We beat Brokaw

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His 18-man "stick" had 11 seconds to get out of the plane. He landed in a cemetery.

This morning Tom Brokaw, author of The Greatest Generation, interviewed a paratrooper who jumped into Normandy on D-Day. The Today Show was covering the 70th Anniversary Services in France and the old soldier talking to the old reporter looked very familiar to us.

He was. We interviewed Tom Blakely at the D-Day museum in New Orleans last winter and he told us his amazing story of courage and luck, pretty much the same one he told Brokaw this morning. The kindly 90-year-old gentleman was still sharp as a tack and remembered the precise details he had told us as well. We posted his story here last winter.

January 10, 2014
The massive national World War II museum in downtown New Orleans "tells the story of the American Experience in the war that changed the world — why it was fought, how it was won, and what it means today — so that all generations will understand the price of freedom and be inspired by what they learn."

Tom jumped out the side door of a C-47 like this…
ended up way off target in a cemetery, alone.

Stan and Kathleen examined three floors of artifacts, photographs, video presentations and exhibits today, but the biggest thrill was talking to Tom Blakely. He's the real deal. He jumped into France on D-Day with the 82nd Airborne and, even better, was eager to talk this morning. He was 21 years old in 1944, which would make him almost 90 today, by our calculations and he's still very sharp and conversant. A treasure.

There were 18 men in his "stick" in the C-47 and they were released far from their drop zone that night. Tom landed in a cemetery, in the dark, alone, but he had all of his equipment and his wits. You could see it in his eyes, that he remembered the experience very well.

Do you remember that scene in "Saving Private Ryan" where Tom Hanks and Matt Damon made a courageous stand at a bridge over the Meredet toward the end of the movie and were eventually saved by an air assault? Well, Tom actually fought in that battle. He's the real deal.

Tom had trained for eight months in Nottingham, England, getting to know Airborne tactics, his fellow members of the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment and the local townspeople.

Photos by Kathleen Rolfsrud

He remembers well the English woman who washed clothing for him and his buddies. Over their months of training, she had come to know her Americans, understandably forming attachments to these young Yanks.
After more than two months of hard-fighting in France, members of the 82nd returned to their home camp in Nottingham for rest and refitting.
The unit's sudden and secret D-Day departure had left no time for personal errands or goodbyes. Tom's voice softened today as he talked about finally picking up his laundry from a very disconsolate laundress. She was slowly becoming aware that many of her boys would never come back.  She was holding washed and pressed clothing that would never be worn again. Who would come back to claim his wash? Who would not?
Out of respect for their fallen comrades, Tom and others redeemed the sad unclaimed bundles, a last gesture of support for their dear lost friends. "That's all we could do," he said wistfully, sadly, all these years later.

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We look forward to more visits to this museum. We've been on the railroad passenger car simulating a cross-country passage to an Army assignment; we watched videos narrated by the late Ed Bradley; we'll soon go "under sea" in the Tang, simulating a submarine experience; but mostly, we hope to talk to other members of the greatest generation like Tom, to hear their personal stories of real experiences.

Buried treasure

Amethyst? Set in diamonds? (Not shown actual size.)

The candle imparts a soft glow and lovely vanilla-lime scent as it slowly melts its way to the buried treasure below. The birthday box on the "Diamond" candle promised that the ring locked inside the wax would be worth $10, $100, $1,000 or even $5,000!
For days now, Marcy's gift to her mother has sent a moody essence and  sense of anticipation wafting through an otherwise mundane household. Then at last, the bag-o-treasure broke through its waxen barrier, revealing a foil-wrapped surprise, as the retired couple wondered again at their fortune.
The Missus hastily freed the mystery bag from the sticky, hot pool, tore it open, and revealed a large purply gemstone mounted in an encrusted setting. She slipped it on her middle finger and flashed it at her excited husband.
Here it is, Marcy. Thank you for your thoughtful gift. Now, do we have it appraised?

Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt. . .

From left, Curt, obscured, Lillian, Marcia, Beverly, Mildred. Photo by Jill.

Some people claim there's a woman to blame.
Actually, there is: Jill and Marcia threw a Margarita theme party complete with fancy cool drinks served in margarita glasses. The beach bums all wore floppy straw hats under the sun umbrella on the deck at Kell Avenue.
That's Mom seated second from right.

No sign of Jimmy Buffet.

Choir director, Murrae Freng, 89

Stan's Alexandria high school and church choir director, Murrae Freng, 89, who later became the head of the Minnesota State High School League, died May 31. Funeral arrangements are pending.

Mr. Freng and his wife, Helen, visited with their old friend, Beverly Rolfsrud, at her Bloomington home in February 2013. The three were founders of the Shalom Lutheran Church in Alexandria.

Here's the photo and post that appeared at that time.

Helen Freng, Solveig Shearer, Murrae Freng with Beverly Rolfsrud.

Morning callers to Mom's place in Bloomington were Murrae and Helen Freng, longtime family friends. Beverly trained many of the soloists performing in Mr. Freng's Alexandria choirs during the 50s and early 60s and a great friendship was formed. Mr. Freng became the head of the Minnesota State High School League and they lived in south Minneapolis, but upon his retirement they returned to a lake home in Alexandria for a time. They're now living in Plymouth, nearer to family and within easy driving distance of Mom's Kell Avenue home.
We enjoyed sharing stories and remembrances of friends and musical experiences and the time flew. After a cup of coffee, it was time to go, the Frengs were meeting more friends for lunch at Southdale. They'll be back again, they promised, as they made their way out into the new-fallen snow.
Here's a link to a YouTube video that tells some of Mr. Freng's life story in his own words.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGZuZSTyyTU

Murrae Freng, left, and son, Al, with a 44-inch muskie Murrae caught on Lake Minnetonka in 2008 while crappie fishing. The muskie hit a 10-inch bass that Murrae was reeling in. He landed and released both. The bass survived the ordeal.

Wheeee! Fisheye in the sky.

There are two Open Houses on our cul de sac today, here's a bird's eye view of the neighborhood, courtesy of the remote-controlled quadracopter hired to photograph the listed property. Obviously, that's a fish-eye lens, above, not the curvature of the earth. You can also see the toes of the drone on the left and right edges and way down below in the middle of the street is the drone/camera operator.

Not for sale, but in the photo, is our house on the far left. The house in the foreground is the listed property.

Birds on the brain today for these two

Greg Johnson joined another old Cardinal today for a casual round at Creeksbend near New Prague, finishing in 3.5 hours. . . and with most of the balls that they started out with.

A good partner will retrieve your ball without
complaint, even from 15 rows deep in a cornfield.

Part of the time was spent listening to the birds in this rural setting along a meandering creek. Greg is an accomplished birder and can identify many species by sight and sound. . . and he does so for the edification of his appreciative partner, from time to time, which gives a quality feel to an otherwise ordinary day in Paradise. (Hear that witchety, witchety, witchety call? That's a Common Yellow-throat, Greg says confidently. You could identify one by its black face, but you'll never see one, he adds. They're very shy. That's a Bluebird flitting by, no it's a Swallow.)
Later, Greg enjoyed a birdie of another sort, carding a 3 on the notorious double-fairway Par 4, No. 12. His tee shot went into a hazard, he took a penalty, then whacked his third shot 160 yards uphill onto the elevated green . . . where it rolled on into the cup, demonstrating that you may be down, but you're never out in this funny game.
Nice Bird, Greg!

Preserva Wood

Photo by Katie Rolfsrud

Those owning cedar decks know they also own a constant struggle with the forces of nature, no more so than on the south side of a building where freeze/thaw, rain/shine, heat and humidity challenge the planks on a daily basis.
Billions are spent buying products, potions and magic elixirs to slow this aging process, we've made our contributions over the years to the Olympic company and whomever owns Thompson's Water Seal. Our latest application was recommended to us by a noted West Coast preservationist, so it must be good. It is relatively new to the market, branded Preserva Wood.
We hope it will, doubt that it will for very long, but for $25 a gallon we have only the most reasonable of expectations.
The product went on easily, they recommend a pad, not a roller. The hardest part is finding the proper weather window: You need three warm dry days before applying, a dry day to apply, then another dry day for curing. That may be an ordinary set of circumstances to our West Coast consultant (Sosie) but we got lucky this week with a burst of reliably regular weather.
It's a beautiful day. Would be nice to spend it out on the deck. Oh well. Rain Saturday.

The Mysterious Disappearance of the Fourth Fledge

Nobody knows where the fourth sibling went. No clues anywhere. Once there were four, now just three fledges crowd the robin's nest. Our vet had given us his expert opinion: prepare for tragedy, the weak one will probably get pushed out by the others. We had hoped for better from our larger than usual family of close-knit brothers and sisters. We prefer to think nothing nefarious occurred while we weren't looking, and none of the survivors will say anything -- although that one on the right does have a rather guilty, smug look.
Perhaps, Stan's brother Virg conjectured tonight over cocktails, the eldest matured early and just flew away and is now out pulling worms on his own, or maybe the littlest is still hidden under the others' fluff. A nice thought to have, considering the alternative.
Virg's older sister Solveig doesn't think so. One of the boys must have done it, she says.

Kayak on the Kickapoo

The family kayak plied the Kickapoo River in Wisconsin this weekend. Jennifer reports a fabulous float, twisting and turning through gorgeous scenery at a rapid spring-time pace. This was no idle ride, our intrepid paddler stayed alert, dodging trees and rocks for seven hours before coming out.
The picturesque river runs through a unique "driftless zone" in western Wisconsin, meaning retreating glaciers never got a chance to level out the land -- leaving untouched glorious vertical scenery unusual in prairie states.
Jennifer said seven hours was a bit more than she'd planned for her first outing of the year. Tired but happy, she enjoyed the weekend with good friends in Wisconsin.
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Wikipedia footnote: The Kickapoo River is a 126-mile-long tributary of the Wisconsin River in the state of Wisconsin. It is named for the Kickapoo Indians who occupied Wisconsin before the influx of white settlers in the early 19th century.