Friday, March 26, 2010
Canada, Oh!
Tonight we got an email from our son, who is proposing a trip along the north shore of Lake Superior with his girlfriend Rebecca. This is, I suspect, primarily a re-creation of a trip he took with his father in 1996, but that trip was itself a re-creation of a trip his father and I took in 1979. He probably owes his existence to that trip.
I had taken a contract job in St. Paul that year and was having a great time in the twin cities. Tom remained behind in a house we shared with friends in Madison, and I commuted home on the Greyhound bus every other weekend. It was a hellish trip and I resented having to make it. In between, I made calls from a phone booth on 7th Avenue in St. Paul--Tom would leave messages with the operators to ask me to call. It was all a bit more personal in the pre-cell phone days, even in a phone booth on the 3M plant-side of the tracks in St. Paul ( the whole neighborhood smelled of Scotch tape).
By the time he arrived to pick me up in St. Paul at the end of the contract, our future was a question mark. We spent the next two weeks, meandering along the north shore of Lake Superior, moving and re-pitching our tent every night. We got good at it--it became less of an ordeal and more of a smooth process. We learned a little something at each stop.
We (I) learned that you can lose a lot of money playing gin rummy for double or nothing, especially after many Amaretto shooters. We had the opportunity to mine amethysts and learned that you can't pay rent with the proceeds. We spent time in a town with the largest incidence of twins in North America, and learned that they don't walk around arm-in-arm for the benefit of tourists. We learned that a small chipmunk can make a very large dent in a pot of macaroni, and that it is never a good idea to engage in a tug-of war with a skunk over a loaf of bread. We learned that baby moose are still plenty large and that border guards (even then) don't appreciate humor that involves weapons. Somewhere between Thunder Bay and the Mackinac bridge we also found our future again.
So yes, my son, you can borrow the tent, the stove, the lantern and the cooler. You are on your own for the Amaretto.
I had taken a contract job in St. Paul that year and was having a great time in the twin cities. Tom remained behind in a house we shared with friends in Madison, and I commuted home on the Greyhound bus every other weekend. It was a hellish trip and I resented having to make it. In between, I made calls from a phone booth on 7th Avenue in St. Paul--Tom would leave messages with the operators to ask me to call. It was all a bit more personal in the pre-cell phone days, even in a phone booth on the 3M plant-side of the tracks in St. Paul ( the whole neighborhood smelled of Scotch tape).
By the time he arrived to pick me up in St. Paul at the end of the contract, our future was a question mark. We spent the next two weeks, meandering along the north shore of Lake Superior, moving and re-pitching our tent every night. We got good at it--it became less of an ordeal and more of a smooth process. We learned a little something at each stop.
We (I) learned that you can lose a lot of money playing gin rummy for double or nothing, especially after many Amaretto shooters. We had the opportunity to mine amethysts and learned that you can't pay rent with the proceeds. We spent time in a town with the largest incidence of twins in North America, and learned that they don't walk around arm-in-arm for the benefit of tourists. We learned that a small chipmunk can make a very large dent in a pot of macaroni, and that it is never a good idea to engage in a tug-of war with a skunk over a loaf of bread. We learned that baby moose are still plenty large and that border guards (even then) don't appreciate humor that involves weapons. Somewhere between Thunder Bay and the Mackinac bridge we also found our future again.
So yes, my son, you can borrow the tent, the stove, the lantern and the cooler. You are on your own for the Amaretto.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Congressmen
Oh my. Say what you will about the health care reform bill (pause for editorial comment, "it is about damn time, and I am sure it would have been better if everybody had been participating instead of obstructing"), the political rhetoric has been astounding. Let's start right here in my home state where Congressman Ryan had a lot to say. As it turns out, so do I.
CR: This bill does not reduce the deficit.
Me: I thought the purpose of all was to provide affordable health care to average citizens.
CR: What kind of country will we be in the 21st century?
Me: Hopefully a healthier and more prosperous one.
CR: Do we want the government having a bigger role in making personal decisions?
Me: No, that is why it is a mistake to criminalize abortion, regardless of who pays for it.
CR: Our rights come from nature and nature's God, and not from the government.
Me: Are you referring to Gaia/Mother Earth--and is the Republican party okay with this view?
CR: When the government creates rights and is solely responsible for delivering these artificial rights...
Me: Wait, are we talking about guns now? Let's not go there.
CR: This bill is condescending--more Americans will have to depend on the government than themselves.
Me: You mean like those people who can't afford to retire after a lifetime of work because they are too young for Medicare and can't pay for health care? Those people? Or maybe it is the elderly at the end of their lives who watch their life savings disappear into the nursing home until they are on their last dime and can finally apply for Medicaid? Or perhaps you mean the people who would like to return to school and retrain for more relevant employment who are held prisoner by their employer-paid health insurance. "Let freedom ring" has a whole new meaning with affordable health care.
And Congressman "Baby Killer" Neugebauer? You should be ashamed of yourself. Bills don't kill babies, poor health care does.
Now sit down and shut up. There is serious work to be done.
CR: This bill does not reduce the deficit.
Me: I thought the purpose of all was to provide affordable health care to average citizens.
CR: What kind of country will we be in the 21st century?
Me: Hopefully a healthier and more prosperous one.
CR: Do we want the government having a bigger role in making personal decisions?
Me: No, that is why it is a mistake to criminalize abortion, regardless of who pays for it.
CR: Our rights come from nature and nature's God, and not from the government.
Me: Are you referring to Gaia/Mother Earth--and is the Republican party okay with this view?
CR: When the government creates rights and is solely responsible for delivering these artificial rights...
Me: Wait, are we talking about guns now? Let's not go there.
CR: This bill is condescending--more Americans will have to depend on the government than themselves.
Me: You mean like those people who can't afford to retire after a lifetime of work because they are too young for Medicare and can't pay for health care? Those people? Or maybe it is the elderly at the end of their lives who watch their life savings disappear into the nursing home until they are on their last dime and can finally apply for Medicaid? Or perhaps you mean the people who would like to return to school and retrain for more relevant employment who are held prisoner by their employer-paid health insurance. "Let freedom ring" has a whole new meaning with affordable health care.
And Congressman "Baby Killer" Neugebauer? You should be ashamed of yourself. Bills don't kill babies, poor health care does.
Now sit down and shut up. There is serious work to be done.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Confession
Okay, deep breath, here we go..I mailed something for a stranger today. I can almost hear the collective gasp, the thought--how could she? Well, it started innocently enough. I was crossing the street to my car with a flat rate package under my arm, when an approaching car slowed, and then stopped. The window rolled down and a middle-aged woman leaned out. "Do you work for the Post Office?" she asked. "No," I responded, "I am just on my way to the Post Office." "Well in that case," she said, "would you mind mailing something for me?"
I hesitated. "You mean like a letter?"
"Some birthday cards."
"Well...okay."
She pulled them from her dash and handed me three Hallmark-like envelopes, waved, and cheerily sped off.
I looked at them--her return address from two blocks from my house and one of the cards was going to a Very Reverend somebody in Milwaukee. I took them to the Post Office. I mailed them.
What kind of person entrusts their mail to a total stranger? Well, Constance somebody from down the street. What kind of person accepts mail from a stranger? Apparently me.
What does this mean? Well, I think it means that the terrorists haven't won. Unless they have. In which case, I know nothing.
I hesitated. "You mean like a letter?"
"Some birthday cards."
"Well...okay."
She pulled them from her dash and handed me three Hallmark-like envelopes, waved, and cheerily sped off.
I looked at them--her return address from two blocks from my house and one of the cards was going to a Very Reverend somebody in Milwaukee. I took them to the Post Office. I mailed them.
What kind of person entrusts their mail to a total stranger? Well, Constance somebody from down the street. What kind of person accepts mail from a stranger? Apparently me.
What does this mean? Well, I think it means that the terrorists haven't won. Unless they have. In which case, I know nothing.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Carry-Out
I really like good food, and I have come to realize that, for me, it is often a reward after a difficult day...or week..or month. I am working with a dietician and I am currently confounding her with yoyo swings of gain and loss. She refers to me as her "wild card." Today I I facetiously brought up the idea of "mindful eating" with the idea that one watches what one eats and then lets those thoughts go with return to the breath. In other words, I am watching myself eat peanut M and M's and the observation is neutral as long as I continue to breathe. She embraced the concept and actually gave it substance with further exploration. This is why I continue to see her--she puts positive spin on my sarcastic output.
But back to the reward aspect of this. I have had a hellish week in many respects, doing what I least like to do--making people unhappy (even if I am absolutely correct in my methods and conclusions). My husband was out playing cards tonight and I was on my own for dinner, so I went to a restaurant I love, that he is lukewarm about. I usually get carry-out there and I don't always tip, though I was feeling a bit guilty about that. I decided I would tip tonight, just because I like the owner as well as the food.
I was glad to see that it was so busy that I had to sit on a chair in the hall, rather than at a table,while I waited for my chicken shwarma. Teresa, the owner, brought it out to me there. When I reminded her that I still needed to pay, she told me that she was buying me dinner for being a loyal customer for the past six years. I was stunned. She has nothing to gain from this gesture because I am already a loyal customer and business is clearly booming. This was reward for the business I had already provided, rather that anything I might provide in the future. The opposite of lobbying, and completely unexpected. What a lovely gesture and one that put the rest of my week in perspective.
And the chicken shwarma? Delicious, as always. Thank you Teresa!
But back to the reward aspect of this. I have had a hellish week in many respects, doing what I least like to do--making people unhappy (even if I am absolutely correct in my methods and conclusions). My husband was out playing cards tonight and I was on my own for dinner, so I went to a restaurant I love, that he is lukewarm about. I usually get carry-out there and I don't always tip, though I was feeling a bit guilty about that. I decided I would tip tonight, just because I like the owner as well as the food.
I was glad to see that it was so busy that I had to sit on a chair in the hall, rather than at a table,while I waited for my chicken shwarma. Teresa, the owner, brought it out to me there. When I reminded her that I still needed to pay, she told me that she was buying me dinner for being a loyal customer for the past six years. I was stunned. She has nothing to gain from this gesture because I am already a loyal customer and business is clearly booming. This was reward for the business I had already provided, rather that anything I might provide in the future. The opposite of lobbying, and completely unexpected. What a lovely gesture and one that put the rest of my week in perspective.
And the chicken shwarma? Delicious, as always. Thank you Teresa!
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Coincidence
I am sure there are many ways to describe and quantify coincidence. There are those things that happen when we expect them to--that may be coincidence, but it may also be that the reason we expect them to happen is that subconsciously we know they are likely to. So, not so much coincidence as the result of subconscious analysis. Then there are the small world, six degrees of separation stories that I love to collect. Finally, there is probability and coincidence from the mathematical standpoint. What are the odds that your favorite number coincidentally turns out to the same number the lottery picks as a winner?
I think we are talking about the third category here. Last Saturday, we got a somewhat agitated phone call from an attorney who works at the Dept. of Agriculture, Trade, and Consumer Protection. She apologized for not calling back sooner, but she had been tailgating at the football game and had her phone off. Nevertheless, a call on Saturday from my husband, the Risk Manager at DATCP, could mean only one thing: activation of the emergency phone tree.
There was only one problem. He hadn't called her. In fact, we hadn't called anyone all morning. Nevertheless, she was certain. Caller ID gave his name and the call back number was certainly our home number. There was a garbled message, something about "Did you turn off the phone?" Suddenly the light dawned. Tom's brother had stopped by earlier in the day and asked to use the phone before he left. He had to make a call about his daughter, but he misdialed, hung up, and dialed again.
We live in a metro area of 350,000 and the number of people who can be reached by calling a local number is certainly greater than that. Here is a story problem for all of you mathematicians out there. What are the chances that a wrong number would reach a person who both recognized the name on the caller ID AND had a potentially legitimate reason for getting such a call on a Saturday?
It is enough to make me want to buy a lottery ticket.
I think we are talking about the third category here. Last Saturday, we got a somewhat agitated phone call from an attorney who works at the Dept. of Agriculture, Trade, and Consumer Protection. She apologized for not calling back sooner, but she had been tailgating at the football game and had her phone off. Nevertheless, a call on Saturday from my husband, the Risk Manager at DATCP, could mean only one thing: activation of the emergency phone tree.
There was only one problem. He hadn't called her. In fact, we hadn't called anyone all morning. Nevertheless, she was certain. Caller ID gave his name and the call back number was certainly our home number. There was a garbled message, something about "Did you turn off the phone?" Suddenly the light dawned. Tom's brother had stopped by earlier in the day and asked to use the phone before he left. He had to make a call about his daughter, but he misdialed, hung up, and dialed again.
We live in a metro area of 350,000 and the number of people who can be reached by calling a local number is certainly greater than that. Here is a story problem for all of you mathematicians out there. What are the chances that a wrong number would reach a person who both recognized the name on the caller ID AND had a potentially legitimate reason for getting such a call on a Saturday?
It is enough to make me want to buy a lottery ticket.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Contraband
I heard a story the other day that I thought was pretty funny--though probably not for the people who lived it. Nevertheless, I am prepared to laugh at their expense. This concerns a group of guys who do an annual fishing trip to Canada--rent a cabin, stay a few days, drink a lot of beer and commune with nature. At the border crossing, they were asked if they had any produce. Well, knowing full well there would be no problem (and probably to divert attention from the amount of alcohol they were bringing along) they declared the potatoes destined for the steak dinner on the first night at the cabin.
Oops.
The potatoes were enough of a red flag that the Canadians ran checks on all of them for prior vegetable smuggling convictions. It turned out they were first-timers with the vegetables, but one of the guys had a prior DUI--an automatic felony in Canada. And this from a country that shares a border with Wisconsin--they must be more foreign then they seem. Anyway, they would not admit the poor sap into the country and in a three musketeers gesture, his companions refused to proceed without him.
So they turned back, only to find that their nongrata status in Canada had all the alarms ringing on the US side of the border. In short, the US border patrol couldn't say exactly why, but they really didn't want them back. Not if Canada didn't want them. Caught in no-man's land with a sniper pacing the roof between the two borders, they spent an additional few miserable hours trying to smuggle their potatoes back into the land of their births.
And as I listened to this story, I couldn't help thinking about how times have changed. I remembered the time we crossed from Canada into the US with a car full of chaotic and muddy camping gear and the guy asked us if we had any guns. We invited him to check for himself, and though he didn't laugh as much as we thought he might, he didn't arrest us either.
And the sniffer dog who went into high alert over my carry-on bag which contained a large sheep's cheese from Italy--well I lied to the dog as well as his handler and they looked at me and my two young nervous cheese-smuggling children and let us all walk.
Would that happen now? I am not so sure. A kilo of declared Italian dried herbs (and yes, a kilo of dried herbs does connote a certain something, as well as being a really impressive amount of herbage) did walk through Chicago customs a few years ago, but the reindeer jerky from Norway did not. Apparently there is a ruminant virus in Scandinavia and we don't want to catch it. No, we would rather hold the fort at chronic wasting disease, a prion disorder that I prefer to call mad deer disease. I explained that I had no intention of eating the reindeer jerky or feeding it to other deer, but only wanted it to stuff the Christmas stockings of my (adult) children and claim it came from Rudolph. Maybe I got what I deserved...or maybe the customs guy thought that was an excellent idea and confiscated my jerky to distribute himself.
Either way, the fun is certainly going out of crossing international borders with food, one of my favorite souvenirs. And don't even think of taking anything with dirt on it into New Zealand. Kiwis may seem very happy-go-lucky, but those customs people can be quite severe. Trust me, I know.
I think it is only a matter of time before we are dumping not only our shoes, but all of clothes, into those little gray bins. Then naked through the showers before seeing the sidewalks of any other country. Mark my words.
Oops.
The potatoes were enough of a red flag that the Canadians ran checks on all of them for prior vegetable smuggling convictions. It turned out they were first-timers with the vegetables, but one of the guys had a prior DUI--an automatic felony in Canada. And this from a country that shares a border with Wisconsin--they must be more foreign then they seem. Anyway, they would not admit the poor sap into the country and in a three musketeers gesture, his companions refused to proceed without him.
So they turned back, only to find that their nongrata status in Canada had all the alarms ringing on the US side of the border. In short, the US border patrol couldn't say exactly why, but they really didn't want them back. Not if Canada didn't want them. Caught in no-man's land with a sniper pacing the roof between the two borders, they spent an additional few miserable hours trying to smuggle their potatoes back into the land of their births.
And as I listened to this story, I couldn't help thinking about how times have changed. I remembered the time we crossed from Canada into the US with a car full of chaotic and muddy camping gear and the guy asked us if we had any guns. We invited him to check for himself, and though he didn't laugh as much as we thought he might, he didn't arrest us either.
And the sniffer dog who went into high alert over my carry-on bag which contained a large sheep's cheese from Italy--well I lied to the dog as well as his handler and they looked at me and my two young nervous cheese-smuggling children and let us all walk.
Would that happen now? I am not so sure. A kilo of declared Italian dried herbs (and yes, a kilo of dried herbs does connote a certain something, as well as being a really impressive amount of herbage) did walk through Chicago customs a few years ago, but the reindeer jerky from Norway did not. Apparently there is a ruminant virus in Scandinavia and we don't want to catch it. No, we would rather hold the fort at chronic wasting disease, a prion disorder that I prefer to call mad deer disease. I explained that I had no intention of eating the reindeer jerky or feeding it to other deer, but only wanted it to stuff the Christmas stockings of my (adult) children and claim it came from Rudolph. Maybe I got what I deserved...or maybe the customs guy thought that was an excellent idea and confiscated my jerky to distribute himself.
Either way, the fun is certainly going out of crossing international borders with food, one of my favorite souvenirs. And don't even think of taking anything with dirt on it into New Zealand. Kiwis may seem very happy-go-lucky, but those customs people can be quite severe. Trust me, I know.
I think it is only a matter of time before we are dumping not only our shoes, but all of clothes, into those little gray bins. Then naked through the showers before seeing the sidewalks of any other country. Mark my words.
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