Just for history sake

Christmas Eve Day, 2023, was 57 degrees in Eden Prairie, the grass still green and the creek was open! It rained all afternoon, no ice. Friends are headed to Arizona to escape the cold. Phoenix will be 62. We'll manage. :) It's an El Nino winter for sure.

Such a happy day

We’ve always known about Emily. Our granddaughter repeatedly excelled in any artistic endeavors. Since Day One.

As a child, her simple lines soon held the truth of her grandpa’s odd shape; her childhood logo design was similar to and better than the Timberwolves own attempt. 

For years art teachers, and observers, have been ecstatic about her talent. We’ve always been admonished to see to her promising future. Her mother, a single mom, knew it too. She painstakingly reared her gifted child and always held out dreams for her.

So it was really no surprise when the envelope came. 

Could it be? Emily had applied for entrance and scholarships to the Minneapolis College of Art and Design, with the full endorsement of her loved ones.

The three pages started out with the word: “Congratulations” and it just got better from there. 

She’s been accepted. She’s to receive $88,000 over four years AND she has been nominated by examiners to a small group of candidates for a FULL RIDE!  

Dare we hope? Yes we do.

Separately, Emily won a scholarship for a laptop loaded with collegiate software.

So we’re starting to get used to it. And proud. And boasting. Unapologetically.

Our little girl has grown up. 

"Santa wore grandpa's shoes," she said.

 Killing time yesterday on our way to play Mr. and Mrs. Claus at our daughter’s day care, we impulsively swung by the old house we built in Eden Prairie in 1986.

It dredged up a lot of memories.

The gracious present owners invited the fully-costumed pair to inspect the work they had painstakingly done to our rotting retaining wall, due for replacement after 35 years. The house sits on what over-enthusiastic developers called a “canyon,” with a steep embankment overlooking a pond.

Never mind what an odd sight we made. Memories overtook:

Our close-by neighbors were always plagued by raccoons and kept everything tightly lidded. But we never had a problem with raccoons. It took years to figure out why.
Our little back yard had a tiny fenced in area where our poodle would poop. Each day, Kathleen would toss her duty over the fence and down the steep embankment.

Now mild little Hoover could never beat a raccoon in a fair fight. But the raccoons didn’t know that. Her daily scent on the embankment warned of possible deadly consequences from above.

So the raccoons just took their chances with our good neighbors instead.

Oh, the sights you see when you don't have a camera, the Hawk said

 The red-tailed Hawk paused over his brunch of wild vole this morning to gawk at the strange sight of a senior citizen on a three-wheeled bike, something not that common, like the hawks and eagles, on the nature trail around Purgatory Creek in Eden Prairie. The Hawk regretted not having his camera ready to document the strange sight, he sighed and went back to his meal, as the old biker went on his way.

Looks so bad, but is so good for you

 

It's a Blue Fin Tuna steak from a 200-pounder swimming off the coast of Mexico, packaged and presented with others by Hai Dang, intrepid rod-man of great renown. Stan enjoyed this cut (Hai doesn't eat fish, he provides them), and there's leftovers for tuna salad, tuna sandwiches, etc. Packed with Omega-3, vitamins, protein, it is said to be the healthiest fish available. If Stan lives to 100, this will be the reason. 

Still fits

 Before Camo took over everything, we wore Khaki or Olive Drab. Fitted on 7-7-70. Army supply had no long and tall, you took what was issued.

Got 'er done!

 Last September the boss said the sign would be installed on the $25 million ramp and station project by the time I left for California on Nov. 7. At exactly 2:30 today, Nov. 6, the sign was secured and Project Manager Steve Omann, true to his word, got plaudits and congratulations for a job well done. There is still a punch list of details to go, but none under Steve's command. The Senior Inspector and Staff Psychologist, above, congratulated Omann. We don't know what is next for Steve, but a break to do some motocross has been prescribed by the staff professionals, after his grueling three-year stint.

My favorite picture

 My late father and I modeled my Brother's winter Olympics product. 

A magical day

 A district-wide school referendum proposing to install a flush toilet failed in 1959, voters apparently feeling the twin two-holers out back were plenty good for District 460. 

Accommodations and taxes were never much at our bustling little country school near Lake Andrew, four miles from Alexandria. We hand-pumped drinking water from an outside well. Phy Ed was a new batch of balls and rope every five years.  I could go on. But be that as it may, our tax-averse, but kind, school board did spring for an adventure trip in the mid-50s to the Twin Cities, 125 miles away. Few had ever been there, but we had heard many stories of this mystical place.

The district shared the trip and cost with a similar school that nobody had heard of in the Lobster Lake area. (No lobsters, just a convoluted lake that looks like one, it was thought) The cutoff for going was set at fourth grade and above, and I barely made it. We had eight or nine grades then, one full-time teacher, who could bang a beat-up untuned piano for joyful singalongs.  Mrs. Raap came in during mornings. Never did know her first name.

On the appointed spring day, we filled the orange bus with anticipation and excitement, nonetheless with the respect, obedience and behavior typical for those times.

Our first stop was an early morning potty break at a Main Street Melrose cafe, where we quickly overwhelmed the counter with orders for chocolate malts. We had fresh trip money in our pockets, and were itching for a rare special treat. But we meekly accepted that there would be no malts today. Back on the bus.

The day’s highlight was “Good Neighbor Time” with “Friendly Fred” Bob De Haven on WCCO radio. We breathlessly entered the studio, immediately shocked by its mundane appearance, a stark contrast from the magnificence of our radio imaginations. We took our seats on tiers of folding chairs and watched Bob read ads and news and weather and farm reports and jokes, punctuated by a middle-aged organist whose dramatic chords and ditties chimed in from time to time, building the radio mystique.

The climax came (for us) with the audience interview. The excitement rose as Bob chose from a large field of potential candidates. I made an odd face at him, and was immediately chosen. He was perhaps thinking I might make a compelling interview for his vast audience, pretty much the only show in town. I doubt I met the challenge, nervous instantly. However, I was awarded for my meager contribution with a large box of Whitman Samplers, more sweets that I had ever possessed at one time and thrilled with the acquisition.

Corpulent classmate Wesley Hiebel was picked out next, described for Bob’s radio viewers with “a husky boy, aren’t you!” Wesley could play the accordion and got lessons from Archie Vierling, it was revealed.  Wesley was then presented with a Pittsburgh Paint kit, complete with brush, roller and stir stick. The polite country boy grinned and did his best to mask any disappointment. 

I held my chocolate prize a little closer.

The huge Ford plant, the stately State Capitol, Como Park and then a journey home in the dark, down bumpy Highway 52 on bench seats in an orange bus. A day of stimulation, strange sights and sounds, a busload of tired, happy children with stories to tell, we made our way, quieter now, back to the cornfields and chickens.

Alas, we would learn later, radio static and interference prevented loved ones from hearing our epic noontime radio show. And when we had finally reached our country schoolyard that night, I reached under my seat to claim my coveted treasure of Whitman Samplers. Sadly, my restless feet had smashed it into a pancake of mud.

No matter, the wonderful memories would last, and they have, to this very day.

Senior inspector gets equipment, no raise

 After three years of supervision and regular inspection, the contractors for the new $25,000,000 Southwest Station and Ramp have finally provided the Senior Inspector with the required safety equipment. Regular inspections will continue, as the magnificent project draws to a close, but there will be no requisite salary increase for Walter Mitty, pictured at right with project manager Steve Omann.

Chicken of the Sea

 Hai's three-day fishing trip yielded a monster bluefin tuna, off the Pacific waters west of Mexico this weekend. The party also landed lots of 40 pounders and smaller yellow-fins. Hai doesn't eat any fish, but loves to catch and provide them. Which is good for me. Hai says that the beast displayed on the left contains belly steaks for me when I see him in November. Many others will benefit from his largess. (I'll be there a month, but I can't be expected to eat the whole thing.)

Annual Puppy Pool Party today

 Tuesday was Dog Day here as John prepared to close up the rooftop pool for the winter. The final day, it's the perfect time for tenants to let their pooches dip and frolic. And frolic they do, in and out of the pool, all the while shaking water on squealing owners, then splashing back in and chasing others, or a toy. It's great fun, tinged with sadness because it marks season end, but Spring will return, and with it a fresh, clean swimming pool. No dogs allowed. :)

Tradition!

Mrs. Murphy's date cookie recipe came out of the wooden box today. God is in his heaven and all is right with this world!

Hottie Octogenarians lunch

A couple of hot Octogenarians visited the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum today to celebrate Bonnie's graduation into the prestigious 80-years-young category. The afternoon included lunch, and a three-mile drive through the fall blooms and seasonal exhibits, from pumpkin wagons to scarecrows, and, of course, the spectacular Arboretum forest stock. They've been pals since 1978, when they met at a local watering hole, and worked together for a short time. Bonnie is a long-time member of the Arboretum and brought Kathleen as a guest today.

Fun Footnote: Bonnie and Kathleen were both scheduled for hip surgery on May 3, 2021. Bonnie went ahead as scheduled; Kathleen broke her neck on May 1 and was also in surgery on May 3, but not for hip replacement. Kathleen wins the hardware derby, has a steel knee, hip and neck.

43

 Once you’re at peace with the stigma of riding a tricycle and wearing a safety helmet, it’s a blast, a great grocery-getter and all-around nature trail boss. And the battery makes it even better. Folks ask me how fast I can go? Don’t know, as fast as I dare, I tell them. Jingle Jingle, look out!

I am sure I could match the president stroke for stroke on a 10 speed, but I’m not running for office, and don’t have to. A comfortable, relaxed, balanced pace suits me fine. I am 76, retired, and just had my 43rd wedding anniversary (see photo of the two celebrants today, joyfully celebrating). I deserve a comfort, wide seat on my e-trike, damn it. And a bell. And cargo hold.

So looking like a special-needs dude with balance issues as I tool around town doesn’t matter to me anymore. Being able to stop and go without touching the ground, and biking at a walking-talking pace, without jiggle, compensates. 

Yesterday, I cruised to Aldi’s across the pond, and while inside, a 60-something spotted my bike helmet and wondered aloud how I was going to get that big cooler of groceries balanced on my bike. “This I gotta see,” she said.  I took her outside, showed her, and grinned.

We’ve got just one car now; my wife’s bug. Hope she lets me borrow it this winter.

Blog worthy

 

Every once in a while, you have to post a photo of the queen.

Good morning, Mr. Moon

 

Early risers can often see our moon twice, this morning was a perfect 75 degrees, watching the waning blue moon from a convenient deck chair. Ahh, such is life for the retiring baby boomer. A passing airliner, at right and bathed in moon glow, may have had a better view, but did passengers notice, as they hurried on?

Football and fellowship

 A pause in the harvest gave Cousin Guy an opportunity to fly down from North Dakota to see his beloved NDSU Bison take on Washington today at First Bank stadium in downtown Minneapolis. Arriving Friday, there was ample time for a visit and dinner with the rellies, with Linda and Ron motoring in from Blaine for the gathering. Then it’s back to the farm, with a nice flax crop coming in soon. Years of enlightened conservation practices have improved the soil under the Rolfsrud stewardship, producing better yields and future benefits. 

Well, that clears that up

 

A trip to the Minnesota State Fair Sunday included a stop at the booth where they'll prick your finger and reveal your blood type. Our girls couldn't resist. Aunt Marcy, Emily and her mom, Melissa, display their respective blood types: Just in case you wanted to know.

Their mom is a big time donor.

Lean on Me. . .

My rooftop patio is a nasty challenge for native plants. Six floors up, it is subject to whipping winds, searing heat, lashing storms, and of course, a perfectly calm, wonderful day or evening. It begs a floral setting. Last year I filled planters with annuals: climbing vines, petunias, vinca, etc, as I’ve always done in sensible ground level gardens. 

Disaster! Disappointment! Death! Even the sweet peas didn’t take.

I wasn’t above just giving up and planting fake stuff and gluing the mess down, but then I discovered the lovely diminutive moss rose, a desert plant, small succulent leaves, short and stalky, tough as a Minnesota winter and continuously in bloom. Portulaca, some call it.

This year, I took the old dirt planters, added some sand to mimic desert soil, and planted a dozen or so seedlings.

The results were spectacular. Multi-colored blooms non-stop, I felt like a real gardener! I watered when I thought of it, and even added some of that blue nitrogen stuff.

But something else was happening. As if an apology for last year’s disaster, tiny vines began to appear among the moss roses. Sure enough, some voluntary Morning Glories were reappearing from last year's failed crop leftovers. 

Today, they burst into a late August bloom, mixing in with their new sturdy, unselfish brothers, who had apparently shielded them sufficiently from the awful elements to allow them now to grow, perhaps to flourish.

I won’t make any philosophical observations about this pragmatic partnership, other than to observe that we’re always stronger together than we are alone. 

I’ll just enjoy this lovely symbiosis on the roof.

Lorlee's First Day

One of the wonders of old age is that somehow, often certain memories sharpen while others fade. Sort of a reshuffling and arranging of limited space. So it was a true gift when my first grade country school classmate, Lorlee Bartos, shared a poem, pulled from her memory, and written down for her poetry group. It is a fine example of memories kept and reused, a shared remembrance that I shall cherish. Thanks Lorlee!

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

Excited and dressed

in my first day finery

hair in curls

a masterful  achievement 

for pin straight hair

Greeted  with 

My, we have a big class--

seven first graders

Carol, Darrell, Stanley, Larry,

Marlow, Alan and me

the first wave of Baby Boomers

Let’s all print our names

on this piece of paper

Why look how Stanley has done it

Isn’t that nice

Stanley obviously had better older siblings

he had mastered  

upper and lower case

Despite going on to scholastic glory

I could only print my name

in all capitals

Which I sensed was somehow inferior

__________________________

(In photo above years later, Lorlee and Stanley sat side by side in the back row for the annual school picture. Lorlee graduated high school with top honors, Stanley not so much.)

Las Vegas bound!

Two fun-seekers boarded a Delta flight to sin city this morning, four days of frolic, fun and pleasure await; We actually don't know what awaits them, but they packed supplies that would last at least 30 days, took cash and credit. What could possibly go wrong? Stan's at home, in charge of the litter box, staying calm.

Touching base

 As residents of Southwest Station in Eden Prairie, we often meet up with old friends passing through the transportation hub. Today, my former Shakopee editor, Pat, and his wife, Evon, headed out on the Twins Express to see if we could get another one from the Detroit Tigers. Pat and Evon seemed confident, and set off with a cheery raft of fun-seekers to Target Field. We go back 40 years and he was our “Iron Ranger” claiming Hibbing as his hometown. Nice to touch base today. 

Er, sorry.

Absolutely not, cats can't go

Kathleen and Jordanne are flying to Las Vegas for a couple days of frivolity and escape. Stan intends to stay home with the cat, but Bubbles appears to have other ideas, planting herself squarely onto the bag being filled with Vegas necessities. 

We’ll see who wins out, despite that determined look.

Looking to the future, our girl is growing up

The Minneapolis College of Art is adjacent to the famous MIA

We walked 5.5 miles exploring around the Minneapolis Institute of Art yesterday. 

The idea was to familiarize with the art enclave set in south Minneapolis between I-35 and Eat Street. A certain high school junior thinks the Minneapolis College of Art and Design may be a good choice for future education. 

 So Grandpa and Emily headed out on the Southwest Transit system to explore possibilities. There’s express service from our location, and we got free passes for trying it out, from the nice lady behind the glass at the sparkling new station here. 

 It’s a short walk from the new Lake Street 35W station. A breakfast of chilaques then on to the tour. Our guide, Forrest, ably explained the 3-story complex, a creative warren of studios, works spaces, classrooms, and huge work rooms for whatever physical artistic task desired, from welding to animation to printing arts. 

Stan was impressed by the “hell-box”, a traditional sorting device for returning used type to proper bins. An ancient craft, basic to the understanding of how print technology has evolved. Green screens, animation, sound production, band saws, photo studios, cafeteria, much more that Forrest crammed into the hour long tour. 

Green screen studio

Then a stop at student housing, a far cry from dorm life of the 70s. These home like apartments, adjacent to the school, house the 800 students accepted to this place. 

 Tour over, we walked to the adjacent Minneapolis Institute of Art, adjacent to the Children’s Theatre, and had a bite. A look at a few galleries there, and we were back on the road, hiking 5 blocks to our free ride home in air-conditioned comfort through rush hour traffic.  

Student housing

What will the future bring? We don’t know, but it has many possibilities.

National Night Out

Last night’s National Night Out had all the trappings of a company party, with bachelor Arty, 76, fifth floor, making a desperate play for leasing assistant and host Marissa. Despite appearances, alcohol was not involved. A courtesy visit by the Eden Prairie fire department was rounded out with a big drawing and prizes. A buffet chicken dinner and winner winners! It was a good time meeting the neighbors, including a Ukrainian and a Russian — good friends.

Okay, okay

Here it is, by popular demand, a trophy fish from Canadian wilderness. Thanks for asking, it is 26 inches, 6 pounds, and was pulled from 28 feet of warm water, off a jig with medium minnow. Three day expedition, yielding a yeoman's supply of walleye, augmented by northern pike, which were immediately released.

Ladies who lunch, again

Taking full advantage of the situation, the ladies went to Outback for steaks, and a lot of chat. Notice the lack of patrons, who keep more conventional lunch time hours. Kathleen and M'liss, with enough leftovers to satisfy a homecoming fisherman.

 

Okay, John. You're on the blog

In what at first blush looks like an arcane form of elder abuse, Canadian Wilderness carpenter/everything else workman John Anderson, 83, tends to another chore at the Family-owned fishing lodge in Ontario. He's been maintaining, hosting, building for the family for 50 years and brought order and quality construction to the typically ramshackle outposts, where lumber and materials are flown in at great expense, and often pre-cut to facilitate assembly. 

Winters are long in his hometown Ft. Frances, and when he's not shoveling snow or doing some other chore, John occasionally amuses himself by reading this blog and researching Rolfsrud family history. Which gives you an idea of just how boring life can be when the fish aren't biting or the bears aren't tipping the dumpsters. Despite the heat this week, the fish were biting in the over-warm waters, but we will resist any boasting, for now. Standby for trophies.

Ladies Who Lunch 2.0

Katie with her long-time girlfriend, Bonnie, 
today for a proper luncheon at Houlihan's in Chanhassen.