How does our enjoyment or approach to experiencing something affect others? Kate and I went to a Weepies concert recently. If you don't know the Weepies (or I suppose even if you do know them), they are a married couple who make what Spotify calls "folk-pop" music. Probably "The World Spins Madly On" is their best known song. I'm pretty sure it was a background song on Gray's Anatomy (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWHnO9c-97U). "Painting by Chagall" is one of my favorites. Six players at this concert, including a drummer. So the music was slightly upbeat, once in a while what you might call light rock and roll. They are not AC-DC or the Grateful Dead. They aren't the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra either.
We saw them at the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul, where the Prairie Home Companion is often performed. Seated right behind us was a middle-aged guy named Fred (his pre-show monologue enabled me to know his name and much more information about him, and about the Weepies, singers like the Weepies, early albums by Deb Tannen [aka Mrs. Weepie], and a variety of other topics). He was completely jazzed to see the Weepies in person. Probably his favorite group, or at least it appeared that way. He was just excited. When his date went to the rest room after the opening act I whispered to Kate, "He'll find someone else to talk to while she is gone." And so he did, bubbling over with information and opinions. When a song started he could hardly contain himself. He had to yell "Whooo!!!!!!" or "Yesssssssssss!!" at the start of each song. At least for me, these were not "Whooo!!!!" songs. He was so excited that he took a photo from our balcony seats during an early song. He had already informed his date that he didn't take very good photos with his iPhone. I could see the truth of that statement when a minute into the second song a flash went off, startling both Kate and me and confirming at least one reason his photos weren't much good - since the flash ensured that he had a photo consisting of mostly a flare which was my bald spot and perhaps some definition on the others in my row. None of the flash reached the stage until it was too late. Just a guy enjoying the concert in his own way. And the concert clearly meant more to him than it did to me.
In the row in front of us at the same concert were a couple that had a Jack Spratt quality. She was short and sort of squat. He was rangy. But his most remarkable quality was his hair, which rose in a tufted mountain over his scalp what must conservatively been six inches. For the warmup act Ms. Spratt sat in front of me, and Jack sat in front of the woman to my right. After the break they rightfully changed seats, in deference to the shorter woman on my right. Ms. Spratt was careful to inquire of both of us if we could see (I could with a small adjustment of my seating position - my neighbor really couldn't). Ms. Spratt even said that they considered bringing a swimming cap to deal with the problem. But I really appreciated her effort to minimize Mr. Spratt's impact on his fellow concert goers.
Life is full of examples like these. Two of our neighbors at the cabin are "motor" guys. They are happiest on a mower or an ATV or driving a backhoe or revving up the Jet-Ski. I'm happiest watching birds or reading or staring into space - and their enjoyment affects mine.
And it goes both ways. My cabin habits are quieter (and therefore to my eye less intrusive). But I don't hesitate to wander onto their property when watching a bird or throwing a bocce ball. I don't think that's offensive but they might just be too nice to say anything.
Also, I humbly admit that I like to think of jokes in the run of a conversation. And I also must admit that once they are floating around my brain I have a nearly compulsive need to "share" them. I know I have interrupted and deflected many a serious conversation and not a few business meetings to share something I thought was funny, often when someone was making a serious point. I'm just another excited guy enjoying myself and doing what I love. Reacting to a situation in a way that feels natural and right. But it does affect other's ability to make their point. To say what they want to say. To accomplish what needs to be accomplished. To enjoy the conversation.
So what is "the answer"? Like most things, there isn't "an answer." People get enjoyment in different ways. Some have fun in a noisy way, others quietly. Some love a little controversy and argument to spice things up. Others hate that. I know I should do better at respecting the situation and the needs of others. Perhaps next time I will apologize after making a joke at an inappropriate time. But I will probably still make the joke.
Thursday, June 11
Monday, April 20
Structured Spontenaeity
The first goal of our just completed trip to points east, my mother-in-law Kitty's celebration of her 90th birthday, can be put in the "mission accomplished" category. It went really well. Great food. An interesting and fun crowd at the party. A great week with Madeline leading up to the party (completed with an exciting Badger game right after the party where Madeline and I led the Badgers to victory with clever celebratory clinks of our drink glasses after positive plays by the Badgers).
There was lots of laughter and fun. At least from my perspective, a success in every way.
But, like many of the trips we have been on, the initial part of our trip had a clear direction and endpoint - in this case the party itself and getting Madeline to the airport for her flight back to Madison.
Then Kate and I set out on a somewhat different type of journey. One with a much less defined structure. It reminded me in some ways of 1980 - a year I spent being "a bum", wandering from place to place in an almost completely random way. And particularly of the time spent in Europe with a Eurail pass and later a bicycle. At that time I would go places and change directions on a whim with no particular destination or time parameters built into the equation.
We are once again free to choose at any time to speed up or slow down. Turn right or turn left. But we aren't kids in our twenties anymore. We have some need, at least at this point, for structure. A plan made with at least a little forethought. So there was some learning and adjustment to make.
Sometimes on the second part of our trip we began in a fog, unsure if we were even going in the intended direction, to the extent we had an intended direction.
But in almost every case the fog quickly cleared to allow us to see our way more or less clearly - even if the fog and clouds were still in the area.
Our newfound freedom, with its lack of time constraints, let us have a great little side trip lunch with Kate's long-time friend Barbara.
We could spend a Friday night at Phipp's Store near Lansing, NC.
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And we found time for some horse racing at Keeneland in Lexington, Kentucky.
We were even able to share a glass of wine (well, several glasses of wine) with great friends.
What a deal!
I'm sure we will continue to improve on our newfound ability to "stop and smell the flowers" on future trips. There are definitely lots of flowers out there.
Tuesday, March 31
Adjustments - An Extrovert on the Tundra
I always knew that the first few months of retirement would involve adjustments. The trip that Kate and I had planned was planned in part as a segue into that new era. A fun time to adjust to a new life stage for me and for us. Then that trip was derailed by my heart attack, creating a new set of adjustments that "trumped" the retirement changes, at least for a while.
The fact is that the physical challenges of my heart attack were quite short term. I felt fine except for one hour or so and was only a little bit uncomfortable afterwards - and what little discomfort I had was due to a few tubes and ports that remained in my arms for a day or two. I didn't really feel any different than the days before. No worse and also no better. Just about the same. There were some physical adjustments to new medicines, and there are certainly mental adjustments to make as well. "How hard can I exercise?" "Is that pain or discomfort or feeling anything to worry about?" And oddly, my experiences with cancer 16 years ago prepared me quite well for the process of answering those questions.
One adjustment that I hadn't really anticipated was the effect on me of the relatively quieter life of a retired person. If the many Myers Briggs tests I have taken during my corporate lives at Pillsbury and Scoular are accurate (and at least on this metric I believe they are), I am an extrovert. I'm not always bubbly and outgoing, but I get energy from interactions with others. At least in part, I had apparently long been being "energized" by diverting serious discussions with my work colleagues down mostly useless but entertaining side roads by means of jokes and puns and silliness. And in retirement there was less opportunity for finding that energy. Kate can only accommodate so much of my silliness. So I need to find ways to replace that energy source. And during the winter in Minnesota idle conversations over the back fence are few and far between. It's been fun and energizing to get together with my buddy Harry - also recently retired - to watch soccer matches and hang out more than we used to have the chance to.
Another "energy source" was the annual get-together with friends to watch basketball for twelve hours a day during the first weekend on the NCAA basketball tourney. Great fun, and lots and lots of silliness.
It also gave me a chance to work on my cooking skills with my new smoker.
Believe it or not, this is a staged photo. The actual cooking results have been excellent.
My retirement adjustment process is going well. But it is a process, and not always in the ways I had anticipated.
Kate and I are now off on Opus 2 of our trip east (the short version). We picked up Madeline in Madison for her spring break week, and went on a lovely walk in the Madison arboretum as she taught on Friday. This spring-fed stream had sprung madly to life way earlier than its surroundings, covered with green aquatic plants that looked to us like they would make a lovely salad. Amazing.
We are now in Pennsylvania seeing childhood friends of Kate's and preparing for Kate's mother's 90th birthday party - which was delayed for a few weeks due my health issues when we first tried to head east. I'm looking forward to the party and to exploring the city with my camera in hand. York is an old city, and a fun one to look around in. And we'll be joining friends here in York to watch the Badgers and Spartans march on in the basketball tourney. Then it's on to Baltimore, North Carolina and who knows where? This part of retirement is easy to adjust to.
Thursday, February 12
Back to the Keyboard
I've told lots of people to "watch this space" for updates on the retirement trip Kate and I had planned to start my retirement. As most of you know, our trip took a really unexpected turn. At the end of our first full day on the road, I felt very strange and ended up having a "medical episode" (aka a heart attack). Thanks to my brother-in-law (who henceforth will be known to us as Saint Woodrow) we called an ambulance quickly and dealt with this before any serious permanent damage happened. Two of the major arteries feeding my heart were partially or totally blocked. I was getting care from paramedics almost immediately and was on the operating table at Iowa Methodist Hospital in Des Moines having three stents inserted less than an hour and a half after my first symptoms. Great medical care and acting promptly averted what could have been a very serious problem. I feel great, and really have all along (other than for the two hour period described above, which was remarkably weird).
Also quite weird, at least in retrospect, was the blog entry I had posted just before we left (see below). Part of the entry reads "wouldn't it be ironic if I retired and only then, after 16 years, had cancer return? And we have all heard those stories. Person retires and soon has some fatal or near fatal experience." Perhaps just a little too close to home.
I think the oddness of that posting has had a chilling effect on this, my next post. What if some random writing in my blog like "Jon Stewart is going to retire from the Daily Show" causes just that to happen? Plus, while I'd looked forward to writing a bit of a travelogue of our trip, spiced up with observations and thoughts that occurred to me along the way, I have no desire to do a medical travelogue describing electrodes on my once-hairy chest or the very minor side effects the new medicines I'm taking are having on me.
Life goes on - and in my case it's going on really well. And plenty of thoughts have been rolling around in my head, whether or not they are of any interest to others.
Nevertheless, I'm going to keep this first post-medical-event entry pretty non-substantive, just in case. Kate and I went to the condo of our friends Don and Phil for a wonderful (and heart healthy) dinner last night. So there is a bit of a travel component to report upon. The view from their condo is as beautiful an urban view as I can imagine.
There is nothing much more fun than sitting around a table having a fun and wide-ranging discussion of life with great friends. Especially after a period of pleasantly following the precept of the old Spanish proverb - "did nothing and rested afterwards."
And the view from my end of the table was great as well.
There is nothing much more fun than sitting around a table having a fun and wide-ranging discussion of life with great friends. Especially after a period of pleasantly following the precept of the old Spanish proverb - "did nothing and rested afterwards."
We will be around Minnesota for a while. I will soon be back at the keyboard writing something a bit more substantive. Now that the coast is clear.
P.S. We took some tulips to Don and Phil's when we went for dinner. They were really droopy and sad when we arrived, and putting them in water didn't help. After we left, Don gave the stems a fresh cut and they came back beautifully.
Since these tulips seem to me to be analogous to my heart attack experience, and since I've been thinking about serendipity and metaphors and "messages from god" lately (it's certainly a possible topic to write about), I thought I should add this PS as a sort of trailer or teaser for an upcoming blog entry.
P.S. We took some tulips to Don and Phil's when we went for dinner. They were really droopy and sad when we arrived, and putting them in water didn't help. After we left, Don gave the stems a fresh cut and they came back beautifully.
Since these tulips seem to me to be analogous to my heart attack experience, and since I've been thinking about serendipity and metaphors and "messages from god" lately (it's certainly a possible topic to write about), I thought I should add this PS as a sort of trailer or teaser for an upcoming blog entry.
Monday, January 26
Is Worry Good?
A week or so ago I had lots of fun giving my retirement speech at the great retirement party thrown by my friends from Scoular. As part of the speech I repeated a couple of "principles" I had come up with years earlier as I left Pillsbury - one of which is that "worry is good." In the speech I was referring to the fact (at least it seems like a fact to me) that any potential problem with a deal that I had worried about in my professional life never reared its ugly head. It was always the "random violence" of the unexpected that kicked us in the head.
This principle became more real to me a couple of years later. As most of you know, I was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor shortly after leaving Pillsbury. It was treated successfully and I have been healthy ever since. But I do get blood tests several times a year to ensure that there are no blood-borne signs that some form of cancer is returning. Those tests (by now about fifty of them) have always been fine, though they have been a source of worry for me every time. Except for one - about a dozen years ago. I was feeling great at the time and didn't get at all nervous and worried about the potential of bad results. And wham!!!! - there were some bad signs in the test. MRI's and some fairly painful bone marrow testing followed. And in fact everything was normal on closer inspection. But I have since taken it to be one of my obligations to worry about each and every blood test. I hardly think about cancer until my blood has been taken for examination. Then I do worry. Because I illogically believe that it's the safe thing to do.
The day after I retired, I had another blood test (as well as my annual bone survey - x-rays of every bone in my body. Unrelated but funny side note, my skull x-ray was rated as unremarkable). One fairly recent development in the testing process, on the whole a very good one, is that the results are quickly available online. I don't have to call a nurse and bother her. I can simply check the online site (every 10 minutes) until the results arrive.
Most of the results came in quickly, and were normal. Except for one, a test for "immature Granulocytes." The range of "normal" results listed on the web site for these immature little beings is between zero and zero. That seems a pretty small range. Here's what I saw:
Of course, I didn't know a Granulocyte from a stick. But still I was worried (even more than the preventative worry mode that I was already employing). So I read about Granulocytes, learned that they were just a symptomatic marker for certain problems, can occur in the absence of any serious problems. I also learned about the three types of Granulocytes, and noted from the other test results that I was in the range of normal on each one. So that should have calmed me down. Of course it didn't.
This principle became more real to me a couple of years later. As most of you know, I was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor shortly after leaving Pillsbury. It was treated successfully and I have been healthy ever since. But I do get blood tests several times a year to ensure that there are no blood-borne signs that some form of cancer is returning. Those tests (by now about fifty of them) have always been fine, though they have been a source of worry for me every time. Except for one - about a dozen years ago. I was feeling great at the time and didn't get at all nervous and worried about the potential of bad results. And wham!!!! - there were some bad signs in the test. MRI's and some fairly painful bone marrow testing followed. And in fact everything was normal on closer inspection. But I have since taken it to be one of my obligations to worry about each and every blood test. I hardly think about cancer until my blood has been taken for examination. Then I do worry. Because I illogically believe that it's the safe thing to do.
The day after I retired, I had another blood test (as well as my annual bone survey - x-rays of every bone in my body. Unrelated but funny side note, my skull x-ray was rated as unremarkable). One fairly recent development in the testing process, on the whole a very good one, is that the results are quickly available online. I don't have to call a nurse and bother her. I can simply check the online site (every 10 minutes) until the results arrive.
Most of the results came in quickly, and were normal. Except for one, a test for "immature Granulocytes." The range of "normal" results listed on the web site for these immature little beings is between zero and zero. That seems a pretty small range. Here's what I saw:
| Granulocytes, immature, automated (IG #) | 0.02 x 10^3/uL | 0 || 0 |
My online research was conducted at 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Fortunately, my regular doctor is also a friend and neighbor. So when I was sure that he and his family were moving next door, I took my laptop over for a professional read from someone who at least knows what Granulocytes are. Tony was reasonably sure that this was not anything to worry about. And that helped. More results which were also good helped as well. But my worry was still at a heightened level.
I guess my worry continued was because I was concerned about irony. Cause wouldn't it be ironic if I retired and only then, after 16 years, had cancer return. And we have all heard those stories. Person retires and soon has some fatal or near fatal experience. The story I remember is that of our old neighbor at the cabin. She and her husband built their retirement dream home, retired to it, and he died a month later. Of course we all tend to imply cause and effect when we hear those stories. At least I do. Though if you think about it logically, if you know a thousand people who retired at age 60, it's statistically pretty likely that one or two of them will die in the next six months. Of course, there are no stories told about the 998 who are fine. But boy do you hear about the two who aren't. [Here's an interesting article I read recently which gives some insights on this general subject - http://timharford.com/2014/12/learn-from-the-losers/ ].
Believe it or not, I am not the worrier I was when I was a kid. In those days, if my parents said they would be home at 10 p.m. and it was 10:10 p.m., I was reasonably certain that they were dead on the highway. I've made huge progress in this area over the years. Actually, it was when I had cancer that I internalized the idea that you should solve the problems you have, and not worry unduly about those that you don't. Still, progress is not perfection.
A friend of mine once told me long ago about Maeve Binchy novels. I've never read any of her works. The friend said they were all the same. The main character spends most of the novel worrying about ____________ (fill in the blank, for me it would most often be cancer) and then in the last chapter or two they are _________________________ (I fill in this blank with run over by a bus ). There is a good lesson there, so I'm not going to read any Binchy novels in case my friend was just making this up.
I had my oncologist appointment last Thursday. Tim, my oncologist, could hardly have been less concerned by my Granulocyte reading (mature or immature). I had a pleasant conversation with him and headed on my merry way completely reassured. I probably won't give any thought to cancer until my next blood test in June. Was the worry good? Probably just a waste of energy. Will I worry next time? You bet. You can't take chances with this stuff.
Believe it or not, I am not the worrier I was when I was a kid. In those days, if my parents said they would be home at 10 p.m. and it was 10:10 p.m., I was reasonably certain that they were dead on the highway. I've made huge progress in this area over the years. Actually, it was when I had cancer that I internalized the idea that you should solve the problems you have, and not worry unduly about those that you don't. Still, progress is not perfection.
A friend of mine once told me long ago about Maeve Binchy novels. I've never read any of her works. The friend said they were all the same. The main character spends most of the novel worrying about ____________ (fill in the blank, for me it would most often be cancer) and then in the last chapter or two they are _________________________ (I fill in this blank with run over by a bus ). There is a good lesson there, so I'm not going to read any Binchy novels in case my friend was just making this up.
I had my oncologist appointment last Thursday. Tim, my oncologist, could hardly have been less concerned by my Granulocyte reading (mature or immature). I had a pleasant conversation with him and headed on my merry way completely reassured. I probably won't give any thought to cancer until my next blood test in June. Was the worry good? Probably just a waste of energy. Will I worry next time? You bet. You can't take chances with this stuff.
Saturday, December 20
Happy Holidays - 2014
Happy Holidays! Joyful Solstice! Merry Christmas! Happy Hannukah! Best Wishes! Joyeux Noël! Feliz Navidad! Kung His Hsin Nien bing Chu Shen Tan! Glædelig Jul! Gajan Kristnaskon! Hyvaa Joulua! Buorrit Juovllat! Gledileg Jol! Nodlaig Mhaith Chugnat! Buone Feste Natalizie! Natale Hilare et Annum Faustum! Pozdrevlyayu s Prazdnikom Rozhdestva is Novim Godom! God Jul and (Och) Ett Gott Nytt! År Ruumsaid Juulup! Season's Greetings! Peace!
I hope this holiday greeting finds you well. It does us. And once again together for the holidays. Traditionally I've used this holiday post as a bit of a retrospective on the year just completed. And I'll do some of that this time as well. But with Kate's mid-year and my impending retirement, I may be a bit more forward looking than is traditional. The possibilities opening to us are too much on my mind these days to ignore.
But first the facts. We are all healthy and well. Madeline continues to enjoy teaching in Madison. She is working on her masters in Experiential Education - which seems to me could be loosely translated as "having fun in the great out of doors." The program has included spelunking, canoeing, and the "experiential" part culminated in a backpacking trip in the Big Horn mountains this summer. It's been fun to vicariously enjoy her advanced education (though to be fair I should add that the program has turned a bit more traditionally academic during the fall semester).
Peter continues to love Denver. In addition to his job at Academic Impressions, he seems to find time to hike and snowboard and refine his beer sensibilities. He definitely is following in his mother's footsteps as a chef. "Food porn" is an important medium of communication between St. Paul and Denver. He and Kate both know how to prepare and present food. And it makes me happy that he hosts a Thanksgiving dinner for friends in Denver (traditionally a meal that I play a larger role in than normal - and one that he has sous cheffed with me since he was young). We miss having him around St. Paul - especially when he informs us that it is 62 degrees in Denver on days where it is 13 in St. Paul, but love his joy and enthusiasm about his life in Denver.
Kate has had the most dramatic changes this year. She retired in June after 39 (and a half) years at the Minnesota Attorney General's office. We promptly headed to California and wine country with the kids.
What a wonderful trip it was. It gave us much pleasure!
Kate has become a regular at a wide variety of exercise classes at the Y. If she isn't body shredding she is core conditioning or Tabataing or combining aerobics and style in her line-dancing class. I joined her at that class one recent Friday and it is clear that she is the leader of that particular pack. She is looking and feeling great.
As for me, I'm feeling great and looking as good as my facial and physiological structure will allow. I've enjoyed what will be my final year of work at Scoular, many pleasant hours riding my trusty Bridgestone MB-5 mountain bike and paddling my Old Town canoe, much laughter, trips and time with family and friends.
The future excites me as well. I retire from Scoular on January 15th after nine years working with a wonderful group of lawyers and clients. Kate and I will have a level of freedom we have never enjoyed. We'll exercise that freedom first by heading to Madison to celebrate Madeline's 30th birthday. Then home to pack for a sojourn east to help Kate's mother Kitty celebrate her 90th birthday. From there it's a bit further east, then south, then west, then north. We have a few general plans, but are trying to remain unstructured - taking each day as it comes and letting things lead us wherever they do. Watch this space for updates on our progress.
All the best to you and yours! Enjoy the holiday season, and every season. We'll do the same.
Stan, Kate, Madeline and Peter
But first the facts. We are all healthy and well. Madeline continues to enjoy teaching in Madison. She is working on her masters in Experiential Education - which seems to me could be loosely translated as "having fun in the great out of doors." The program has included spelunking, canoeing, and the "experiential" part culminated in a backpacking trip in the Big Horn mountains this summer. It's been fun to vicariously enjoy her advanced education (though to be fair I should add that the program has turned a bit more traditionally academic during the fall semester).
All the best to you and yours! Enjoy the holiday season, and every season. We'll do the same.
Stan, Kate, Madeline and Peter
Friday, November 21
Perfect Imperfection
Sometimes perfection isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Kate and I went to a cooking class hosted by our financial advisors last Wednesday. Forty people or so - most acquainted only with our advisors and the person we each came with. A little wine, some conversation, a French Provençale-themed meal prepared and eaten by the attendees (with lots of supervision from the chef and several sous chefs).
The chef asked the group to gather round the main preparation table and then asked us to number off into six groups. Since most were standing next to their partner, the result was six groups of six who didn't know each other.
Kate was in the potato group - teaming with our friend Ann and with a former president of the University of Minnesota to prepare French potatoes with Dijon mustard and Kalamata olives.
A little background here. As anyone who knows me will attest, I am fond of puns. Though it is often reviled by the unwashed masses, the art of punning requires cleverness and quickness. A pun uttered feebly a minute late is no pun at all. I know I should have devoted my life to curing cancer or stopping thermonuclear war. Instead, I've spent it refining my quick-response verbal skills to better enable me to make all manner of puns, double entendres and quips. Add to this the fact that I spent last "weekend" with the boys in yet another five-day, no holds barred verbal jousting session. So my verbal reaction time was fast. Very fast.
As our team was putting salmon and sauce into parchment paper, I had the aforementioned sauce container, which was making its way around the group. The take-charge surgeon, urging the team to complete our mission, had inserted himself on my right. I was passing the container to the right, holding it by the top, where the metal was warm but certainly not hot. As he prepared to grab the container from me the surgeon asked me, "Is this hot?" I replied no, though admittedly a more complete answer might have been appropriate. Whereupon he grabbed it by the bottom, which was of course quite hot since the heat from the sauce was transmitted directly to that part of the container.
A couple of yelps later he exclaimed "You said that wasn't hot?!?!!" I responded that it wasn't, if held in a logical manner. He responded, "Are you saying that lawyers are smarter than doctors?"
It was here that a measured response would have been in order. Perhaps it was the wine, or the previous weekend with the boys, or just that I love a verbal joust, or the fact that I didn't view this as a confrontation between two professions. Whatever the case, I responded, "No, I am saying that I am smarter than you."
This was exactly the perfect response, at least it was if my goal was to express clearly what I was thinking. With two weeks to ponder and consider, I couldn't have improved on either the response or the timing or the inflection. Still, the momentary hush that "fell over the crowd" made it clear to me that a bit of verbal restraint had been called for and I had failed to employ it. The moment passed quickly. To his credit the surgeon let it go. And I still can't quite decide whether to be proud or ashamed of my response. I'm probably both, if I'm honest about it.
Kate and I went to a cooking class hosted by our financial advisors last Wednesday. Forty people or so - most acquainted only with our advisors and the person we each came with. A little wine, some conversation, a French Provençale-themed meal prepared and eaten by the attendees (with lots of supervision from the chef and several sous chefs).
The chef asked the group to gather round the main preparation table and then asked us to number off into six groups. Since most were standing next to their partner, the result was six groups of six who didn't know each other.
Kate was in the potato group - teaming with our friend Ann and with a former president of the University of Minnesota to prepare French potatoes with Dijon mustard and Kalamata olives.
Her group seemed to be having a great time, with lots of laughter.
and the resulting dish was just beautiful.
Our group of six was perhaps a bit less cohesive. We were charged with preparing the main course - Salmon Provençale. Two of our group seemed to be natural, if self-appointed, leaders. Take charge guys! Perhaps it was an odd mood on my part but one, a high-energy surgeon with one tear-drop earring and a "large" personality to complement his small frame, just wasn't a guy I wanted to share my Wednesday evening with. So I adopted a reduced role as a red pepper dicer, garlic peeler and basil preparer, all of which would go into the sauce which would cover individual pieces of salmon, sealed in parchment paper and oven baked to a moist and tasty perfection. Meanwhile, I carried on a pleasant conversation with Susan, another team member.
When the sauce was prepared it was time to put the salmon in the parchment paper, add the sauce, fold, seal and bake. To facilitate preparation, we put the sauce in a metal container about 12" high, filling it with sauce to a depth of about three or four inches.
A little background here. As anyone who knows me will attest, I am fond of puns. Though it is often reviled by the unwashed masses, the art of punning requires cleverness and quickness. A pun uttered feebly a minute late is no pun at all. I know I should have devoted my life to curing cancer or stopping thermonuclear war. Instead, I've spent it refining my quick-response verbal skills to better enable me to make all manner of puns, double entendres and quips. Add to this the fact that I spent last "weekend" with the boys in yet another five-day, no holds barred verbal jousting session. So my verbal reaction time was fast. Very fast.
A couple of yelps later he exclaimed "You said that wasn't hot?!?!!" I responded that it wasn't, if held in a logical manner. He responded, "Are you saying that lawyers are smarter than doctors?"
It was here that a measured response would have been in order. Perhaps it was the wine, or the previous weekend with the boys, or just that I love a verbal joust, or the fact that I didn't view this as a confrontation between two professions. Whatever the case, I responded, "No, I am saying that I am smarter than you."
This was exactly the perfect response, at least it was if my goal was to express clearly what I was thinking. With two weeks to ponder and consider, I couldn't have improved on either the response or the timing or the inflection. Still, the momentary hush that "fell over the crowd" made it clear to me that a bit of verbal restraint had been called for and I had failed to employ it. The moment passed quickly. To his credit the surgeon let it go. And I still can't quite decide whether to be proud or ashamed of my response. I'm probably both, if I'm honest about it.
Saturday, September 6
Done Right
I've felt really good about three things in particular lately. They aren't really connected, but perhaps I can "tie the room together." Perhaps not.
First is our kids. We apparently raised them right. They both came home for the Minnesota State Fair this year, and they both took time out of their busy lives to spend Labor Day with us at the cabin. Because they wanted to, not due to any begging or pleading on our parts. Though we would have been perfectly willing to cajole, if not beg.
First is our kids. We apparently raised them right. They both came home for the Minnesota State Fair this year, and they both took time out of their busy lives to spend Labor Day with us at the cabin. Because they wanted to, not due to any begging or pleading on our parts. Though we would have been perfectly willing to cajole, if not beg.
I acknowledge that the primary draw may have been the joy of a Donna's pork rib sandwich.
But it really felt good to have them make the trips. The fair has been an annual tradition for our family for their entire lives - as it has been for many Minnesotans. And it's a great event. People from all parts of society, getting together for a cornucopia of varied treats. Food. Animals. Art. Trinkets and gadgets. People watching.
And family time at the cabin, another lifelong tradition. As it always has, the "family" expands and contracts depending upon the weekend. But it's so good to spend time with them and enjoy the wonderful people they have always been and continue to be.
Second, Kate and I spent a quiet but practically perfect day yesterday. Yuppie coffee and the paper. Followed by a trip to the Y for Body Shred and Core Conditioning classes (the aches in my arms, shoulders and butt this morning make it likely that it will be harder to have a practically perfect day today). Then a rousing game of PickleBall - a court game we had never heard of played with a Whiffle Ball and low net with Ping Pong rules, more or less. A Costco and Cub run to pick up some food needs. In a probably doomed attempt to help me look better, Kate went with me to the "Hurtburger's" black dot sale - where we bought nine or ten shirts (with a commitment that I will turn into rags or give to Goodwill a similar number of my current shirt inventory). Then a movie (more on that in a minute). Walking through a garden store. Discussing the movie and life. A quiet dinner. Then another movie at home (partly to watch an earlier movie of the female lead in our afternoon movie). Conversation. Laughs. Tears (from the movie). Exercise. Just a nice quiet day spent together.
Thirdly, Kate and I have started going to movies lately, and we've seen some good ones. I found "Boyhood" just amazing. Such a fresh and original approach. Really a collection of moments from the life of a boy as he grows to be young man. The choice to film it over a long period of time created possibilities that most films don't have. At at least for me it really resonated. No grand, cataclysmic epiphanies. Just a long string of moments which had a nice progression and growth but without too much effort to "tie the room together." The whole "present moment, only moment" philosophy has always made sense to me. I have a little sheet of paper in my office which says only "E I +". It's a reminder to myself to try to make every interaction positive. Not happy or laughing, necessarily. Just an attempt to remind myself to pile up positive moments - the stuff life is made of.
Then yesterday, we went to "The Fault in Our Stars" - based on a "teen novel", I guess. One I will have to read. About two teenagers with cancer, their developing relationship, their world views, and more. There is nothing much more sad than young people with cancer, I suppose. But there is also much to be learned from thinking about in what direction a potentially terminal illness leads you. Obviously, having experienced cancer at the "young" age of 48, this is subject I've thought about quite a bit. And I thought the filmmakers (and I'm guessing the author of the book) did a wonderful job. At least, their approach really resonated with me and my cancer experience. There was one line about how Gus (the male lead) was made up of both his tumor and his heart. It's probably lost on most viewers. But it was something I thought about a lot when I was sick. The tumor is you - or part of you. The whole "battle with cancer" metaphor, used so often, is for me missing the point a bit. [Note: please do NOT put it in my obituary. I'd be happy to have the phrase "he lived with cancer for ___ years" in my obituary (hopefully with the blank filled in with a 68).] For me at least, I dislike the idea that the only successful approach to cancer is to "beat" it by not dying from it. I thought then and think now that there is great value in living well with cancer. Or, more accurately, in living well. With love and laughter. Treating every moment like the precious thing it is. Surprisingly hard to do. Even if you've had a potentially fatal illness and should know better. And the movie does a good job making the point that we all have a limited time to live, but doing so quietly and with humor. So where does that take you? In the end, at least for me, the movie says it takes you to love. To making the most of your "small infinity" - in the parlance of the book.
And in a futile attempt to tie this disparate room together, maybe we didn't raise Madeline right. She recommended the book to Kate but not to me. Maybe she knew that in my own way I had already read it.
Wednesday, June 18
Changes - With Wine
It's a time of transition for our family. Kate retired two weeks ago in her usual graceful way. Working hard to the end (she was the last to leave the office on her last day - sliding her keys under her boss's door).
She hosted her own retirement party, which was really fun. And almost all of the food has now been eaten. I'm a few months from joining her. It's fun and exciting to think about how to approach the freedom that we hope retirement will bring. Especially fun since I'm sitting on a lovely early-morning deck in Napa Valley watching an Acorn Woodpecker fly around eating bugs, drinking a nice cup of coffee. Watching the sun make its way down the mountain in the distance. With a trip to Dehlinger (probably my favorite winery) just a few hours away.
Kate thought that planning a trip shortly after retirement would be a good transition for her. The kids agreed to join us (it took them under a minute to ponder the "go, no go" question and come up with the right answer. It appears we didn't raise idiots). She was certainly right about the trip. It's been really fun to visit (and to share with them) the sources of much of the really nice wine we and they have had over the years. I think the magnums of Brown zinfandel at Christmas dinner will taste all the better for it (if that is possible).
I spent 1980 and part of 1981 bumming around (I called it a sabbatical on my resume, just for looks). One of the realizations I had on that trip was that the big variable was how you spent your time. Not your money. I met so many fellow travelers with a Eurrail pass who spent their two Eurrail months on trains, physically placing themselves in lots of countries but not seeing much of any of them. I decided then that I wouldn't fall into that trap. It was a great decision, and a great experience. Sadly, the observation about the primacy of time was a lesson learned for the trip but not one which I generalized very well. I think that the biggest variable in all of life is choices about how to use the time you have. My brush with cancer (now almost 16 years ago!) really helped me to internalize and generalize that lesson. Even in my "work life" I've tried hard to focus on what I believe is important. Relationships. People. Making interactions, whatever they may be, positive ones (which for me doesn't necessarily mean happy and funny ones - though that is a subject for another missive).
So what will I do with the extra time I will have post-retirement? What will Kate do? What will we do? I think I can say confidently that wine will be involved. Hopefully even more time with our many great friends (warning to you - the founder of Suckfish Tours will be on the loose).
One of the things that I hope to do more effectively in my post-retirement time is writing. I often "think" better when I try to write down observations. And I write better when I imagine I have an audience. Hence this blog. Over the past few years I've drifted to emails and Facebook postings of photos - both of which are great. I've used this blog mostly as a vehicle for holiday greetings. It seemed like a good morning to start writing again. Hopefully, in this or some other format, I'll be sitting with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, writing more.
Stan
Yin and Yang
(Thursday)
Yesterday we went to two wineries - Dehlinger and Christopher Creek. It was our third trip to Dehlinger, our first to Christopher Creek. Carmen, our host at Dehlinger, is wonderfully nice. She's knowledgeable and informative in a lovely, quiet way.
Liam, our host at Christopher Creek, is flamboyant, a storyteller. Mention a wine and he's off to grab it. Liam spent ten years playing guitar in a rock band. I'm guessing that Carmen did not.
The first four Chrisopher Creek wines we tasted were tasted from the barrel - they won't be bottled for a year or so. They tasted great at the time. In the end will they be great? You can't really be sure at this point. Dehlinger makes consistently amazing wines. Not only have I never had a bad bottle of wine from there, I've never had a Dehlinger wine that wasn't remarkably good. The quality range at Christopher Creek is wider (this observation is based on less experience, and they are newer. So I'm definitely comparing apples and oranges).
So which one did I like best? The answer is resoundingly "both of them." The contrasts were wonderful, obvious and amazing. Both experiences were gratifying individually. But putting them together was for me the thing that made the day great. Wine making through two lenses. Dehlinger more scientific and consistently excellent. Christopher Creek with the approach of four guys sitting around blending things together until they get what they think is right.
Oddly, the joy of difference has been a theme running around in my head this week. Katelyn, our host at Biale earlier this week, jokingly was talking about "not putting yourself in a box." She was referring to Biale visitors saying "I only drink white (or red) wine", though we jokingly took the concept quite a bit further. David Brown, the winemaker at Brown, has said that the worst thing he can do as a winemaker can do is "know" how he makes a particular wine from year to year. He tries to remind himself to start with the grapes and conditions and find his way to the wine.
Since this is a retirement celebration, the question of how to be a retired guy has been much on my mind. There is an appropriate degree of routine in life (have I mentioned I've really missed the New York Times crossword this week?). But it seems to me that one of the "rocky shoals" in the sea of retirement is becoming too routinized. Too sure that either Liam or Carmen is right. They are both right. Easy to see yesterday. Much harder to see and experience in the million more subtle ways the need for routines and "right" answers closes me off and puts me "in a box." I thought it was an interesting coincidence that I was telling Madeline about a Kahlil Gibran quote I've always loved ("Say not I have found THE answer. Say I have found AN answer."). I don't think it was a coincidence at all. Maybe I really do have a subconscious mind!
It was great yesterday when Kate said how much she enjoyed the Syrah wine yesterday. She and I will need to continually be open to experience. I'll also have the "boys" to help. Nine guys who definitely can look at the same thing and see it through nine (or at least four or five) different lenses. AND who are willing to discuss it vigorously without confusing disagreement on an issue with a lack of personal affection. In this my good friend Barny is a role model as well. He's a wonderful example of a person who is always trying a new approach, a new way of looking at something. When I do something for the 105th time, it's highly likely I'll do it the way I did it the 104th time (read - "a near certainty"). Not so for Barny. I can learn from his example (though I must admit it's a little scary calling Barny a role model in this regard).
Unrelated side note: We've been checking on pronunciations this week. We had for three years pronounced Salvestrin as "sal VEST trin." Tom Green said it was "SAL vestrin" - and he was right (or at least closer). All of us have pronounced Dehlinger as "DELL ing er". But the actual correct pronunciation is "DAY ling er." Thought some of you would like to know. But I'm sure if you have the need to pronounce either one through a different pronunciation lens, it will be OK. Unless you are making a documenTARY.
She hosted her own retirement party, which was really fun. And almost all of the food has now been eaten. I'm a few months from joining her. It's fun and exciting to think about how to approach the freedom that we hope retirement will bring. Especially fun since I'm sitting on a lovely early-morning deck in Napa Valley watching an Acorn Woodpecker fly around eating bugs, drinking a nice cup of coffee. Watching the sun make its way down the mountain in the distance. With a trip to Dehlinger (probably my favorite winery) just a few hours away.
Kate thought that planning a trip shortly after retirement would be a good transition for her. The kids agreed to join us (it took them under a minute to ponder the "go, no go" question and come up with the right answer. It appears we didn't raise idiots). She was certainly right about the trip. It's been really fun to visit (and to share with them) the sources of much of the really nice wine we and they have had over the years. I think the magnums of Brown zinfandel at Christmas dinner will taste all the better for it (if that is possible).
So what will I do with the extra time I will have post-retirement? What will Kate do? What will we do? I think I can say confidently that wine will be involved. Hopefully even more time with our many great friends (warning to you - the founder of Suckfish Tours will be on the loose).
One of the things that I hope to do more effectively in my post-retirement time is writing. I often "think" better when I try to write down observations. And I write better when I imagine I have an audience. Hence this blog. Over the past few years I've drifted to emails and Facebook postings of photos - both of which are great. I've used this blog mostly as a vehicle for holiday greetings. It seemed like a good morning to start writing again. Hopefully, in this or some other format, I'll be sitting with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, writing more.
Stan
(Thursday)
Yesterday we went to two wineries - Dehlinger and Christopher Creek. It was our third trip to Dehlinger, our first to Christopher Creek. Carmen, our host at Dehlinger, is wonderfully nice. She's knowledgeable and informative in a lovely, quiet way.
The first four Chrisopher Creek wines we tasted were tasted from the barrel - they won't be bottled for a year or so. They tasted great at the time. In the end will they be great? You can't really be sure at this point. Dehlinger makes consistently amazing wines. Not only have I never had a bad bottle of wine from there, I've never had a Dehlinger wine that wasn't remarkably good. The quality range at Christopher Creek is wider (this observation is based on less experience, and they are newer. So I'm definitely comparing apples and oranges).
So which one did I like best? The answer is resoundingly "both of them." The contrasts were wonderful, obvious and amazing. Both experiences were gratifying individually. But putting them together was for me the thing that made the day great. Wine making through two lenses. Dehlinger more scientific and consistently excellent. Christopher Creek with the approach of four guys sitting around blending things together until they get what they think is right.
Oddly, the joy of difference has been a theme running around in my head this week. Katelyn, our host at Biale earlier this week, jokingly was talking about "not putting yourself in a box." She was referring to Biale visitors saying "I only drink white (or red) wine", though we jokingly took the concept quite a bit further. David Brown, the winemaker at Brown, has said that the worst thing he can do as a winemaker can do is "know" how he makes a particular wine from year to year. He tries to remind himself to start with the grapes and conditions and find his way to the wine.
Since this is a retirement celebration, the question of how to be a retired guy has been much on my mind. There is an appropriate degree of routine in life (have I mentioned I've really missed the New York Times crossword this week?). But it seems to me that one of the "rocky shoals" in the sea of retirement is becoming too routinized. Too sure that either Liam or Carmen is right. They are both right. Easy to see yesterday. Much harder to see and experience in the million more subtle ways the need for routines and "right" answers closes me off and puts me "in a box." I thought it was an interesting coincidence that I was telling Madeline about a Kahlil Gibran quote I've always loved ("Say not I have found THE answer. Say I have found AN answer."). I don't think it was a coincidence at all. Maybe I really do have a subconscious mind!
It was great yesterday when Kate said how much she enjoyed the Syrah wine yesterday. She and I will need to continually be open to experience. I'll also have the "boys" to help. Nine guys who definitely can look at the same thing and see it through nine (or at least four or five) different lenses. AND who are willing to discuss it vigorously without confusing disagreement on an issue with a lack of personal affection. In this my good friend Barny is a role model as well. He's a wonderful example of a person who is always trying a new approach, a new way of looking at something. When I do something for the 105th time, it's highly likely I'll do it the way I did it the 104th time (read - "a near certainty"). Not so for Barny. I can learn from his example (though I must admit it's a little scary calling Barny a role model in this regard).
Unrelated side note: We've been checking on pronunciations this week. We had for three years pronounced Salvestrin as "sal VEST trin." Tom Green said it was "SAL vestrin" - and he was right (or at least closer). All of us have pronounced Dehlinger as "DELL ing er". But the actual correct pronunciation is "DAY ling er." Thought some of you would like to know. But I'm sure if you have the need to pronounce either one through a different pronunciation lens, it will be OK. Unless you are making a documenTARY.
Tuesday, December 24
Happy Holidays - 2013
Happy Holidays! Joyful Solstice! Merry Christmas! Happy Hannukah! Best Wishes! Joyeux Noël! Feliz Navidad! Kung His Hsin Nien bing Chu Shen Tan! Glædelig Jul! Gajan Kristnaskon! Hyvaa Joulua! Buorrit Juovllat! Gledileg Jol! Nodlaig Mhaith Chugnat! Buone Feste Natalizie! Natale Hilare et Annum Faustum! Pozdrevlyayu s Prazdnikom Rozhdestva is Novim Godom! God Jul and (Och) Ett Gott Nytt! År Ruumsaid Juulup! Season's Greetings! Peace!
And we do get chances. Kate and I visited Peter in Denver twice this year.
The altitude might have been hard for the old folks, but the attitude was wonderful.
Madeline and I made a trip to the wet, cool Boundary Waters in July. The weather was crazy.
Yeah, sometimes a wet sock might fall in your "Splash" cup. But it's a temporary setback at most. Regardless of the elements, we had a great time together.
As the years have passed, we have more and more great annual events that are such important parts of our lives. Dinners with great friends.
The Boys wandering in to watch the first weekend of March Madness. Followed shortly by a similar group congregating at our cabin for a "weekend" (Wednesday to Sunday should be a weekend - and for many of us the day isn't far off when weekend will be a foreign concept).
Memorial Day at the cabin with our bird count. A late spring made it a record year - 77 different species sited by our intrepid team of bird watchers.
And lots of other groups visited the cabin as well, Gangs of 8, 6, 4 and 2 visited Cranberry Lake - finding a lower lake level this year due to dam repair. It's still a beautiful place. And by next year the lake will have returned to its normal level and the pontoon will be back in action.
As always, the Labor Day game dinner and get together was amazing.
Kate and I were able to make our way to Pennsylvania to see Kitty and Bob twice this year (Kate also visited without me). Here we are at the Accomac Inn - serving customers since 1722. You can add our names to the "satisfied customer" list.
A very special treat this year was a visit from our friends Chris and Valerie from Paris. They were kind enough to visit for a great week in October. The Twin Cities have some great galleries and museums - but they aren't exactly the Orangerie or the Musee d'Orsay. So we skipped museums and enjoyed the out of doors in Minnesota and Wisconsin. A magical week for us.
This year we were the visited more often than the visitor. Visits from friends are a great joy. But rest assured that Kate and I may well "darken your door" in the near future. We probably won't bring lobsters. We might bring wine.
All the best to you and yours! Enjoy the holiday season, and every season. We'll do the same.
Stan, Kate, Madeline and Peter
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