Happy Birthday Dad

This is my dad and today is his 73rd birthday. Hard to believe I know. Try going out in public with him and being asked if you're his wife. I've had boyfriends that looked older than he does. I love my dad and would be proud to be related to him in anyway and consider it a great gift to call him my friend. My brother has been doing some work in Washington, D.C. lately so on his last trip he hit the George Washington University (Dad's law school alma mater) bookstore and got Dad a sweatshirt, tie, and baseball cap. He was thrilled but thankfully promised not to wear them all at the same time. That choice that he and my mother made over forty years ago to leave their hometown, be the first of his siblings to attend college much less graduate school, and spend a few years in our nation's capitol had a profound effect on not just him, but on his family and people he hadn't even met yet—namely my brothers and sister and me. Going to college wasn't even a question for us. We all wanted to go and three of us have Master's degrees. It also gave them a maturity and a bond in their new marriage that served as a foundation for the years to come. Thanks Dad for all the sacrifices you made for me and being someone I can look-up to and still laugh with.

Anyone? Anyone?

Granted, I went to this movie last Friday not expecting anything, but I have to say I found it VERY interesting. Also very interesting is the fact that you can get into an argument over the subject of the film with almost anyone, i.e. my 15 year old nephew and myself. We've never argued about anything before. Ever. Check it out.

St. Greg and St. Paul to St. Croix

If you haven't read the book below yet about Greg Mortensen, READ IT NOW! Awesome. Very inspiring and educational as far as the whole middle east situation is concerned. Education is the key to the conflict over there. Finished it while I was in the booming metropolis of Osceola, Wisconsin on a press check this week. I go there a few times a year. The trip actually went better than I thought and I was able to spend some down time strolling through an antique store and watching a girls high school softball game. It's a pretty drive to get there from St. Paul on a scenic byway along the St. Croix river. Luckily, I also avoided hitting any deer, racoons, or possums with my rented burnt orange Saturn Vue while traversing it for the first time in the dark:)

May I also stake this time to say how much I love NOT doing my own taxes! I wrote my accountant a check today and seriously almost cried for joy. It's a pleasure to pay them.

way cool posters

These are all done by a local guy in a local studio called furturtle. I doubt that he's commissioned for all of them, but just does them for fun. Check them all out at http://furturtle.com/Silkscreenedposters.htm

mom was a girl scout

Alan's friend recently sent these to him. His mother grew up with ours. These are circa 1943-47-ish. Mom's second from the left in the Sunday School one and second from the right in the girl scout one. I love knowing she was a girl scout and wore a skirt with hiking shoes. Although, as you can see, she's characteristically not too happy about that. She's standing in that one between her two best friends. One of which was my third grade teacher and the other who preceded her in death was my piano teacher. After seeing this photo I think it was the first time I realized that they are together now. Also love the kid in the fedora in front.

my favorite poet

Litany
by Billy Collins
You are the bread and the knife, The crystal goblet and the wine... —Jacques Crickillon You are the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine. You are the dew on the morning grass and the burning wheel of the sun. You are the white apron of the baker, and the marsh birds suddenly in flight. However, you are not the wind in the orchard, the plums on the counter, or the house of cards. And you are certainly not the pine-scented air. There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air. It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge, maybe even the pigeon on the general's head, but you are not even close to being the field of cornflowers at dusk. And a quick look in the mirror will show that you are neither the boots in the corner nor the boat asleep in its boathouse. It might interest you to know, speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world, that I am the sound of rain on the roof. I also happen to be the shooting star, the evening paper blowing down an alley and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table. I am also the moon in the trees and the blind woman's tea cup. But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife. You are still the bread and the knife. You will always be the bread and the knife, not to mention the crystal goblet and—somehow—the wine.