There’s a black pick-up truck that is regularly roaring by our house day and night with an exhaust system so loud it makes the windows and our nerves rattle. Its driver apparently takes great joy in revving the big engine up to about 5 thousand RPM’s and spinning his wheels on the still icy streets of our normally tranquil neighborhood. I get so angry I fantasize about putting on a face mask along with my heavy parka with the hood up, then standing out in the middle of the street armed with a baseball bat ready to take out one of his headlights next time he bellows by. I won’t, of course. The only parka I have has Keloland News embroidered all over it..plus I’m too chicken for any such Rambo tactics whether justice is on my side or not. Speaking of icy Sioux Falls city streets, it looks like, once again, no blade shall touch the snow covered asphalt where the people actually live.

Oooh, a little cranky this morning are we? Nothing another cup of coffee can’t fix. (hang on a sec.)

Okay..I feel better now.

The subject I really wanted to visit about today?

Clowns.

 It’s time to stop picking on them. Stop drinking the Hollywood Kool-Aid that portray clowns as evil, creepy creatures..like The Simpson’s Krusty, Batman’s Joker, and Steven King’s Pennywise. It’s become fashionable to bash them..to fear them. There’s even a name for this entertainment industry induced fear of clowns; coulrophobia.

Oh, there are a few real life exceptions, like mass murderer, John Wayne Gacy who tortured and killed 33 young men burying them in his basement and backyard.

 In his spare time, Gacy was known to delight children at parties dressed up as Pogo the Clown.  But he is not representative of the clowns from my youth; not by a long shot. In fact, I want you all to know that I actually lived with a clown in my growing up years and survived just fine, thank you. When we moved into the new house my dad built with his own two hands in the early 50’s, my mother tried her best to make up for the fact that he included just ONE bedroom for 3 boys by telling us how much fun bunk beds will be and decorating the room in a fun circus décor, complete with colorful rings around the ceiling light fixture and a switch plate cover in the shape of a clown whose nose activated the on/off  switch.  I wish I had a picture of it. Wait, you don’t suppose there might be an image on the inter..well, I’ll be darned.

That’s him. Okay, maybe that’s a little creepy..especially since it remained in place over the light switch until we were all teenagers.

During my reporting years at KELO, I had occasion to visit with lots and lots of clowns from Ronald McDonald, Bozo, Weary Willy (not a big talker)  and most all of the 30 plus members of the El Riad Shrine Circus clowns..especially the delightful Hal Teslow.

Few took the business of being funny more seriously than Halowishes. Each Thursday, this retired construction contractor would spend an hour putting on his clown outfit..then spend three or more hours making the rounds at Sioux Valley Hopsital visiting patients and passing out stickers that read, “I hugged a clown today.” 

In all his years working the corridors, not one person, including stoic consertvitive midwesterners,  refused a hug and no child screamed in fear when Hal came in the room  unless they’d been warned by their nervous nelly parents beforehand about being wary of any and all strangers.

When my story about Hal Teslow ran on Keloland sometime back in the 90’s, I had the wonderfully haunting..eye moisture inducing melody “Send In The Clowns” quietly playing in the background which managed to turn a few of my colleagues into mush upon viewing it in the editing room..which made me happy and happy is what clowns are all about; or should be.

A recent Google search revealed that Hal died in 1999. I sure hope there were lots of folks around to give him a big hug before he passed on.  He was such a wonderful guy with a heart as big as his clown shoes who, I’m sure, would be sad to see the bad rap he and his fellow comic performers in orange wigs and make-up are getting these days.

But where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns…
Well, maybe next year.

I was going to rail-on for a bit about how infuriating the last few days have been watching the price of gasoline go soaring as high as an Iranian space monkey; up to nearly $3.50 again after teasing us with the possibility of dropping below three bucks a gallon at the start of the year.  Industry experts blame the increase on the price of crude oil going up and production cuts ( a million barrels a day) by the Middle East Oil cartel,  OPEC, which apparently needs more cash to build sky scrapers and golf courses in the desert.  But, of course, why rail when there’s not a blasted thing any of us can do about this blatant “stick-it-to-the-consumer attitude by sheiks, suits and speculators.  They have us over an oil barrel and know it. Our only recourse would be to park all vehicles and make those greedy goons suffer through our abstinence. I’m doing my part by staying close to home during these cold winter days and nights. But I think Linda is inclined to believe that it has less to do with protesting the high cost of fuel and more with keeping my rotund rump firmly planted in my rocker.

But, enough of that. I have news. My sweetie and I are heading back to Alaska with Holiday Vacations in late July and are hoping some of you will decide to tag along. It’s such an amazing once-in-a-lifetime adventure that we’ve been privileged to be a part of MORE  than once in our lives. This one includes 4 nights aboard a Holland America cruise ship sailing through the inside passage and Glacier Bay. You can see the itinerary and other information by going to this website: www.holidayvacations.net . The key word is Keloland. Here endeth the commercial.

Speaking of Keloland, I get to visit the station on a daily basis during this month of February; recording the Eye On  Keloland promotions. I still get a kick out of visiting with long time colleagues and meeting the young newzies; wide eyed and excited about the chance to work in television..especially the number one CBS television affiliate in the country. They’re good and talented kids and, when I walk through the newsroom, stare as if seeing a dinosaur..which, of course they are.

I watched a couple classic movies this week; films that I’d thought I’d seen before but really had not..at least not in their entirety. “Casablanca” and “The Maltese Falcon.”Both starred Humphrey Bogart and both were made in the early forties and both were..well, a bit of a yawn. I appreciate them and all their noir qualities but I never thought of Bogey as much of an actor or leading man.  He sure could smoke though. Everybody on screen in those movies always had a drink in their hand and a cigarette in their lips. Smoking like chimneys eventually caught up with Bogey and lots of other stars of the silver screen whose lives ended when cancer invaded their lungs. I gotta tell you, though, I loved every Marlboro to hit my mouth for over 40 years and still am tempted whenever one of my golf buddies lights up and I get a whiff of that delicious smoke wafting across my nostrils. Funny, I don’t remember the exact date when I quit cigarettes. But it’s been about 13 years since a check-up revealed a bit of  emphysema creeping into my airway which got my attention enough to squish up a fresh pack of smokes, toss them in the trash and stop cold turkey.  Aside from marrying Linda, it’s the smartest thing I’ve ever done.  If you struggle with the idea of quitting, I hear the South Dakota Quit Line is quite helpful for those who’ve resolved to stop. Here’s the website: https://southdakota.quitlogix.org/

Speaking of resolutions; so many of you have been such loyal readers of Lund at Large over the last seven years, and lately I’ve been slacking off. You never really know if and when a new blog will appear on Keloland.com and that’s not fair.  So, from now on, I’m going to try post a Lund at Large twice weekly by noon Tuesdays and Fridays. (Even more frequently when we’re on the road)   I’ve been afraid of repeating myself but, what the heck, none of my meanderings are all that memorable anyway so if I occasionally plagiarize my own stuff don’t tell anybody.

I know some of you have wondered where to find Lund at Large on the new Keloland webpage. Well, just click on “features” and I’m right there.

For now..as the old maid said to the peeping Tom, “Thanks for lookin’ in.”

What man hasn’t heard a woman say this?

“You guys have no idea how lucky you are to never undergo the trauma and pain of childbirth.”

Our comeback?

“Well, you’ve never had to fight in a war.”

I guess that argument doesn’t hold water anymore since all the big wigs with big stars on their big shoulders in the defense department have decided to give the official okay for ladies to grab a rifle and serve right alongside the men on the front lines in combat. Of course, women have been serving..and dying..in combat zones for years but generally in support positions not actually assigned to be the van guard sharing a fox hole with their male compadres. Hmmmm do they even dig fox holes anymore?

I think it’s a bad idea on so many levels; not the least of which my being a male chauvinist pig. Actually, that’s not true, I’m all for women not being inhibited by their gender in any and all aspects of life..except this.

Every motivational speaker from Norman Vincent Peale to that tall goober Tony Robbins has said there is nothing you can’t do if you put you’re mind to it so set your goals high, think positive, work hard and nothing is impossible.

What a load of horse hockey.

Of course there are limitations to our aspirations; physical and mental. For example I will never..ever..be invited to join MENSA no matter how hard I would have studied algebra and chemistry in high school. My IQ is what it is and there’s nothing I can do to make it high enough to qualify for that snooty group of smarty pants.

By the same token..surprise surprise..women are built different than men (or is it differently than men? See why I’m a MENSA reject) and are physically limited when it comes to fulfilling the military fitness and strength requirements for down in the dirt..hand to hand..fighting.

Okay..before some of you blow a gasket and start citing examples of exceptions..let me ask why in the world would women WANT to serve in combat anyway?  To prove a patriotic point; to raise a flag for feminine equality? 

I just don’t get it. Has there really been a public outcry by women to make their mark on the battlefield or is this just the pot being stirred by a few who feel they’ve been slighted on the scale of military advancement because they’ve been denied an equal right to die with the boys? I decided to find out how my grandson, the Marine, recently back from several months of bloody combat in Afghanistan, felt about the issue.  He summed up his feelings by citing an essay from a fellow Marine who writes under the pseudonym of “Sentry.”  It’s a bit long but worth the read, I think.

I’m a female veteran. I deployed to Anbar Province, Iraq. When I was active duty, I was 5’6, 130 pounds, and scored nearly perfect on my PFTs. I naturally have a lot more upper body strength than the average woman: not only can I do pull-ups, I can meet the male standard. I would love to have been in the infantry. And I still think it will be an unmitigated disaster to incorporate women into combat roles. I am not interested in risking men’s lives so I can live my selfish dream.

We’re not just talking about watering down the standards to include the politically correct number of women into the unit. This isn’t an issue of “if a woman can meet the male standard, she should be able to go into combat.” The number of women that can meet the male standard will be miniscule–I’d have a decent shot according to my PFTs, but dragging a 190-pound man in full gear for 100 yards would DESTROY me–and that miniscule number that can physically make the grade AND has the desire to go into combat will be facing an impossible situation that will ruin the combat effectiveness of the unit. First, the close quarters of combat units make for a complete lack of privacy and EVERYTHING is exposed, to include intimate details of bodily functions. Second, until we succeed in completely reprogramming every man in the military to treat women just like men, those men are going to protect a woman at the expense of the mission. Third, women have physical limitations that no amount of training or conditioning can overcome. Fourth, until the media in this country is ready to treat a captured/raped/tortured/mutilated female soldier just like a man, women will be targeted by the enemy without fail and without mercy.

Without pharmaceutical help, women just do not carry the muscle mass men do. That muscle mass is also a shock absorber. Whether it’s the concussion of a grenade going off, an IED, or just a punch in the face, a woman is more likely to go down because she can’t absorb the concussion as well as a man can. And I don’t care how the PC forces try to slice it, in hand-to-hand combat the average man is going to destroy the average woman because the average woman is smaller, period. Muscle equals force in any kind of strike you care to perform. That’s why we don’t let female boxers face male boxers.

Lastly, this country and our military are NOT prepared to see what the enemy will do to female POWs. The Taliban, AQ, insurgents, jihadis, whatever you want to call them, they don’t abide by the Geneva Conventions and treat women worse than livestock. Google Thomas Tucker and Kristian Menchaca if you want to see what they do to our men (and don’t google it unless you have a strong stomach) and then imagine a woman in their hands.

I say again, I would have loved to be in the infantry. I think I could have done it physically, I could’ve met almost all the male standards (jumping aside), and I think I’m mentally tough enough to handle whatever came. But I would never do that to the men. I would never sacrifice the mission for my own desires. And I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if someone died because of me.- Sentry

Agree..disagree?

I’m anxious to hear your reasoned comments.

“Lonely..I’m mister lonely..I got nobody..for my own”. (Bobby Vinton 1964)

Missing Linda a little bit.

Can you tell?

She’s been in Arizona for the past week and a half (our longest separation in over 30 years) whooping it up in the desert sunshine with daughter Christy and sister, Renee leaving me here to fend off this abysmal sub-zero invasion from the north by myself. When she called the other night, it was the first time I’d talked in two days.

Even when she IS home there can be long empty periods of silence; not because we’re mad at each other but we’ve unintentionally grown comfortable in our own space. Time can easily pass without a whole lot of conversation and we’re good with that. But this is way too long.

Linda’s being gone has also made one thing crystal clear; I’m a slob. Let me explain. When she is here, I really do try to clean up after myself not leaving dirty clothes or dishes lying around. I’ll rinse the tub after use and occasionally give the toilet a swoosh with a brush when necessary but this living by myself has been an eye opener. I’m not entirely sure how to operate the dish washer so I’ve been doing them the old fashioned way which has led me to discover that I go through way too many dishes and they tend to stack up in the sink which has also lost its shine because of dried water spots. The stovetop, microwave and floors in both the kitchen and bathroom all reflect the careless clod I am and what a mess this place would be without her. Now don’t misunderstand, I’m not melancholy over Linda’s absence simply because she keeps our little abode so spick and span it’s just that I’ve gotten a whole new appreciation for the challenges she faces each day living with me. Don’t worry, I’ll have everything squared away by the time she gets home..although I might leave one muddy footprint in the hallway as a token of my love and how I can’t get along without her.

When it gets cold like this I often flash back to those times on the Keloland news set when weatherman, Dave Dedrick, would issue a “Brass Monkey Alert.” It was a little naughty, I suppose, but everyone sure knew what he meant.

God, I miss that man.

To commemorate this, the third year of his passing, I thought I’d share the eulogy read at his funeral.

EVER SINCE SUNSHINE ASKED IF I’D GIVE A EULOGY, I’VE STRUGGLED TRYING TO COME UP WITH JUST THE RIGHT WORDS TO STRESS WHAT A GREAT MAN MY FRIEND DAVE DEDRICK WAS AND WHAT A HERO AND MENTOR HE WAS TO ME.   BUT THEN I REALIZED, HECK ANYBODY WHO KNEW DAVE AT ALL FEELS THE SAME WAY. 

I’LL BET THAT EVERYONE  IN THIS SANCTUARY COULD STAND UP HERE AND TELL  STORIES OF  YOUR OWN ENCOUNTERS WITH DAVE OVER THE YEARS.

HE LEFT A LASTING IMPRESSION TO BE SURE ON EACH PERSON HE MET WHETHER IT WAS DAVE THE SCHOOL MATE, DAVE THE MARINE, DAVE THE BROADCASTING PIONEER, DAVE THE HUNTER, DAVE THE AUTO RACING ANNOUNCER, DAVE THE WEATHER MAN, DAVE THE GOLFER..SINGER..EMCEE OR..OF COURSE..DAVE..MAN OF THE FUTURE..GIVEN THE POWER TO CONTROL TIME.

THERE IS NO DOUBT IN MY MIND THAT DAVE DEDRICK WAS PUT ON THIS EARTH TO BE  CAPTAIN ELEVEN..A TELEVISION AND REAL LIFE ROLE MODEL AND HERO TO SO MANY GENERATIONS OF KIDS.

COME ON..WHO ELSE COULD HAVE PULLED IT OFF? WHO ELSE COULD HAVE WORN THAT BLUE UNIFORM WITHOUT LOOKING SILLY.

NO, WE NEEDED A KID AT HEART AND DAVE DEDRICK WAS EXACTLY THE RIGHT GUY FOR THE JOB AT PRECICELY THE RIGHT TIME.

I WAS 9 YEARS OLD WHEN WE GOT OUR FIRST TVSET IN 1955..THE

SAME YEAR CAPTAIN ELEVEN APPEARED FROM THE OUTER GALAXIES. I, LIKE THOUSANDS OF OTHERS BECAME A FAN OF THE MAN AND A FIXTURE IN FRONT OF THE TV AT 4 O’CLOCK  EVERYDAY TO WATCH THE SHOW..WISHING THAT I COULD BE THERE SOMEDAY TO SEE IT ALL IN PERSON.

I DON’T MIND TELLING YOUR THAT WHEN I ACTUALLY WENT TO WORK FOR KELOLAND IN 1974..I WENT INTO THE STUDIO ALONE ONE EVENING AND JUST STARED AT THE TIME CONVERTER WITH IT’S HIGH VOLTAGE ARC AND ROWS OF COLORED JEWELS THAT ..WHEN SWITCHED ON..MADE CARTOONS HAPPEN AND SO MANY KIDS HAPPY. 

I FLIPPED ‘EM ALL..OF COURSE..INCLUDING THE ONE THAT STARTED THE TWIRLITZER SPINNING.

 I CONSIDERED CHECKING TO SEE WHICH ONE OF THE KEYS WOULD UNLOCK THE TOY CHEST BUT THOUGHT BETTER OF IT.

A FEW MONTHS LATER, DAVE POPPED HIS HEAD INTO THE AUDIO BOOTH WHERE I WAS WORKING AND SAID, HEY..PALLY, I HEAR YOU’RE A GOLFER, WANNA PLAY SOMETIME?

AND THAT WAS THE BEGINNING OF A GOLFING PARTNERSHIP THAT LASTED 25 YEARS.

YOU LEARN A LOT ABOUT A GUY SITTING NEXT TO HIM IN A GOLF CART FOUR HOURS A DAY 3 DAYS A WEEK. WE HAD MORE LAUGHS THAN LOW SCORES BUT IT WAS ALWAYS FUN…ESPECIALLY LISTENING TO HIS STORIES WHICH  HE CONTINUED TO TELL EVEN DURING HIS BACKSWING.

SOMETIMES WE’D BE RIDING ALONG AND HE’D JUST BLURT STUFF OUT OF THE BLUE.  I REMEMBER ONE DAY WHEN I WAS BETWEEN MARRIAGES, HE SAID, “YOUR LINDA SURE IS A DOLL.  YOU BETTER HANG ON TO HER, PALLY.”

EVENTUALLY, WE GOT TO KNOW EACH OTHER’S FAMILIES AND SPENT LOTS OF MEMORABLE SUMMER EVENINGS SITTING ON THE PORCH..DAVE, MARJEAN, LINDA AND I,  ENJOYING A COCKTAIL AND LOADS OF LAUGHS.  DAVE QUIT DRINKING IN 1978..BUT HE STILL LOVED PLAYING BARTENDER AND WOULD ALWAYS SAY, “ CAN I FLUFF THAT ONE UP FOR YOU?”

IT WAS GREAT FUN JUST LISTENING TO DAVE AND MARJEAN TALK..OFTEN AT THE SAME TIME.

IN THE EARLY YEARS, WE’D CHAT ABOUT MUSIC, MOVIES, FRIENDS AND ROMANTIC GET-AWAYS WE SHOULD GO TO.

BUT IN LATER YEARS, THE CONVERSATIONS WERE MORE ABOUT DOCTOR APPOINTMENTS AND WHO WAS ON WHAT MEDICATION..HOW MUCH AND FOR HOW LONG?

ONE THING THAT NEVER CHANGED WAS THE LAUGHTER AND COMFORT WE FELT IN EACH OTHERS COMPANY. 

A FEW MONTHS AGO, LINDA AND I SPENT A LONG OVERDUE EVENING AT THE DEDRICKS AND IT WAS GRAND..LIKE ALWAYS ONLY THIS TIME WE REMINICED A LOT ABOUT OUR YEARS AT  KELO.

I WONDER IF DAVE SENSED IT WOULD BE OUR LAST SUCH EVENING-BECAUSE THE NEXT DAY I RECEIVED THE FOLLOWING EMAIL FROM HIM.

“DOOGLE, IT’S BEEN SO LONG THAT I HAD FORGOTTEN HOW MUCH FUN IT IS TO SPEND AN EVENING TOGETHER WITH DEAR OLD FRIENDS.

We HAVE SHARED SO MANY YEARS OF GREAT MEMORIES THAT OFFER US A TREASURE TROVE OF SUBJECTS TO MULL OVER. THE ‘GOOD OL DAYS’ FILL OUR DIARIES WITH LAUGHTER AND SATISFACTION THAT ‘WE’ WERE THERE TO WITNESS THE FRUITION OF OUR DREAMS COMING TRUE. WHO SAID THAT WE COULDN’T DO IT? HOW WRONG COULD THEY BE.

NOT A DAY GOES BY WHERE SOMEONE ON THE STREET WON’T RECALL THEIR FIRST MEMORIES OF SEEING US ON TELEVISION WHEN THEY WERE GROWING UP. I TAKE IT AS A GREAT COMPLIMENT THAT WE FILLED IN OUR OWN COMPARTMENT IN HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF MEMORY BANKS THAT GREW UP IN THESE FOUR STATES WE DUBBED KELOLAND.

I LOVE IT WHEN THEY SAY ‘HI CAPTAIN ELEVEN!’”

“OLD WOOD TO BURN, OLD BOOKS TO READ..OLD FRIENDS TO TRUST. NOONE CAN EVER TAKE THAT AWAY FROM US! LIFE IS GOOD, MY CUP RUNNETH OVER.”

Rest in Peace old friend.

Well, once again, South Dakota public schools have, according to “Education Week” flunked the course and rank dead last among all the states in the country. Shame on us for intentionally neglecting our children’s education so.

Or are we?

Let’s take a closer look at the 6 criteria used in this condemnation of South Dakota education;  student’s “chance for success” later in life if they attend school in the state, school finances; state assessments and standards; and teacher and school accountability.” Oh yeah, it also considers student achievement but, apparently, the fact that South Dakota kids rank consistently well above the national average on every level from report card grades, to  SAT scores to the percentage of those who graduate high school to the percentage of those grads going on to college..doesn’t count for much . Here are some of the latest actual figures.

Our  kids and teachers are getting that job done, folks; in spades..but  you’re not seeing those numbers in “Education Week” which would have you believe that students in New York and New Jersey are much better off than those in South Dakota.

Is there room for improvement in K-12 education?  Of course there is. Teacher salaries, for example, are embarrassingly low by comparison to other states and it’s high time we put a higher priority on paying them more before the realities of the economy outweigh their willingness to keep biting the bullet . Please don’t say, well, they only work 9 months out of the year. I think if you totaled up all the hours they dedicate to the job day AND night, you’d find they could put in for overtime.

Look, I don’t have any solutions to education issues but, like a lot of you, grow tired of having outsiders keep calling us dumb because we don’t measure up to their perception of how schools should be run and our kids’ chances for success in life.

You don’t know us..so shaddup.

A rough heart-wrenching few days on the gridiron for this old Norsky.

At least my misery wasn’t prolonged.

It became crystal clear within a matter of minutes that the Minnesota Vikings, (I can’t believe I’m saying this) WITHOUT Christian Ponder, had a prayer of advancing in the NFL playoffs against the Packers. I didn’t get mad, throw my nerf brick at the TV or curse even once; just schlumped down on the chair in profound disappointment, changed the channel and watched British comedy re-re-re-re-runs on PBS..quietly resolved that my team will never ever be in the Super Bowl in my lifetime.

I was still looking forward to Monday night, though; hoping the ghost of Knute Rockne had shown up before the Notre Dame Football team to deliver his famous pep talk which would then propel the Irish to victory over favored Alabama for the National Championship.

I stuck with this game a bit longer; knowing that they’re not called the “Fighting Irish” for nothing and, based on past come-from-behind victories, could turn the game around. Instead, it just got worse.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to change channels before seeing and hearing 73 year old veteran announcer, Brent Musburger, manage to creep out the television audience with his dirty old man routine in comments he made about the Alabama quarterback’s girlfriend sitting in the stands…eeew.

So, what am I to do until Nascar revs-up again late next month? ( I’m fully aware of the auto racing haters out there and all the unfair stereotypical comments they love to spew about rednecks driving fast and turning left but I like Nascar.)  It’s the only professional sport I think I might have been good at before I got too big to fit through the door window and developed a reasonable fear of being killed in a crash.

I suppose I’ll watch the NFL playoffs and the Super Bowl but really don’t care which teams progress now that mine is out.  I’ve no real interest in the NBA unless Mike “Skinny” Miller gets a few playing minutes with Miami. I couldn’t care less about the National Hockey League taking to the ice again after that long silly strike that could have and probably should have ended the season. Sadly, I can’t get too worked up about the Minnesota Twins’ prospects for 2013 after that embarrassing debut season in their new stadium.

Gosh, I do seem a bit crabby today. Winters in Dakota can do that. At least Linda will be escaping into the warm sunshine soon. She leaves Saturday for Phoenix to spend a few days with her sister, Renee, and our desert daughter, Christy. Son James will be joining them from Oakland for the weekend.  She’ll be flying non-stop via Allegiant Air which advertises real tempting fares until you start counting up all the extras. But at least she won’t have to endure that long ride to Arizona by car..even if that car is Big Red (Our trusty high mileage old Lincoln Town Car) who has eagerly made the journey many  times but is now indicating some reluctance; need for a new battery and costly repairs for  a tiny leak in the air ride system.

So look out ladies, I’ll be batchin’ it next week.

Oops, I was channeling Brent Musburger there for a second; sorry.

Yay! The Minnesota Vikings are in the playoffs; okay maybe not beyond Saturday’s re-re match with the Packers but it’s safe to say that even the most loyal of Vikings fans didn’t see this one coming after that miserable mid season slump. Of course, all the national attention is on potential MVP, Adrian Peterson, one of the greatest running backs of all time who sniffed the NFL rushing record last week only to come up a few yards short. But, the team’s defense has been stellar and even Christian Ponder has managed to throw a couple completed passes downfield. No predictions here but Sunday will likely find us in church; either to give thanks for our team’s great success and prayers for a Super Bowl victory…or to ask special forgiveness for so many profane outbursts in front of the TV including a few violations of the 3^rd Commandment. (If you have to look that up, you should be sitting in the pew beside us.)

All of our “kids” have made their post Christmas check-in’s; all arriving at their distant destinations without too many travel complications. Last week I mentioned the unfortunate ice slippage incident in which our son-in-law, Joe, went to a Sioux Falls emergency room and came out with a sheepish look on his face and a big brace on his broken leg. I didn’t have a picture then. I do now.

 I’m not going to be too tough on Joe though because this has been an especially rough and emotionally draining Holiday Season for him and his whole family.

In keeping with the theme of this blog; “All things aren’t what they seem” this image of Joe with his brother, Rob and Sister Lori reflects a genuine but heartbreaking joy.

Lori Salvatori, Joe Moser and Rob Moser

Lori, a young wife and mother of three, recently underwent a second surgery for brain cancer and the prognosis is grim. All of us who love Lori and the entire Moser family are praying for a miracle and would appreciate any prayers you’d care to send up on her behalf too.

Okay, back to the theme:

I remember the first time I saw one of those Magic Eye paintings that were so popular in the early 90’s. Tracy Roskins, who worked at Keloland at the time, brought one into the newroom and before long several of us were standing around the picture trying to get our eyes to focus correctly revealing the hidden image.

Stare at it for a bit..relax and an image should materalize

It was such a thrill when it happened and you were suddenly transported into an amazing three dimensional underwater scene complete with starfish or sunken ships with treasure chests full of gold.  When one person got it..they were only to happy to share the secrets of their revelation with others or just gloat . Sadly, and oddly, it turned out that some on our floor couldn’t see the magic image and, as we discovered, never would. It takes two functioning eyes to work and we had three folks on staff who were blind in one eye. The ooos and ahhhs stopped, the Magic Eye painting was taken down and we all went back to work.

One of my favorite artists is Dick Termes of Spearfish who uses spheres for a canvas creating art in the round from a six point perspective. He also has a gift for drawing or painting images that are more than what they seem.

This is one of his early creations. Do you see a scraggly tree or a couple about to kiss?

Someone posted this picture that I also find fascinating.

Do you see a bearded guy like the one in Hobbit or a Mexican riding his horse next to a waterfall and senorita in a blanket?

Others are weirdly fun.

Hmmm suddenly I feel like seeing a 3-D movie at the theater; let’s see what’s playing. “Monsters Inc.” I didn’t care for this when it came out the first time in regular “D” 12 years ago. “Cirque du Soleil?”  I’ll wait to see it live in Vegas. “Texas Chainsaw Massacre?” Why would I pay to see blood and body parts realistically flying off the screen and into my expensive popcorn? “The Hobbit?” No, no no. I already suffered through the Ring trilogy understanding little or none of it and finding that hairless creature especially annoying.  Apparently there’s even more of him here AND in 3-D.

Nah..think I’ll save my money and stick with TV where stuff  IS real and precisely what it seems to be like: “Honey Boo Boo”.. “Killer Karaoke”.. “Hillbilly Hand Fishin’..”Springer,” “Amish Mafia” and those cooking shows where British guys scream and swear at budding chefs.

Okay, maybe that last one isn’t real. I mean everybody knows the Brits can’t cook.

UPDATE:

Linda went to see the Doctor this morning to exam her right foot which has been hurting since Christmas. Sounds like a stress fracture of unknown origin. Best we can figure it’s a sympathy injury for Joe. Anyway, she gets to wear a pump-up boot for a couple weeks which has gone and  wiped the familiar smile right off her pretty face.

 A couple more runs to the airport to send our two warm weather offspring back to their coat-free comfortable climates and that will be it. Christmas is a wrap for another year.

The "Kids" James & Brenda up front; Suzan, Christy and Patty L to R back row.

All in all, I’d say it was a good one. Our two youngest grandchildren, Zoey and Ella, seemed delighted with the bags of goodies under the tree.  I don’t know about your house, but at ours, the tedious job of actually wrapping Christmas presents gave way to putting them in brightly colored bags (sacks?) a long time ago. I suppose that disappoints some traditionalists but I’ve yet to hear anybody around here complain.

Zoey and Ella dig into their Christmas bags

Linda and I both feel like we’ve put on plenty of holiday poundage even though I don’t believe I ate more than usual..it’s just that most of the things I consumed have been laden with copious amounts of butter, sugar and animal fats. Right on cue, we’ve both put into motion those annual lies about dieting in the new year..and by god, we mean it this time. But first, I have to finish off the lefse that John Mogen baked and brought over here the other day. I’ve said it before and say it again, his is the best I’ve ever tasted and, it looks like lefse is supposed to look; resembling my dear old great aunt Christie’s mole-covered face. Those of you who are new to the special craft of lefse-making..first of all, good on ya for at least trying to carry on this Scandinavian tradition, but you must realize that those big brown spots which appear during the griddling process are not flaws to be frowned upon and rejected..nay..they are badges of baked perfection by which all great looking and  tasting lefse should be judged. For within those scabby dark circles of burned flour lies the flavor goodness that makes this delicacy so delightful. There are also lots of leftover cookies and candy and Chex mix stuffed into Christmas cans around here but they are nowhere near the temptation to me as the lefse.

John Mogen's perfect lefse

Christmas Eve is always a grand time at our house especially since it was our turn to have Suzan, Joe and Zoey here from Lincoln for our annual ham supper. We have to share them with Zoey’s other grandparents every other Christmas Eve so that meant all the kids and grandkids were in attendance. Although we had some snow, the weather didn’t affect anybody’s travel plans but it was partially to blame for a trip to the emergency room Thursday morning. Joe, my last remaining son in law, is a seasoned actor who is currently drama director at a high school in Lincoln. For years whenever he’s had a performance; either as a performer or director, we’d wish him good luck as is traditional in theater circles, by saying “ Break a Leg.”  I have no idea where that came from..(hold on I’ll check google.) Hmmm..origin obscure but apparently reflects a theatrical superstition in which wishing a performer good luck means bad luck.

Anyway, my performing son in law took the saying a bit too literally the other night and, after an evening of frivolity, proceeded to step out of the passenger side of the van; fell to the ground and broke his leg. It’s a fracture to the smaller bone of his lower leg which does not require a cast but rather a brace and crutches and a whole lot of extra careful trodding around his wife for the next six weeks.

Well, we’re back from the airport and Linda is about to rip into the decorations removing all signs of the season until next December. That means it’s time for me to skeedaddle; not that I’m unwilling to help but she’d rather I didn’t hear the cussing.

Well, we snuck by the end of the world projections on Friday. I must confess, I was sure the Mayan calendar was a bunch of hooey..but kept counting the hours until Saturday officially arrived all around the world. Come on..I’ll bet I’m not the only one.

Anyway, it didn’t take long for the cartoonists to mock the whole thing..here are a few of my favorites.

This is really a lazy short blog today..but we’ve got a house full of family to spend time and food and laughs and presents with as Linda and I hope is the case at your home too. A special thanks to all those of you who keep reading these meanderings. I plan to keep ‘em coming until someone says stop. God’s blessings.

Try as I may, there’s no pretending that last Friday in Connecticut didn’t happen. It did.

Now, as photographs of these precious little ones, who were slaughtered without mercy, appear on the internet, I just can’t look at them. Like many of you, I see my own children and grandchildren in their innocent faces and I weep.  

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”

 I suspect that prayer, or one similar, was said by many of the victims on Thursday night as they were tucked into their beds. So, where was God the next morning to at least provide a warning or a guardian angel to protect them from this attention-seeking mad man armed to the teeth on a mission to snuff out their young lives?

As I imagine the image of those frightened six and seven year olds; executed as they huddled together in a corner of  their classroom, I’m not in the mood to hear about the mysterious ways in which God works or, in seeking comfort, we must offer up more prayers to that same God who seems to have turned a deaf ear to the innocent pleas of those children from the night before. Which prayers get through and which ones find brick walls? How dare I ask the question?

I’m pretty sure I’m not the only Christian whose faith has been shaken to the core by this atrocity and whose reaction has been more of anger than of pious submission and unquestioning obedience; historically a dangerous precedent.  

My maker provided me with a brain; how can he not want me to use it even if it is filled with questions about such things as why children, who’ve yet to experience a full life like mine, have theirs snatched away in a hail of gunfire..or a famine..or genocide or disease? 

I’ve already had one friend on Facebook express disappointment in my attitude. He reminds me that  anger never solves anything but prayer does. I wanted to write back and point out a few obvious exceptions but chose not to. The days, weeks and months ahead are already shaping up to be overwhelmed with fighting between friends who happen to have different opinions about things like gun control and proper parenting.

A few weeks ago, Mallorie Hansmann, Lay Evangelical Leader and music director at Springdale Lutheran Church, asked if I’d narrate this year’s Christmas Cantata featuring music from our adult choir. I said, sure. The title of the presentation was “All Is Well.” Then came Friday when it became crystal clear that all was “not well” and I came close to calling Mallorie to say my heart wasn’t in it and to get somebody else. But, of course, Linda..whose faith never wavers..wasn’t about to let me beg off so I said a quick prayer asking for some sort of revelation to ease my anxiety..then stood up there in front of the congregation so they could get a good look at the hypocrite I am and whom Jesus warned of throughout the gospels, “Beware of practicing your piety before men in order to be seen by them; for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven.”

On the very first page of the narration leading into the choir’s second song, these words jumped out at me as I read them: “For since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; for as all die in “ADAM” so all will be made alive in Christ.

Then I read the account of the Virgin Mary who willingly accepted Gabriel’s call that she bear God’s son..knowing full well that, in spite of his innocence, she would one day have to see her first born son,  Jesus, tortured and nailed to a cross in payment for the world’s sin.

As the choir took a break, a young lady from our congregation with an angelic voice, Mickey McGrann, sang two songs about Mary and the birth of our savior.

The anger I’d been feeling gradually was replaced by a lump in my throat so large I feared being unable to continue the task at hand.

But finish we did and applause for the music and effort by all the participants was genuine and sustained. As I returned to my place out of view during the offertory I heard another sweet young female voice and looked around the corner into the sanctuary to see 8 or 9 year old Sydney Hage playing perfect chords with her little hands on a guitar nearly as big as she was and beautifully singing “Away in a Manger.”

I was glad for the handkerchief I’d remembered to stuff in my jacket and noticed others looking in their pockets and purses for theirs. It was as if God was using this little angel to let us all know that we are not forsaken and He understands our sorrow.

I still ache to know answers to so many spiritual questions..especially why children must suffer and die,  but am also eternally grateful for those two talented young girls whose music helped  steady my own faltering faith in a little country church last Sunday morning.