1. Not in the Arctic.
2. For a change.
3. More of a frozen wasteland of the soul.
4. But there's no minus sign on front of the temperature.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Sunday, September 29, 2013
"That sucked," Dan said.
"Nothing's that bad."
"What's it worth to you?" I asked.
Posted by Snag at 11:33 PM
Thursday, September 5, 2013
In lieu of flowers, memorial may be sent to Pine City Arts Council to help sponsor a community concert. Pine City Arts Council, 65 2nd Street SE, Pine City, MN 55063.
Posted by Snag at 10:47 PM
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Last night my middle son's soccer team played their last game. They've been together a long time, most of them, since before this picture was taken. They've had some years when they won a lot of games and some years when they lost even more, but he loves soccer, he loves his teammates, and he's loved every minute of it.
When they started out, almost ten years ago, their coach told them how they lost was more important than how they won. He told the parents that too. Most important, he believed it and he lived it. He's still their coach, or he was until last night, and in all those years he never lost his temper, he never raised his voice at an official, he never treated his players, or their opponents, with anything but respect. And the team followed his lead.
God, my son loved soccer, though. If he could, he'd find a friend to kick the ball around. If he couldn't, he'd go by himself. If it rained or snowed, he'd play in our kitchen.
"Knock it off," I'd tell him. "You're going to break something."
"Nothing's broken yet," he'd reply.
"'Yet' is the operative term," I'd say.
Then I'd leave and he'd start bouncing the ball off the cabinets again.
That wasn't the worst though. The worst was his cleats. He left them in someone's car once and she thought an animal had died under the seat. Those damn shoes were always under our kitchen table or in the entryway or on the counter.
"Would it kill you to put them in the storage room?" I'd ask.
"It's not worth the risk of finding out," he'd say.
Every summer, there was an international tournament not far from here. He played teams from Norway, Mexico, Argentina, Venezuela. Once, when he was about ten, he played a team from Brazil. A high crossing pass came his way and he went up, both feet extended, and punched it in. We still talk about that one. Part of the family lore now, I guess.
Posted by Snag at 10:56 PM
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
We were sitting at my kitchen table. "You're going where?" I asked my mother.
"Chautauqua, New York," she said.
"Isn't that where Sacco and Vanzetti lived?"
"Stop being ridiculous," she said.
"They had to live somewhere," I said. "Why not a hippie commune?"
"I am not going to a hippie commune," she said.
"How would you know?" I asked. "You'll be stoned the whole time."
"I'm not sure this is an appropriate time for a discussion about who experimented with what and when," she said with a forced smile, much to the delight of my middle son.
"Yeah, well," I pointed out.
"I am going to Chautauqua for the lectures."
"And I get Hustler for the articles," I said.
"Is that so?" asked the Lovely Bride.
Oops. "Anyway, I'll lecture you for free," I said.
"He will, too," said the kid. "Too bad his lectures are stupid and boring."
"Does your brain have a hard shell on it?" I asked him.
"Your brain has the shell on it," he replied.
"Shut up, Richard," I said.
We both giggled.
"What are they talking about?" my mother asked the Lovely Bride.
"God knows," she said. "Ignore them."
"I usually do. In any event, I'm looking forward to the trip."
"Tell me about it," said the Lovely Bride. "It sounds interesting."
"You don't have to suck up to her," I said. "She signed over her property to us last week."
"I did no such thing," said my mother.
"I've got a court order that says otherwise," I said.
"Shut up," suggested the Lovely Bride.
"Anyway, there are a number of interesting speakers. There's one on the Marshall Plan, another on the assassination of Huey Long, and one on the counterculture of the 1960s."
"Break on through to the other side," I said.
Another glare from the Lovely Bride.
"Why aren't you as cool as Grandma?" asked the middle boy.
I frowned. "What?"
"Grandma's the most interesting person in the world. Why aren't you like her?"
"I'm way cooler," I said.
"You're just weird," he said. "Chubby, too."
My youngest looked up from his homework. "Can giraffes get fat?"
Silence. He surveyed our raised eyebrows and cocked heads. Apparently satisfied, he returned to his book report.
"Thank you," my mother told the middle child. "I get a great deal of pleasure out of my visits here."
"So do we," I said, giving her a kiss on the top of her head.
"I wasn't talking to you," she said.
Posted by Snag at 11:05 PM