Where In The World Is Snag - December 12, 2013

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.
5. ?

Carry On, Soldier

One

 "Why'd you join the Army?" I asked Dan when we first met. We were in Texas and I was responsible for orienting him to the base.

"I didn't like the hats they wore in the Navy," he said.

"Really?"

"Why did you join?" he asked.

"Okay, your reason was better than mine."

Two

We were watching M*A*S*H.   Hot Lips' dog got killed. She was crying. So were we.

"Stupid dog," said Hot Lips.

"Stupid dog," Dan said.

"Stupid dog," I said.

Three

It was Thanksgiving. We were sharing an apartment off base.

"Do you really think we should give the turkey carcass to your puppy?" I asked.

"Sure," said Dan. "He'll love it."

Ten minutes later we were cleaning up dog vomit.

"Why'd you get a damn beagle anyway?" I asked. "And why'd you name him Sooner?"

"I know. I should have called him 'the Littlest Angel.'"

"Fucking kill me," I said.

Four

"Do you ever miss the Army?" I asked him. We were living in Seattle. I topped off his daiquiri glass from the pitcher we'd made out of the berries in our back yard.

"Never," he said.

"Not even color guard? Not even when we got to wear those cool, shiny helmets?"

"That sucked," Dan said.

"Remember when Top said we were going to get court-martialed for ragging on the President and we gave him a copy of the First Amendment?"

"That was hilarious," Dan said.

Five

"ALS?" I said. "You've got ALS? Like Lou Gehrig?"

"Yeah," said Dan. "Like Lou Gehrig."

"Shit," I said.

Six

"Thanks for coming to see me," said Dan. He still lived in Seattle, I lived in Minneapolis.

"Of course."

Seven

"What kind of nightmare is this?" Dan asked.

"It's winter in Minnesota. A fucking wonderland."

"This is worse than the Army."

"Nothing's that bad."

"Why did I come visit in February?" he asked.

"Plane tickets are cheaper?" I suggested.

"I wonder why," he said. "My damn hands don't work. Zip up my jacket."

"What's it worth to you?" I asked.

"What's it worth to keep me from telling your wife you were picking on a cripple?" he asked.

Eight

"What's that song?" I asked. My middle son and I were in Portland, staying with Dan, his wife, and their kids.

"Johnny Cash's version of 'The Mercy Seat,'" said Dan.

"It's haunting," I said.

"Try listening to it when you're dying," said Dan. He laughed.

Nine

"Hey, I'll see you in a few months. I've got business in Portland," I said.

"Perfect," he said. "Maybe the Packers will be playing. We can catch the game on TV."

"Yeah, whatever," I said.

"Nobody loves the Packers like I do," he said. "Except maybe your wife. Hey, did I tell you they sent me an autographed ball and a bunch of other stuff? Somebody wrote them and said I was a fan. They must have felt sorry for me."

"That was awfully decent of them," I said.

"I felt like I was stealing from the Make-A-Wish Foundation," said Dan.

Ten

"I'm sorry," said Dan's wife. "He's gone."

Goodbye, Dad

Bernard "Bud" Greensweig, age 84, passed away peacefully at his home in Royalton Township outside of Pine City, Tuesday, September 3, 2013.  Bud was born May 11, 1929 to Solomon (Sol) and Sadie Greensweig in Brooklyn, New York.  Bud received his undergraduate and law degrees from Northwestern University and his master's degree from the University of Chicago.  

Bud was a successful executive in Minneapolis and Atlanta and for a number of years ran his own law practice.  Bud was also an accomplished violinist who played with the Bloomington Symphony Orchestra, North Side Symphony Orchestra of Chicago and the Atlanta Pops Orchestra.  Throughout his life he enjoyed playing string quartets and making bad puns.  In January of 1984 he married his wife Jacquelyn.  They enjoyed their grandchildren, traveling, music, art, and their pets.

Bud was preceded in death by his parents Sol and Sadie, sisters Audrey and Ruth, and brother in-law Al Goldrich.  Bud is survived by his wife Jacquelyn of Pine City, son Dan (Colleen) Greensweig of Circle Pines, daughter Eve Meys (Tony) of St. Louis Park, son Thom (Alana) Petersen of Pine City, his grandchildren Josh, Ben, Noah, Ellie, Dylan and Waylon, and his nephew Barry (Jill) Goldrich and Noreen Goldrich of Chicago.

The family would like to thank the staff of St. Croix Hospice and Family Pathways for their assistance.  In celebration of Bud's life a reception will be held on Sunday, September 15, 2013 from 2pm - 5 pm at the family's home, 9218 Linden Lane, Pine City MN.

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.

Where In The World Is Snag - July 29, 2013

1. Rocky Mountain High
2. As in high
3. It's been better
4. It's been worse.
5. ?

Goal

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.

The players grew up, and so did their parents. There were some divorces, not all of them easy, and when that happened, the coach and the team would rally around, not saying a word, just forming a protective circle until things got better. Even for the adults, soccer was one of the places differences got put aside, somewhere everyone could cheer for the same thing.

When a kid couldn't afford the registration fee, there was always a scholarship, a chance to earn some money, maybe a few parents kicking in a couple bucks or a pair of cleats, and soon enough there would be another teammate, another boy playing soccer instead of watching TV or something worse. It wasn't the Bad News Bears, they took it more seriously than that, but it was a place where the only thing that mattered was how hard you'd work and how good a teammate you could be.

Eventually, high school soccer took most of them. That was good too, and my son loved that almost as much as the summer season, running miles every day to get in shape, pouring his heart into the game. In the winter, they'd play indoors, usually late at night without many parents around, and as a ref once told me when I complained about being out on a cold winter evening, "Hey, it's midnight on a Friday and your kid's playing soccer. Can't complain about that."

But time rolls on and the final year of varsity soccer ended, and one more season of indoor play, and then it was the last summer before the boys, young men now, headed off to college. In a few weeks, my kid is leaving for school in Arizona, 1,600 miles away. I won't see him until December.

But this summer, one more time, one last time, they played for the coach who'd been with them since elementary school, coaching his own son and all these others he's grown to know so well, and this was an ending for him too. No more Mountain Dew and cupcakes after a game to celebrate a birthday, no more water balloon fights while his wife shook her head, no more walking off the field having learned a little more by losing than by winning.

It was a good year. They played well, they played like a team, they played like a team that had been together for almost ten years, they played like a team that believed in what they were doing.

And last night they played for the state championship. Tied at the end of regulation. Tied at the end of the first overtime. Tied at the end of the second overtime. A shootout. Tied 4-4, with my son on the line. The last time he'll ever touch a ball for this team. It goes in, he scores, he's got the winning goal, and as the team celebrates, I swear he floats above the field and so do I, looking down at all that's been.

Hasten Thee To See This Band

Songs I Never Hated - Part 42 (Happy Anniversary, Lovely Bride)

I Swear To God, If It Rains This Weekend I Am So Out Of Here

Where In The World Is Snag - June 1, 2013

1. Alaska

2. North of Alaska

3. North of north of Alaska

4. I don't care

5. ?

Happy Birthday, Bob

Enlightenment

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.

I'm So Proud Of My State

Testify, Brother!

"Why, God? Why us?" said Gary (who asked that his last name not be used), commenting on winter's lengthy intrusion into spring on St. Paul's East Side on Thursday April 11, 2013. "I hate snow. I don't ice fish. I don't ski, I don't do any of that ice junk. I like golf balls and sand and flowers. That's my life, that's what I like. I don't know why a person in their right mind would live in Minnesota. Nothing about it do I like," he said.