I read your post to the Host comment on how things have changed in Minneapolis. Then you mentioned Marv Davidoff as a memory of things changed. My sadly deceased wife's uncle Swede Clauson was a partner with Marv in the days of anti-nuclear war protests. They were arrested, of course, and the two decided to serve their jail time together during Christmas. The paper covered the story. Swede told us, "I thought it would be good to give up Christmas for the cause and serve my time with Marv. Then I realized for him it wasn't such a deal. He was Jewish!" That memory brings me a big laugh. I wish my wife were here to laugh with me again remembering this story. I'm a retired Lutheran chaplain just a couple of years behind you in age. My wife was a minister of Vital Aging at a large Lutheran Church for many years. Also trained as a gerontologist she taught me that our later life is "a time to come to terms with our life as lived." I suspect both of us are doing that right now. At least I am. Watch for memories that might haunt you. Probably something to explore and make friends with during Halloween.
I'm not looking back, Don, but trying to follow the idea, "This is th4e day which the Lord hath made, let us rejoice and be glad in it." I'm sorry I didn't get to meet Swede. I didn't envy Marv his life of anti-nuclear and civil-rights and anti-war protest. I think it was a lonely life especially toward the end.
"A time to come to terms with our life as lived." That's one way to see it, through existentialist eyes. My experience has been different. Once, when I lived in California, I pulled in to a lookout on the side of a coastal mountain. Down below me, I could see two villages, like knots in the rope of a road. A thought flitted through my mind. "This is the way God sees the world. He knows where we are now, and He knows where we are headed. He knows what our next stop will be."
From the time I gave my life to God, that's how it has been for me. If he needs a voice, or hands, whatever, at a certain place and time, and I happen to be the most convenient one to call on - that action becomes part of "my life as lived." To me, our lives are part of a giant tapestry. Our days weave in and out of the lives of others. Respecting those others is a part of it all.
Just last week, I got a flat tire in a very isolated town. There happened to be a garage there, and that owner kept the tires that still had some use to them when customers had their summer tires replaced by winter ones, etc. The garage staff couldn't find an exact replacement for my flat tire that could be delivered that day, but they were able to mount a suitable substitute. That seemed like a "life-saver to me, since the nearest motel was twenty miles away and it was cold enough that "sleeping in my car" was not an option. As I paid for mounting the replacement tire, I thanked them profusely for doing business in such an isolated place, and for a finding suitable "work-around" with what was at hand.
I'm sure that they've had other customers who have expressed relief and thankfulness too. There probably have been others who have complained that they can't do things quickly enough or inexpensively enough, etc. But I've heard that five compliments are needed to outweigh one complaint. Adding my grateful voice to their other satisfied customers is a gift I can give. It's the oil that keeps the emotional machine going.
Your comment about your lack of sentimentality about your "stuff" probably accurately reflects your personal position. However, on the other side of the (radio) fence, there are millions of us, your faithful listeners, who have collected memories on our neurons, memories that are more indelible than those on paper! Was it Carl Krebsbach, for example, who drove off from a gas station without checking to see whether his wife was in the car or not? Priceless! And how about the time a tow truck with a car that had been used as a cistern got mixed in with the town parade? Or what's the name of that girl who played basketball, came onto the court and shot hoops like a pro? There must be a thousand times, at the very least, when I've seen something in everyday life, and heard a segment of APHC in my mind! The small town images that burst out of your fruitful mind are indelible - and they'll probably exist as long as we, your audience live on! Perhaps there's not an active "Paper Trail", but the Neuronal Trail is alive, well, and, well, at least somewhat intact! Viva APHC!
I can't spell her name well enough to get Google to cough it up. As I heard it, though, it was "The Magandance girl." I really appreciated her presence in Lake Woebegon! We "tomboys" like to know that other females around us can also shoot baskets - in public, yet!
Dear Mr. K, now that I've finished my spit take and cleaned my coffee off the iMac monitor, Peter M's comment re: the limericks found in Oh What A Beautiful Morning has now (in a good way, really) ruined the song for me. Much as a random comment I read years ago that most Emily Dickinson poems can be sung to the tune of The Yellow Rose Of Texas. Is nothing sacred any more?
I read your post to the Host comment on how things have changed in Minneapolis. Then you mentioned Marv Davidoff as a memory of things changed. My sadly deceased wife's uncle Swede Clauson was a partner with Marv in the days of anti-nuclear war protests. They were arrested, of course, and the two decided to serve their jail time together during Christmas. The paper covered the story. Swede told us, "I thought it would be good to give up Christmas for the cause and serve my time with Marv. Then I realized for him it wasn't such a deal. He was Jewish!" That memory brings me a big laugh. I wish my wife were here to laugh with me again remembering this story. I'm a retired Lutheran chaplain just a couple of years behind you in age. My wife was a minister of Vital Aging at a large Lutheran Church for many years. Also trained as a gerontologist she taught me that our later life is "a time to come to terms with our life as lived." I suspect both of us are doing that right now. At least I am. Watch for memories that might haunt you. Probably something to explore and make friends with during Halloween.
I'm not looking back, Don, but trying to follow the idea, "This is th4e day which the Lord hath made, let us rejoice and be glad in it." I'm sorry I didn't get to meet Swede. I didn't envy Marv his life of anti-nuclear and civil-rights and anti-war protest. I think it was a lonely life especially toward the end.
"A time to come to terms with our life as lived." That's one way to see it, through existentialist eyes. My experience has been different. Once, when I lived in California, I pulled in to a lookout on the side of a coastal mountain. Down below me, I could see two villages, like knots in the rope of a road. A thought flitted through my mind. "This is the way God sees the world. He knows where we are now, and He knows where we are headed. He knows what our next stop will be."
From the time I gave my life to God, that's how it has been for me. If he needs a voice, or hands, whatever, at a certain place and time, and I happen to be the most convenient one to call on - that action becomes part of "my life as lived." To me, our lives are part of a giant tapestry. Our days weave in and out of the lives of others. Respecting those others is a part of it all.
Just last week, I got a flat tire in a very isolated town. There happened to be a garage there, and that owner kept the tires that still had some use to them when customers had their summer tires replaced by winter ones, etc. The garage staff couldn't find an exact replacement for my flat tire that could be delivered that day, but they were able to mount a suitable substitute. That seemed like a "life-saver to me, since the nearest motel was twenty miles away and it was cold enough that "sleeping in my car" was not an option. As I paid for mounting the replacement tire, I thanked them profusely for doing business in such an isolated place, and for a finding suitable "work-around" with what was at hand.
I'm sure that they've had other customers who have expressed relief and thankfulness too. There probably have been others who have complained that they can't do things quickly enough or inexpensively enough, etc. But I've heard that five compliments are needed to outweigh one complaint. Adding my grateful voice to their other satisfied customers is a gift I can give. It's the oil that keeps the emotional machine going.
Your comment about your lack of sentimentality about your "stuff" probably accurately reflects your personal position. However, on the other side of the (radio) fence, there are millions of us, your faithful listeners, who have collected memories on our neurons, memories that are more indelible than those on paper! Was it Carl Krebsbach, for example, who drove off from a gas station without checking to see whether his wife was in the car or not? Priceless! And how about the time a tow truck with a car that had been used as a cistern got mixed in with the town parade? Or what's the name of that girl who played basketball, came onto the court and shot hoops like a pro? There must be a thousand times, at the very least, when I've seen something in everyday life, and heard a segment of APHC in my mind! The small town images that burst out of your fruitful mind are indelible - and they'll probably exist as long as we, your audience live on! Perhaps there's not an active "Paper Trail", but the Neuronal Trail is alive, well, and, well, at least somewhat intact! Viva APHC!
That was the septic-tank Chevy that got into the parade. And Florian Krebsbach who forgot Myrtle. I don't recall the basketball player.
I can't spell her name well enough to get Google to cough it up. As I heard it, though, it was "The Magandance girl." I really appreciated her presence in Lake Woebegon! We "tomboys" like to know that other females around us can also shoot baskets - in public, yet!
Magendanz. I'll look her up.
Dear Mr. K, now that I've finished my spit take and cleaned my coffee off the iMac monitor, Peter M's comment re: the limericks found in Oh What A Beautiful Morning has now (in a good way, really) ruined the song for me. Much as a random comment I read years ago that most Emily Dickinson poems can be sung to the tune of The Yellow Rose Of Texas. Is nothing sacred any more?
Some things. Church Sunday morning at St. Michael's was profound and powerful and brought a great many of us to tears. No kidding.