

Tried out the new cast iron skillet on the new induction cooker as a sidebar to our grill set up. Lots to learn about cast iron cooking, low and slow. These eggs and yesterday's burger came out great. Something new for pandemic idleness. Smell the ham! Is 180 degrees too low? Probably. Going to bake fish inside the grill next.

Box of chocolates...

When we opened the condolence note from a friend, out spilled a packet of seeds, wildflowers to plant in Jennifer's memory. It was like a box of chocolates when we planted them at Hotel California. We didn't know what we were going to get. Now we know. The sunflowers pushed everything else away and now stands 7 feet tall beside the pond.

Brave, good man

The former Sears historic building on Lake Street, with the global market on the main floor, was involved in the police-killing inspired riots last night. We have sold the condo we once owned there, the home of Kathleen’s brother before he died. He loved his place on the tenth floor.

According to residents, two windows were smashed in the Global Market, site of many small businesses, but looters were kept away by an unarmed security guard who bravely posted himself in the broken window. Residents are grateful for his actions, and have started a fund for the family of this courageous black man who did not desert his post.

The search for his father's killer

The meanest, nastiest son-of-a-bitch in our Army Brigade was the chief of staff. We boys in headquarters company feared him and made sure our paths didn’t cross. We avoided him like the, er, plague. Best to stay safe.

Not Ken. He befriended the old bastard.

Ken relished running errands to the head shed, with all its potential for chance encounters with the legendary beast. He’d hope to engage him and bring back exaggerated stories to entertain his section comrades. We called Ken a brown nose and worse, secretly envied him, and mocked him for kissing up to his “Daddy.” Ken loved it.

Ironically, we didn’t know it then, but Ken had no Dad.

Ken had signed up for flight school, but his eyesight betrayed him, so the Army re-assigned him to a burial detail and he comforted grieving widows for a time. Ken knew grief. Then he moved on to the Army happy news department, where we met.

A good ol’ boy with a slight drawl, his fearless, somewhat pugnacious attitude would serve throughout his life as a cheerful fighting country publisher, once taking on a corrupt sheriff who threatened to burn his house down or something; then his segment on 60 Minutes, and a book exposing dirty doings.

He is nothing if not courageous, dogged and persistent.

Today Amazon delivered my copy of Flight 7 is Missing; the Search for My Father’s Killer by Ken H. Fortenberry. It’s his lifelong project researching the circumstances of the 1957 crash into the Pacific of a Pan American World Airways flight returning from Hawaii. The co-pilot and navigator was also the father of six year old Kenny.

Dubbed by The New York Times as one of the "most vexing and unexplained" mysteries in aviation history, the tragedy resulted in 44 deaths and remains officially unsolved to this day.

My wife unwrapped the book when it finally came and “forgot” to tell me. She had completed 14 pages before I said “Aha!” Unfortunately, it’s her birthday weekend so, after a quick scan, I indulged her until she nods off tonight. But I could see from the reviews and a brief look that his meticulous unraveling reveals a willingness to go where others have not. His persistence has drawn a conclusion that’s undeniable: It was murder.

His “Daddy” would have admired him— and so would his Father.

I know I do.

Now if I could just get my hands on the book.

In a mock ceremony upon his discharge in 1971, Spec. 4 Ken Fortenberry (right) turns in his mighty weapon. (That’s not actually a Brigadier General wearing the stars.) Ken would pick up another pen as a civilian, and never put it down again. By the way, the spartan office was air-conditioned. Not for our personal comfort, mind you. But the photographic film and chemistry unit therein had to be climate controlled. :)

First one ever

Here's the first water lily in our new Hotel California pond:

How she always meets her budget

My fellow retired publisher friend and his wife were buying flowers for the cabin properties she owns and manages near International Falls. They had a discussion about her flower budget, he confided to me.

For 35 years, Wayne and I had diligently prepared annual budgets and then religiously stuck to them.
I chatted hands-free this morning with my wife, as she drove from an errand. I told her about Mary Ann’s flower budget.

“She has the same budget as you have, my dear.”

Long pause.

“What budget is that,” Kathleen finally asked, curious.

“Mary Ann says ‘when I am done spending, that’s what the budget is.’”

We laughed so hard, Kathleen almost drove off the road.

MOM!!!

My big sister Becky watched this chick hatch from a tiny egg this Spring. Boldly tucked against the front door welcome wreath, we believe the messy nest is a good omen, despite the homeowners being on strict quarantine.

The Cookie Monster's Mother

Wearing her official Golden Goose apron procured by her sister-in-law, Solveig, Kathleen produced a fine batch of Mother's Day Chocolate Chippers, the first of which are displayed here, still warm for the photographer. The Golden Goose is a charity thrift store near Tucson, frequently visited by all the Rolfsrud clan, featuring well-priced cast-offs from the retirement neighborhood and staffed by grey haired volunteers.

For All You Mothers Out There

So proud of my little sister Solveig. She's an inveterate gardener and today she shared some of the bounty, and lightened her load of vases to boot. No contact at her Sunol, California booth, of course. Just help yourself. Should brighten some days.

Filling in.

Vegetation around the pond is filling in at Hotel California. Note Jennifer's memorial tree in the back is in full bottle brush bloom.

Gone virtual!

Cousin Harold often shows one of his antique cars at his granddaughter's third grade Watford City classroom. The pandemic almost put a halt to all that. Out came the video camera and 21st Century Tech, and Harold was again ready for the informative unit on inventors and such. The outfit looks a bit fresh, but the gloves are obviously well-used. Harold maintains Model Ts, Model As and a 1927 Buick. His father's (my uncle Halvor's), work pants of choice was the bib overall modeled here. Harold not so much.

Talk about distance

I asked my little brother what he was doing to socially distance and still enjoy himself. He responded with no words, just this. Have fun Chris! Be safe, it's tempting to speed when there's nobody out there!

Idle moments

I knew nothing of the British Navy. I knew nothing of class warfare. I didn’t understand that it was folly to marry beneath your station, although I did know you should never marry a Catholic. And I did know that the Navy Uniform Mom sewed for me had no zipper in front. Like girl jeans.

When I was in the eighth grade, the junior high music classes put on the comic operetta, Gilbert and Sullivan’s “H.M.S. Pinafore.” Probably because Mom taught voice and timid Miss Voss figured she’d have to make me practice, I was chosen for a lead role “Sir Joseph Porter.”

The late Paul Strandberg was the Captain of the ship, docked at the Central High School stage.

I got to marry Hebe, played by Kathy Schultz, a cute ninth grader who was John Conrad’s girlfriend. That was nice. She was certainly above my station, as a lowly eighth grader. But for now I was a momentary rock star in, for me, an unforgettable moment.

Though the performance went off without a hitch, the Park Region Echo newspaper took no notice.

It’s been 60 years, and I have only vaguely heard mention of the operetta since.

The pandemic and Apple Music changed all that today.

Must have been a clue in the Saturday crossword that made me think of the H.M.S Pinafore. And with all the time in the world on my hands, I checked out a synopsis of the operetta in Wikipedia, as a way of relieving boredom. I was stunned by all the irony and the class warfare themes and messages in the script that had gone completely over my junior high head. Then I searched Apple Music for “he polished up the handle of the big front door” a chorus that still came to my mind from the solo mom had pounded into it. Don’t remember if my voice had even changed yet. Sure enough, up popped the venerable 1875 operetta with all the songs and tunes still familiar in my addled 72-year old grey matter.

There we were, Miss Voss pounding out the piano part, sailors and such in make-shift striped tee shirt costumes, and me in the swashbuckling British Navy First Lord outfit, with all its medals, fake sword and bright white pants. . . with no zipper.

Final touches

With the pandemic pause on, Hai has been able to work non-stop in the salon and finish the structure we began two years ago. The spaces between the units have been filled with foliage and tiny LED lights hidden throughout. Looks good on the picture he sent, alone in the salon today, but says it is spectacular when the real effect is on in person. When this pandemic is over, they'll be ready to go in the finest salon west of the Rockies!
The shop has been open for two years, successfully operating; the floral structure was put in place at the opening but was an incomplete design, with only the taller units were finished. Hai has been able to complete the spaces between them during the pandemic pause, as well as adding sneeze boards, some sanitation components and other "new normal" accoutrements.