My January, Part III: Exceeding my recommended salt intake in Utah…

So as we learned last week, the barren nothingness that was South Dakota was only a warm up for the barren nothingness that would be Wyoming. The hundreds of miles of bushy weeds and ranchland gave me new appreciation for the lushness that is Lincoln County, Minnesota.
Understand, that I was still thoroughly enjoying myself, but what kind of blog would it be if I didn’t complain?
So, my hopes of getting a glimpse of Yosemite Sam never materialized on my sojourn across Wyoming. (Just a side note before we leave Wyoming…when you see those Verizon commercials on TV and the entire country is red except for an oblong stretch of white in Wyoming??? Yeah, I drove through most of that white.)
My spirits were jumpstarted as the “Welcome to Utah” sign stood out amongst the roadside brush. Certainly my stretch of endless Ponderosa was behind me. It’s no wonder the Cartwrights were always so crabby. (Sorry, that reference will only mean something to people late 40s and older.)
I wasn’t too far into Utah before I encountered my first of two bad weather events I would endure on the trip. Darkness had fallen and I was moving into the mountainous region just east of Salt Lake City. Several times I drove in and out of snow squalls and I got more than a bit nervous as they became longer in duration and more intense, making me rethink my plan to get as far as Salt Lake City before I stopped. A phone call home and I had Kathy and Lindsay looking for my next option for a hotel, and I ended up deciding to stay in Coalville for the evening.
When I was imagining how my trip would go before I left, I had visions of checking into my hotel each night and finding myself some good food before returning to my room, connecting to the internet to spend the evening answering emails, updating my family on the state of my problematic appendage and doing a little Facebooking. My Coalville stop at the Best Western was the start of bad luck for evening meals on the trip. The only other building in sight was the convenience store next door, and I ended up grabbing a blueberry muffin and a bag of Cheetos before heading into the hotel to check in.
The lady at the front desk told me she had a single room and said, “do you have an AARP card?” I looked around to see if anyone’s grandparents were checking in at the same time as me before realizing she was talking to me. I felt even worse when I realized I actually DID have an AARP card. “That will be $10 off,” she said.
She did NOT add, “…and by the way big boy, you don’t look old enough to be carrying an AARP card.”
My evening didn’t get any better when I got to my room. Despite following all the instructions and jumping through all the hoops, I COULDN’T CONNECT TO THE INTERNET!!!! I called the help line listed in the room info, and they told me they could not help me. (I resisted the urge to add the word “no” before the words “help line” in the hotel info.) I was told I had to have them reboot the router at the front desk.
So I trudged down to the front desk and she rebooted the router, to no avail. I still couldn’t connect. This issue actually ended up getting me another $10 knocked off the price of my room. Since the company was paying for my room, I would have gladly traded the $10 to be able to connect, but I resigned myself to digging into my spread of blueberry goodness and Cheetos and watch a rerun of “Everybody Loves Raymond.”
I was living the good life.
At least I had an insulin shot in the leg and a lovenox shot in my stomach to look forward to…
Tuesday morning ushered in new excitement as the snow had cleared and the sun was shining brightly. That was good, because it was going to be a long drive to get to Tracy, California by evening.
So, I’m not really sure what my mind had imagined I would see in Utah, but again I was in for a surprise in just how underwhelmed I could be. Drop a load of Round-Up on Wyoming, and you have the scenery encountered in Utah. Miles and miles of…um…of…sandy-looking mushiness. If I were to have conjured a mental image of quicksand, that is exactly what I saw lining the roads of Interstate 80. This stretch is also named the Dwight D. Eisenhower Highway, no doubt because the lay of the land resembles old Ike’s desolate pate. (Again, those under 40, feel free to Google an image of our 34th President) I always assumed that the “salt flats” were a small area around some town named Bonneville, but the brown, watery blandness goes on for miles. If the pictures I’ve found online since my trip are any indication, they may possibly turn white when they dry out in the summer.
Many miles of this bland panorama was suddenly interrupted about 100 miles west of Salt Lake City, when I came across an odd, colorful sculpture protruding on the horizon (pictured). With road signs threatening me that I wasn’t allowed to stop, I grabbed a drive-by, through-the-windshield photo of the peculiar monument. It wasn’t until I got home a few days later that I would do some research and find out what it actually was. I had no idea what it was called, or where to start looking, so I went to Google and typed the words “strange monument in Utah by interstate 80.”
It was the first link that came up.
My investigation revealed it was called “The Tree of Utah.” One site I was on said that it was built and installed “between 1982 and 1986.” So, apparently it was only about 25 years ago, but nobody actually wrote down the exact date that it was erected. Somebody apparently drove by it one day, hypnotized by hundreds of miles of salt flats, and said, “hey, when did they put that thing there?!!!”
And somebody anwered;
“Well, I guess it was probably mid-80s…I know it wasn’t there in ’81, and I remember I first noticed it just before Christmas in 1986.”
The website said it was built by a Swede named Karl, who built it to bring “bold color and beauty to the stark, flat, salty landscape.”
I, too, was startled at the vast stretch of nothing, but leave it to a Swede to actually stop and do something about it.
Next week…the ghosts of the Donner Party live on. (Google THAT one, kids, but not before you eat.)

Wyoming: “We have sagebrush.”

When we left my story last week, I had just whined my way out of the hospital and was due to make a 27-hour drive to California.
A little background first.
Several weeks ago, I was asked by one of my superiors at work if I would be interested in taking some training to be certified to train new hires in general company policies and safety regulations at enXco. Always willing to try to add something to my list of reasons that the company might want to keep me, I enthusiastically said, “yes.”
“Great,” said Chris, the Area Operations Manager, “go ahead and book a flight to Tracy, California. You’ll have classes on January 19th and 20th.”
There…I had done it again. The guy who made it through the first 51 years without having to fly, was facing the unpleasant reality of flying twice in two years.
If you have been reading this blog since the beginning, you may remember what happened the first time I flew, back in 2009. If not, you can scroll down to the archives on the left side of this page. Find the July 2, 2009 column entitled “You Want Me to What?” Over the ensuing five columns, you can learn about my near-death experience with United Airlines.
So here I was, facing another flight and I felt that familiar nausea creeping into my stomach.
The timing of the trip got me thinking of ways to opt out of the flight. It happened that it fell on a week when I already had Monday off, for Martin Luther King Day.
What if, I thought, I left on Sunday and drove to Tracy, California. I ran the idea past the Powers That Be, and was told I could get compensation for driving out if I chose to do that.
Magically, my nausea immediately disappeared.
In addition, other than in pictures, I had never seen any of our fine country west of Rapid City.
After a little online Mapquest research, I found that it would be an1,800-mile drive to Tracy…about 27 hours. I decided to leave Sunday morning, the 16th, and make a leisurely drive, arriving at my hotel in Tracy late Tuesday afternoon.
And then the leg thing happened (see last week’s blog).
In order to get the official okie-dokie to make the trip I had to make the following promises:
1. Give myself blood thinner shots in the stomach twice a day.
2. Closely monitor my blood sugar.
3. Stop every one to two hours on the trip and walk for 10 minutes.
Even with those promises, I seemed to get a look from LuAnn Weber, P.A., that said, “I can’t believe you are walking out of the hospital and driving 1800 miles.”
This is only slightly better that a look that would have said, “I guess I can’t stop you from dying if you want it that badly.”
The two looks are similar, so she may have actually been conveying the latter…
By the time I finished my hospital obligations and took care of a few urgent matters I had ignored while in the hospital, it was after 1:00 Sunday afternoon. I was already four hours behind where I wanted to be.
I was required to stop in Sioux Falls to pick up the Lovenox, that was in charge of preventing any blood clots forming during the trip. Unfortunately, there was only enough Lovenox in the entire city of Sioux Falls to get me through three days. Fortunately, it would be enough to get me to California.
After leaving late and another delay while Lewis Drug called around town to see if they could come up with more Lovenox, I only made it as far as Rapid City on the first evening. This would leave a healthy dose of driving to get to Tracy at a decent time on Tuesday night. I was not discouraged.
I departed Rapid City Tuesday morning with a belly full of Lovenox and a great attitude. Shortly thereafter, I proceeded to cross over into Wyoming. Their state symbol is a silhouette of a cowboy riding a bucking horse, but that is most certainly a misrepresentation. It should be a silhouette of sagebrush. I think I saw six horses, but hundreds and hundreds of miles of sagebrush. Although all the men do wear cowboy hats. (Much more fashionable, I suppose, than sagebrush hats.) I did get a bit excited in line at a Wendy’s somewhere in the Land That God Forgot. I was standing behind a line of seven gentlemen wearing big cowboy hats, and one guy that was actually wearing a baseball-style cap. I got a little tingle. It was short lived however. When he turned, I saw the front of that baseball-style hat. It was embroidered on the front with a silhouette of a cowboy riding a bucking horse. Yikes!
I did think, as I was driving across this giant ranch, that it was kind of quaint the way someone had painted mountains in the far distance, looming over the sagebrush, that somehow never got any closer. They were just…I don’t know…there.
And so for much of the first day of my first ever trip to California. I saw hours of tumbleweeds-to-be, interspersed with thousands of those old windmills and an occasional butte.
I got more than a little excited as I approached the Welcome to Utah sign. Finally, a little variety to the landscape.
Next week: Utah, land that looks a lot like Wyoming, without the sagebrush.

Another stay at the THC Hilton…

It seems that I have been slacking off in my blogging duties lately. Between a host of medical issues and traveling across the country, I haven’t set aside any time to write anything.
I’ve actually had a pretty eventful January…and not necessarily in a good way. The story starts back on Sunday, January 9th, when I came down with what I had diagnosed at the time as the flu, complete with fever and chills and about 36 hours straight of sleeping. After starting the year with a fresh set of five sick days at work, I had already used two of them by January 11th. I went to bed Tuesday night feeling much better and ready to get back to work on Wednesday.
I was about to change my diagnosis, as I think now, looking back, that the fever was a precursor for what would ultimately land me in the hospital.
When I got up for work on Wednesday, I was greeted by a swollen right leg from toes to knee, that was a sort of neon purple. In my divine wisdom, I decided I should go to work, as I had already missed two days that week, and made an appointment to see Dr. Snow after work.
Imagine my joy when the good doctor decided that I needed to check into a room for a few days. The diagnosis was an infection in my leg. The first 24 hours was wonderful…not. Wanting to keep my blood sugar stable, I was on an insulin pump, and I had to have my finger pricked every hour through the night and into the next day.
Complicating matters was the fact that I was scheduled to leave for California on Sunday for some training for my job. We needed to get me healthy and on the road.
It was like old home week for me. I got to hang with many of my nurse friends from previous stays. They provided their typical top-notch care and I racked up my typical amount of sleep. None. There is something about those beds…they are evil.
I have a history with my buddies at the hospital, where their names could show up in, at one time, a newspaper column, and now, a blog or a Facebook post. I have the advantage of saying anything I wish and their hands are tied for defending themselves due to the HIPAA privacy laws…right Charis? Unfortunately, they are all so good to me that it would be kind of thankless of me to taunt them. I hate having a conscience.
Whatever…the nice part is that they have to be nice to me. It is part of the job. I have no idea if they go to the break room and warn everyone that “he is back!.”
I’m probably a little more work than your average patient. I have to have my laptop, which requires a table and an electrical outlet, as well as my cell phone, which requires an occasional electrical outlet, and then of course a fan, which requires a chair and yet another electrical outlet. Fortunately there were still two outlets for my antibiotic drip and the insulin drip.
I will be the first to admit I am addicted to being connected at all times to the internet. Email, news stories, Facebook, opinion columns…it could be a full-time job if I so desired. When I’m not connected through my laptop, I am connected through my smart phone. During a nasty hospital stay in which I can’t sleep, it comes in handy. When I ran out of online newspapers, I had a stack of DVDs with which I occupied my time.
Whatever you may have heard, I have never asked for anyone to stand at my bedside and pluck grapes to drop in my mouth.
With a bit of begging and a few promises, I was able to be dismissed in time to head to California. On Saturday, I was able to talk a reluctant LuAnn into letting me check out so I could go home and get some actual sleep. I had to promise to come back every six hours through Sunday morning to get another bag of antibiotics. I slept like a rock in the comfort of my home.
After a week of being derailed with health issues, I had a few fires to put out at home before I could embark on my trip, and didn’t get out of town until after lunch, not a good start to my 1800-mile drive.
Next week, I’ll let you know how that went.

It could happen…

Everywhere you looked over the past couple of weeks, someone was making predictions about the coming year. In keeping with my own little annoying tradition, I bring you my top ten predictions for 2011.
10. The Hattiesburg, Mississippi Bingo League will grow frustrated in September when Brett Favre can’t decide whether or not he is joining.
9. In July, after six months of give and take and bipartisan bargaining over the big issues in our country and multiple meetings with President Obama, Democrats and Republicans will announce that they haven’t reached any agreements, but they have decided to break for Independence Day.
8. The New York Yankees will buy the Seattle Mariners.
7. Sarah Palin will “refudiate” the big government overreach of indoor smoking bans. “Ya know, our forefathers were known to light one up in the Oval Office once in awhile. Since when is this country afraid of a little lung cancer?”
6. Bad news: the Twins home opener will be snowed out in April. Good news: there will be no problem with the roof caving in.
5. Sports call-in geniuses will call for the firing of Leslie Frazier after the Vikings lose their first game of the 2011 season.
4. I will be the beneficiary of a rescue effort in February when an avalanche will bury me between the massive snow piles at the end of our driveway.
3. On her way out of her rehab facility, Lindsay Lohan will violate the terms of her probation and be escorted back in the building.
2. Wikileaks will reveal that the texts Brett Favre sent to Jenn Sterger actually contained pictures of Aaron Rodgers’ willy.
And my Number 1 Prediction for 2011…
1. In an effort to dramatically improve their bottom line, my insurance company will decide to just have me shot.

It’s nearly here!

Well, Christmas is close enough to smell. Several instances of spontaneous baking have broken out in our house over the past few days. I may or may not have been dreaming last night when I thought I awoke to a faint hint of figgy pudding hanging in the air. It was probably a dream, since I would have no clue how figgy pudding actually smells.
I finally buckled down and finished Christmas shopping on Tuesday evening. Unfortunately, I always leave the most difficult portion of my shopping list until last, which causes a wee bit of stress to creep into my normally calm world. I have a simple remedy for my holiday shopping stress. Whenever I feel myself getting a bit on edge, I throw something in the cart for myself. It has an amazingly calming effect on me. I tested it recently and found that my level of serenity is directly proportionate to the number of $5 DVDs I unearth in the discount bin. You can almost imagine what a 2TB Western Digital Desktop External Hard Drive would do for me.
Although I’ve somewhat moved on from the excruciating anticipation I would experience at eight years old, I still get pretty darned excited as Christmas nears. Despite what those of you who know me might think, it really isn’t about the presents. I can buy myself presents anytime throughout the year. There is something magical about getting together with family at Christmas. It wouldn’t be the same without them.
This year has been a bit sobering as the big holiday nears, as I’ve had two family members do a stint in the hospital in the past couple of weeks. My mom and my brother Clay, I’m happy to say, are both on their respective roads to recovery, but it certainly reminds a person of the fragility of life. I selfishly hope (a long ways down the road) that I’m the first of the Wilmes kids to go, because I can’t imagine the hole that would be left if any were to be gone before me.
Kathy and I recently had a conversation with a friend of ours who was extolling the virtues of staying home at Christmas with just his immediate family. He was nearly giddy with excitement. Again, I suppose, this is a testament to the magic at Christmas. These are the same people with whom he spends every single day of his life, but the excitement is elevated this time of year. I love my immediate family dearly, but I can’t imagine ever being forced to give up spending time with Kathy’s and my extended families at Christmas. I have to believe that it isn’t solely due to the fact that I get to eat ham with each of them.
I would guess each of you have your own traditions that make Christmas special for you, whether that involves spending time with your siblings, eating raw fish, or watching “It’s A Wonderful Life” on cable. Whatever makes it extraordinary, I hope you get to relive it again this year.
The next few days will be a blur of excitement, activities and merriment, and before I know it Monday will be here and I’ll be back into my normal routine (albeit with leftover Christmas goodies) and I’ll wonder how another season could pass so quickly.
If you all feel even half as delighted as I do during the holidays then you have an amazing few days ahead of you. Enjoy them to the fullest!
Merry Christmas.

Simply having a wonderful Christmas Time…

December is here! We have snow…we have holiday music…we have queries from Visa about our increased card activity. The weather outside has been periodically frightful. It must be getting close to Christmas.
The sights, sounds and smells of the holiday season have me at my normal level of mid-December jolliness. The smells part got off to a wonderful start last Friday as Kathy prepared four strips of Danish puff. Unfortunately, my salivary glands were needlessly stimulated as all four went to church for the holiday bazaar.
Any year when my Christmas spirit lies dormant for too long, the Opera House Christmas Show jumpstarts my soul and I become sufficiently stoked. It makes for a long day (I’m usually there for about 13 hours) but I get to hang with my Opera House family all day and get to hear some wonderful musical performances.
The next couple of weeks I’ll spend my time finishing up my shopping and trying to bribe Lindsay into doing my wrapping for me. Then all that is left is to sit back and anticipate.
I won’t keep you long…I know you all are busy this time of year…so I will just leave you with my Top Ten Signs I Know Christmas Time Is Near…
10. I experience increasingly frequent phantom sugar plum sightings.
9. “Just once,” I beg Kathy, “I want you to say to me ‘eat papa, eat…nobody likes a skinny Santa’ when we’re having pizza.”
8. I switch to pine-scented cologne.
7. Begin annual pleading with Kathy to get matching Christmas sweaters.
6. Change all my computer passwords to “Prancer1”.
5. I’ve started the yearly search for new technology to “shake-proof” Kathy’s gifts.
4. Usual profuse sweating is reduced to half with sub-freezing temperatures.
3. Start my annual campaign to get Taco Johns to stop advertising their Nachos Navidad with that awfully repetitious song.
2. I start working on next year’s Christmas gift wish list.
And the number one Top Ten Sign I Know Christmas Time Is Near …
1. Kids point to me in Wal-Mart and say, “Mommy! Look! What happened to Santa?!”
Happy Holidays!

Meat drippings and flour…

I can hardly hide my giddiness these days. ‘Tis my time of the year. Last weekend I was treated to my first snowfall of the season. Kathy, Lindsay and I were at the home of my brother Clay and his wife Linda in New Hope, where we witnessed the wonder of 10” of fresh snow falling outside their living room picture window. The show was complete with a rush of cardinals, blue jays, woodpeckers and squirrels scrambling for food just on the other side of the glass. There is nothing like a little frozen whiteness to get me in the mood for the holidays.
Of course the holiday season also comes with a full schedule. Starting with last weekend, my dance card is full for seven straight weekends.
Our trip to the Twin Cities last weekend was for the purpose of attending a surprise party for my nephew Chris. It was a big week for Chris. We partied in honor of both his 30th birthday and his brand spanking new engagement to an exemplary young woman named Krista. Congratulations to both of them.
This weekend we will be off to New Ulm, where we will see another nephew, Zack Jensen, who will be starring in the NUHS production of “Hello Dolly” on Friday evening.
Saturday brings the annual Wilmes Family Thanksgiving…this year hosted by my brother Todd and his wife Susan in Sanborn. It marks the much-anticipated beginning of gravy season. Yum. Yes, I’m talking about the steaming hot flow of murky goodness that is absent from my life for most of the year. What a wonderful, versatile topping for virtually everything on the Thanksgiving dinner table, with the possible exception of the pumpkin pie. The smooth, silky, sultry, salty goodness that is ladled copiously on every inch of…um sorry. Moving on…
On Thanksgiving Day our merry band will travel to North Mankato, where the Thomsen family celebration will be hosted by my sister-in-law Cruella and her husband Dave. This is seemingly fitting, as she will soon be returning from a vacation in Turkey. Although, by the looks of the food pictures she has posted over the past couple of days on Facebook, I will be inspecting the main entrée to confirm that it is actually a domestic Butterball. Any signs of mussels and rice with a side of vine leaves and I’m out of there.
The following day will bring a bit of Black Friday madness. Rumor has it there will be some awesome prices on electronics throughout the season. I love electronics.
Okay…one more note about gravy…
One of my favorite Christmas memories was maybe four or five years ago. My yearly ode to gravy in the local newspaper column paid big dividends. “Off the Mark” reader Bev Gylling of Tyler saved and froze leftover gravy from throughout the year and presented it to me at Christmas. How does it get better than leftover gravy…the gift that keeps on giving. That stash of carbo-laden happiness lasted well into February as I recall. Having trouble coming up with gift ideas for me? 1. Electronics 2. DVDs 3. Gravy.
Sorry, sometimes gravy can distract my train of thought.
The festivities will continue into next month. First weekend—Opera House Christmas Show; second weekend—my office Christmas party, followed by a Sunday gathering of some of my family members as we hold a wake in honor of the death of the Vikings season; third weekend Kathy’s office Christmas party; and then of course, the Main Event on the following weekend—Christmas.
New Year’s weekend I’m hoping to sleep.
May each of you have a season resplendent with laughter, covered in gravy and devoid of Turkish goat cheese.
Happy Holidays!

I can finally pare back my verapamil dosage…

So, now it is okay for politicians to go back to using their inside voices, right? It had gotten to the point where I couldn’t even listen to my WCCO morning gang on the way to work any more (although Mike Lynch has always made that somewhat difficult). Many mornings I had to turn off the radio and ride to work in silence in order to escape the obnoxious political ads. My blood pressure medication can only deal with so much.
In order to prevent angry “outside voice” emails from pouring into my inbox in the days to come, I am forced to keep my opinions to myself in this blog. OK, just one little comment… If you believe the polls, then it should amaze everyone how ridiculously scary a candidate can be and still get votes from Americans. I don’t ever want to hear the phrase, “I vote for the best candidate no matter if they are Democrat or Republican.” That is laughable. Damn, there I went and did it…now I will get accusatory Facebook comments after my blog post…
I guess on the bright side, newspapers and radio/TV stations’ coffers should be funded fairly well for the foreseeable future.
I always think that humans of any nationality, race or religion should err on the side of tolerance. That comment shouldn’t be too controversial, right? That is common sense, right? When I’m being queried by St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, I want to be proud of my answers.
St. Peter – “So, as you know Mark, all people are God’s people, right?”
Mark – “Right.”
St. Peter – “Tell me, how did you treat Muslims? People who weren’t the same color as you? Gays? Jews?
Mark – “Well, for the most part I felt they have all the rights that I have, but it would depend…”
St. Peter – “Depend on what?”
Mark – “Well, if they are Republicans?”
St. Peter – “Mark!”
Mark – “Hah! Pete, lighten up…I’m kidding! Most Republicans are people too!”
St. Peter – “Hey! Your wife was wrong…you ARE funny! Come on in and have some pizza…”
Well, okay, maybe my meds should actually be dialed BACK a bit.
***
Happy Anniversary to Kathy and me on Wednesday.
Nineteen years ago today, November 2nd, 1991, I was out of town when we were supposed to be married. We ended up getting married on November 3rd after I finally escaped the Johnson Motel in Windom after three days during the Halloween “Blizzard of the Century.” Nearly two decades later, I’m still scared to ask if I was worth the wait…blood pressure issues, you know.

Oh yeah—and I hate pink…

Likes: Glee, The Sound of Music, kitties (and in turn, blogging about kitties), Broadway musicals, sitting and chatting with the girls, Lady Gaga, Facebooking, American Idol, long walks on the beach…well, okay, probably not the last one. Yeah, despite the fact that the average person could read this list and assume it belongs to a female, the list belongs to me. I can’t deny that my tastes lean towards “girlie”.
I don’t hunt and I don’t fish, which you would assume would automatically preclude me from being issued a Minnesota driver’s license.
Exacerbating my situation is the fact that I work in an industry that is filled with manly men. The average person who works in the same building as me is a hard-living, hard-loving, hard-drinking, rough talking, hunting, fishing, football-watching ball of testosterone.
Me? I actually have to go to the doctor every two weeks to get a shot of EXTRA testosterone.
I’m not kidding.
I try not to reveal too many of my feminine tendencies. (Well, except to the dozen people who read my blog.)
The men’s room at the office, in addition to an occasional Cabela’s catalogue, is typically stocked with macho-style reading material of which I have no interest:
The Minnesota Hunting & Trapping Regulations Handbook 2010
Classic Motorcycles “RIDE ‘EM, DON’T HIDE ‘EM”…Special Project Bike Finale!!!
InFisherman Panfish 2010 Guide – “The World’s Foremost Authority on Panfish”…Riprap Crappies!!!
Popular Science – Cyborg Spy Bugs…“Terrifying Science or Innocent Research”
This leads me to ask four questions…
1. How can Cabela’s have absolutely nothing in stock that I would want to purchase?
2. Who knew there was a magazine about panfish?
3. Who knew there was something called a panfish?
4. If I were to bring in my latest copy of Broadway Musical Digest, would it automatically provoke co-workers to “pants” me at the next staff meeting?
As the scary Sharon Angle told Harry Reid in the Nevada debate, maybe I need to “man up” a bit, but I wonder if it is possible at this point in my life.
When I find myself in a room full of men I have to hope they are talking Twins or Vikings.
Beyond that, I try to keep my mouth shut. I would hate to blurt out a question like…say…“what is a panfish?”
After watching Sunday night’s Vikings/Packers game, I can’t guarantee how long I’ll watch football either.
I know a lot more about “Project Runway” than I do “American Chopper.” I would rather watch “Ellen” than “NASCAR This Week.”
I brake for squirrels and I have two tools…a hammer and a screwdriver. I’m not that good with either one.
Now, we are closing in on the holidays. I might shop on Black Friday, and I can’t wait until The Hallmark Channel starts running their Christmas movies.
Ladies, you are invited over the first time they run “A House Without a Christmas Tree.” I’ll whip up a batch of crème brulee.
If there are any doubts about my actual gender, I do have a few guy-like tendencies. I don’t think I have ever cleaned the bathroom since we moved into our house. I can kind of grow a beard.
I like boobs!
Now if I can stay out of any conversations involving panfish at work…
*****
Thanks to everyone for the support over the past couple of weeks after we lost our furry friend, Joe. It is obvious I’m not the only one who gets overly attached to their pets. The scratch on my arm from his final day with us is nearly faded, but still reminds me of him every day. His ghost seems to walk the rooms of our house, at least in my mind. I miss him immensely. I’m glad that periodically I got to share some of his life with some of you.

Saying goodbye to a friend

I remember thinking two things the day I found out that we were going to have a cat.
1. Oh my God I can’t wait to get him home!
And
2. Kathy got talked into buying a cat?
It was the summer of 2006 and Kathy fell in love with an adorable little kitty in Mankato, as the local animal shelter was holding an adoption event at the local pet store. I immediately was overcome with giddiness. Shortly thereafter, I was emailed a picture (top right, click on it to make it bigger) and I saw The Cat About To Be Named Joe for the first time.
It didn’t take long after he first came home for him to stake out his favorite place to recline. For some reason my computer chair (middle right) became his most favorite spot. He allowed me to use it occasionally, but we all knew it was only because HE was okay with it, and he would get it back when he was ready…if that meant meowing, clawing or squeezing his arm behind my butt and grunting, he would let me know it was time to move.
His second favorite place? On me.
For the first six months he lived with us, I had a series of tiny scratches up and down my right leg. He was so tiny he couldn’t make the leap from floor to the top of Mount Mark in one bound, so as I would sit at the kitchen table with my right leg facing out from the table, he would ascend by digging in and pulling himself up one paw at a time. If I was otherwise occupied, like maybe eating, he would perch on my shoulder, but his preferred location was my vast, spongy chest. He could sit there for hours.
Overnight, it was either my chest or the small of Kathy’s back. He always had to be near us.
As he grew older, he grew a little more hesitant to show us much affection. He always liked being in the room with us whenever possible, but was never much of a lap cat. He still held on to that affinity for my chest however. Eventually, he would only spend any time there when Kathy was not in the room. If she would walk in and catch him, he would jump down immediately. “What?” he seemed to ask. “I wasn’t doing anything.” The six weeks I spent unemployed last year, he was my constant companion. If I didn’t offer my chest, he felt the need to park on my laptop keyboard. It’s hard to send out resumes with what had become a massive 16.5-pound kitty blocking out my screen.
I did eventually get a job again, and he had to do without me during the day. When I came home, however, he always came out to greet me. To be fair, he wasn’t the only person who cared if I was home. Sometimes Lindsay would come out to the kitchen and ask, “What are you doing home so early?” A different kind of caring, but caring nonetheless.
Sometime after his second birthday, we started to notice his front foot pads were swollen and eventually started cracking and bleeding. After many attempts to give him some relief, including some topical potions and oral medication, it was decided he had an auto-immune disorder, and he could get some relief from taking steroids. It may or may not have been a sign of things to come.
Nearly every morning, Joe served as my alarm clock. Whether I wanted to get up or not, he meowed his insistence. I used to think it was just because he was hungry, and no doubt that was part of it, but he didn’t like me going back to bed after he had a snack. He would chow down on whatever I gave him, but before long he would be back meowing at me, poking my nose with his paw or sometimes just sitting inches from my head, staring at me. Many times I would open one eye and see a giant kitty face filling my view. On weekends, once I was up for the day and he was satisfied I was going to be hanging with him, he would catch a few winks himself, curling up on the floor next to me.
He was my buddy, but he was also my confidante. I could complain about my job, my wife, the Vikings…it didn’t matter. He got to hear about it…although he usually looked at me like, “I’m a cat, what do you want me to do about it?”
If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know most of the rest of this story. A couple of months ago, we noticed that Joe appeared to be working a little too hard to breathe. Lots of trips to the vet and many x-rays and shots later, we still don’t know for sure what was attacking our kitty. We did know by looking at the x-rays that his lungs were about half the size they should have been, and probably shrinking. He made it clear to us, however, he did not like going to the vet.
He became more and more inactive in the ensuing weeks and his breathing was more and more labored. Each day he became less interested in eating and drinking. On both Tuesday and Wednesday mornings of this week, my morning buddy came and sat near me in the early morning, but didn’t make a sound. He spent all his energy breathing and apparently meowing was just too much work. Wednesday morning he waited patiently for me to rise, but for the first time ever, he didn’t lead me into the kitchen. It was too hard for a kitty to do when he couldn’t breathe. After about five minutes in the kitchen, he finally came out to see me, but wasn’t interested in the usual routine—weaving back and forth to garner a few pets and some scratches behind the ears. He didn’t want his morning treat—a piece of deli turkey. I left for work with a sick feeling deep in my gut. By noon he would do nothing but lie on his side and gasp for breath. He would lift his head momentarily to look at Kathy, but couldn’t find the energy to move. When I saw Kathy’s I.D. come up on my cell phone shortly after noon, my stomach did a flip-flop. It wasn’t going to be good news. It would be the news I had been dreading for weeks. Kathy’s wavering voice confirmed my fears.
The decision was made that we couldn’t continue to see him suffer. I took the rest of the afternoon off from work and made a blurry drive home. I walked in the house and headed for the bedroom to see my sick friend. When he saw it was me, he stood and jumped off the bed, but that would be it. The action sapped him, and he had to lay back on his side on the floor, mouth open and his sides sucking in with each breath. He couldn’t, as he had done nearly every day of his life, come and let me know he was happy to have me home. He didn’t have to…I knew. For the next two hours, while we waited together for the call from the vet, he was able to lay in one his favorite spots—that little patch of afternoon sun on our bedroom floor. He even got to sleep for awhile and was able to forget that he struggled to breathe.
The call from Mona at the vet’s office finally came and Kathy and I gathered him up to take him to that place he hated so much. If I had to do it all again, it would have been a house call. I made a bad call, and assumed he was too far out of it to care. I was wrong, and will beat myself up for a long time that he spent the last five minutes of his life very frightened. He didn’t seem to care that as I held him, I continued to apologize to him in his right ear.
His struggle is over now, and right now it is hard to see the good in what we did. For over four years, he was my constant buddy—morning, noon and night—and not seeming to care that I was a middle-aged, overweight, somewhat messy, opinionated liberal underachiever. He seldom left my side.
I showed him my appreciation by signing a piece of paper Wednesday afternoon, saying it was OK to take his life.
Yeah, I know, it was the humane thing to do, and I will comprehend that eventually. But not right now.
This morning could only be described as weird. I awoke at Joe’s usual meow time, about 5:30. Out of habit—honed over the past four years—I peeked around my pillow. I could almost feel him there in the room with me, but no luck, it wasn’t just a bad dream.
The turkey was still there in the fridge meat drawer, but I didn’t have a large, chubby kitty butt plant itself between the drawer and the door when I opened it, waiting for a treat. When I spent a little too much time in the bathroom, I didn’t hear any impatient meows coming from outside the door. Nobody jumped up and spun around as if he wasn’t really waiting for me when I finally emerged.
For four years I would complain to people that the reason I was tired because “my cat got me up at 5:30.” I mistakenly thought I was perpetually annoyed by this. I found out this morning, however, I was mistaken.
I spent most of Joe’s life complaining that he liked hanging with me so much he couldn’t wait for me to get up in the morning; whining that he was always under foot when I got home from work because he was excited that his friend was home; expressing my dismay that he would plant himself in front of me, right on my laptop, because he liked being near me. Apparently I just like to complain…although he never seemed to mind that either.
It would be comparable to Britney Spears complaining that people are always telling her she is beautiful. Deep down I loved his attention.
Of course, now I realize I would trade just about anything to have all those burdens back in my life.
Many people tell me that for this very reason—they don’t want to lose them—that they don’t have a pet. Yeah, right now it feels like I don’t need this in my life. But this will eventually fade, and I will remember what a great companion I had, even if the time was too short.
Am I making too big of a deal out of the death of a silly pet? Yeah, probably. There are a lot worse things that go on in this world. I just can’t stop myself.
We miss you Joe, and I’m sorry for a lot, but I’m not sorry we took you into our home.
Thanks for being our good friend.

Did I ever mention the fact that I hate the Yankees?

I should start by thanking all who came to see “Forever Plaid” over the weekend. We had some amazingly raucous crowds…and yes, a couple of crowds that were a bit sleepy…but overall a great experience. It is nice to have a couple of days off before we kick off our final five shows on Thursday.
We had a nice mix of young and…um…not as young who were in attendance. The young people seemed to enjoy the sheer goofiness of the play. Those older than myself, more often than not, commented on the fact that they were singing along with songs they hadn’t heard since they were teenagers.
Come see for yourself if you get the chance…
If there is a downside to participating in the annual fall play at the Opera House, it is the fact that the Twins are generally in the American League playoffs, and I’m not home watching the games. Most years they have already been eliminated by the time the final show ends. Hopefully this year is different.
Again, they will face the New York Yankees.
Allow me to digress…
Top Five Things I Hate…
1. The New York Yankees
2. Fans of the New York Yankees
3. Yankee Alex Rodriguez
4. The New York Yankees “NY” logo
5. Liver and onions
Maybe this year will be different. Our Twins will have home field advantage. Maybe we can scrape together three wins in five games. If not…I guess we’ll hear more about the Yankees into mid-October.
Of course the bright side of being gone every night is the fact that I don’t have to listen to the disgusting practice of paid political ads. I beg you all to NOT BASE YOUR VOTING DECISIONS ON POLITICAL ADS!!! I personally turn them off or mute the sound when they come on. I don’t care who is running the ad. A large number of these ads, at best, distort the facts and deliberately try to be misleading about their opponents past actions. You will actually learn more by checking out WCCO TV’s Pat Kessler and his “Reality Check” during the evening newscast. You can check out past pieces by going to http://wcco.com/realitycheck. I can’t believe there isn’t a law against some of these practices. Of course, the practice continues after they are elected, so we shouldn’t be surprised.
Just ask our Kenya-born Muslim/Nazi/Racist President. Here’s my own “reality check”: He was born in Hawaii, he is a Christian (not that it should make a difference if he wasn’t), he is certainly not a racist, and to call him a Nazi is disgusting.
I guess at least they haven’t called him a Yankee.

Not too impressed with 2010…so far

Ah, my favorite season seems to be fast approaching. The sultry, soupy air that hung over us for the past couple of months has finally been pushed south, and my favorite Canadian export—the cool air mass—has mercifully settled in. As The Year of Mowing Lawn finally moves into its final stages, I will look back upon the summer as one of my least favorite ever. Even the ridiculous amount of fun I had directing “Chicago” at the Opera House can’t save Summer 2010 from the notoriety of being one of my bottom five in my life.
A few facts to back up my glum review:
- I somehow picked up a nasty chest cold on the weekend of the Fourth, and wasn’t able to rid myself of my cough until about two weeks ago.
- I live in a country where the intolerance of others who are not like us has apparently become the norm.
- My cat, (and good buddy) Joe got sick. It appears he won’t see his fifth birthday.
- A former associate has robbed us of thousands of dollars and so far our legal system has allowed them to get away with it.
- Did I mention that the lawn wouldn’t stop growing?
Of course, despite the downers, I continue to try to find a silver lining. For instance, after cutting the grass on Sunday we discovered that our picnic table hadn’t been stolen after all.
To my benefit, many have conspired to bring spates of mirth into my daily life.
The Twins continue their march to another post season appearance. They are even within the grasp of owning the best record in the major leagues.
Accepting her final award of the VMAs Sunday evening, Lady Gaga wore meat onto the stage. How can that not uplift someone from a lousy mood? I LOVE meat.
Sarah Palin, Newt Gingrich and Michele Bachmann continue to speak in public. (Even Republicans must let a grin escape occasionally…come on, admit it.)
And I again I find myself working on another Opera House show—with three gentlemen who regularly make me laugh…sometimes even intentionally.
I figure I have a little over three months to save the year from being a complete loss…so here goes:
My Top Ten Other Reasons To Laugh in 2010…
10. The fact that at least 3-4 times a day someone sees me for the first time without facial hair and with varying degrees of success, attempt to stifle audible chortling, bringing me an endless source of jocularity.
9. Texas swept the Yankees over the weekend. AHAHAHAHAHAHA!
8. The Gopher football team.
7. The mustache on that wacko “minister” guy in Florida.
6. Justin Bieber’s hair.
5. Glee starts soon! (Yes, I am akin to a 14-year-old girl.)
4. The mustache on Twins pitcher Carl Pavano. (I’m beginning to think there are people who should follow my clean-shaven lead.)
3. Anything Brett Favre said in August. :)
2. Watching me during choreography rehearsals for “Forever Plaid.”
And the Number One Other Reason To Laugh in 2010…
1. Only 3-1/2 months until 2011!

Say it ain’t so, Joe…
As I mentioned above, our favorite kitty isn’t doing so well. While we weren’t able to pinpoint what is ailing him, but we were able to narrow it to a handful of things that it could be…none of which have a happy ending. Thanks to Drs. Loren and Roxane for their special treatment of Joe and all the time they spent looking and hoping for a cure.
His labored breathing is very hard to watch. Unfortunately, all we can do now is decide when he is no longer enjoying life enough for him to continue the struggle.
He still lies in the sun and sleeps a lot…what kitty doesn’t enjoy that? He still comes to greet me when I come home from work, strategically arching his butt to the perfect position to get a bit of a scratch above the tail. He still comes to get me up at 5:30 a.m. so I can hang out with him for a bit before I go to the office. He still, on occasion, parks himself in front of the refrigerator and paws at the door, letting me know (in case I forgot) where that package of yummy Oscar Mayer Deli Oven Roasted Turkey Breast is located, from which he loves to partake of an occasional treat.
He has gone from being a robust 16.5 pounds down to less than 12 now. His breathing is never good, but if he takes it easy (not too difficult for any kitty) it isn’t quite as pronounced. He doesn’t eat like he should, but he likes it when Kathy spoils him a bit by getting down on the floor and holding the bowl, or better yet, a freshly-opened can of Fancy Feast. He seems to like the bonding.
For now, the best we can do for him is to dote on him when we can and enjoy the time he has left with us. Even if it means getting up before the sun.

My apologies to Drew Carey…

It seems that I have inadvertently inflicted plentiful amounts of mirth upon those around me this weekend. Lots of snickers and snarky comments have been directed at me…and this all from just within my own home. For only the second time in 35 years, I removed all my facial hair. My cat even did a double take.
The reason for inflicting the sight of my entire face on my loved(?) ones was picture day for the fall play at the Opera House. The play is about four clean-cut gentlemen from the early 1960s, and so the three of us members of the cast with goatees “took one for the team” and shaved off our rugged manliness. I’ve heard rumblings that John and Tim are also taking a bit of heat on the home front for their naked chins.
Some of the early electronic publicity went out last night by email and on Facebook. The combination of the barren face and the horn-rimmed glasses I wear in the publicity shots have drawn comparisons to the visage of Drew Carey. The people making these comparisons are kind enough not to add…“a larger, more out-of-shape, older Drew Carey.”
I did the dirty deed Sunday morning. You can imagine my surprise when, during the process, it became more and more apparent that I had discovered a third chin. In addition, the whisker removal left a mysterious red patch on the left side. I had either inflicted a nasty razor burn, or it was evidence that something had taken up residence in my mustache over the past three and a half decades.
As I mentioned, this is the second time since high school that I went crazy with my razor. The last time was three or four years ago. After three or four days of ridicule from my wife and kid, I scrapped the project and grew it back. This time, when Lindsay saw me, an actual audible gasp escaped her mouth…followed by “oh my God,” and then hysterical laughter. Very subtle.
Reaction from outside my home has been all over the place. Anywhere from “oh my, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without facial hair,” to an obvious discomfort. They will talk to me while continually trying to pull their gaze from my chin and pretend not to notice. A couple of them welled up with tears, turned, and ran.
Since “Forever Plaid” won’t close until October 10th, my facial nudity will be hanging around for awhile. I encourage you, if you run into me, to avert your eyes…if you can. It is hard to do. I also think that probably looking at me through smoked glass helps.
In the meantime, I’ll try to put you all at ease by saying I don’t mind the laughs…or the gasps either for that matter.
And on the bright side, maybe it will give me a chance to clear up whatever that red patch is above my lip.
*****
My good friend and favorite kitty continues to fight his health issues. Joe is nearly back to his old self, eating and drinking and waking me up in the mornings, but he still struggles to breathe and it is hard to watch. We are working with Drs. Johnson and Nielsen to try to make the fluid in his chest cavity go away. The x-rays are depressing, seeing that mass of fluid taking up the space where his lungs are supposed to be. Despite his quick short gasps of breath, he has been a brave young trooper, handling the situation with a great disposition. I hope he is rewarded with a happy ending.

Yes Noelle, I’m blogging about my cat…

A few random ramblings this week…
First, thanks to all who came to see “Chicago” at the Opera House and of course to all who were involved. It was the 25th play I’ve directed at the theater, and my favorite so far. Plays--for directors--are kind of like children. You love them all. This “child,” however, caused me less stress than all that came before. The kid that was “High School Musical” a couple of years ago, on the other hand, nearly had me considering alcoholism as a life choice.
Much of the responsibility for staving off hypertension this summer was due to the extraordinary talent of the cast, top to bottom. The fact that we had a remarkable orchestra making those jazzy 1920s songs come alive was a bonus.
The remainder of the responsibility for my low stress level can be directly traced to a handful of people who pitched in and helped in a number of areas: Greg and Carol Mensen, Curt Madsen, Lynn Carpenter, Kathy Johnson and Stacey Voit. They participated in a lot of the heavy lifting involved in the weeks leading up to Opening Night. I can't possibly thank them enough…
*****
Kathy, Lindsay and I, along with some good friends, took a Southwest Tours bus to the Twin Cities on Saturday to the Orpheum Theater. We were able to see a remarkable traveling Broadway production of “Wicked,” a show that is billed as a prequel to “The Wizard of Oz.” It is the story that tells of Glinda the Good Witch and the Wicked Witch of the West before the tornado. I’ve always loved the soundtrack and now I finally was able to see the play. It was amazing in both performance and special effects. It was a production that could not even be spoiled by the 700 steps I climbed to get to my seat and the seven inches of legroom in front of my seat.
*****
We are awfully worried about our favorite kitty in the Wilmes house. The life of my cat, Joe, has been well-documented in newspaper column and blog over the past few years. He has struggled his entire life with an auto-immune issue that causes the pads on his front paws to swell. This has required us to mix prednisone in his food over the past many months…nasty tasting stuff.
Apparently that isn’t enough hardship in his life.
In recent days, Kathy and I noticed his breathing had started to become labored. Just relaxing, he would breath in short rapid gasps. After a 2-1/2 hour trip to the vet on Wednesday, we still aren’t sure of the cause. X-rays revealed that his lungs are collapsing and his chest is filled with fluid. So filled, in fact, that the fluid cloaked his heart from the x-rays. I now am charged with giving him twice daily shots to try to clear up the fluid enough to be able to see his heart. A blood test revealed elevated enzyme levels in his kidneys, but we aren’t sure if that is due to the fluid issue or the other way around.
It is amazing how a silly pet can become such a part of your lives. I worry about him nearly as much as any human member of my family and I can hardly push my worry over his health far from my thoughts these days. Hang in there, Joe…
*****
After more than a six-year absence, I am returning to the stage this fall. I opted out of directing the fall play so I could get a short break and actually spend some time at home. So what did I do? I hired a director who proceeded to talk me into actually being in the play. Yeah, I’m not all that smart.
So…opening on September 30th at the Opera House will be “Forever Plaid.” I’ll be playing the part of Jinx. On the bright side, I’ll be able to prove my theory that after 50 years old, you can’t memorize anything longer than a phone number. Yikes.

Just when you thought I forgot about you…

Hello everyone. Yes, it has been awhile since you have heard from me…and I should warn you that this could rapidly deteriorate in to a whiny blog. A “whog” if you will.
First, however, I will start with the positive. The reason I haven’t been wasting my time sitting around at home blogging (or whogging) is about to come to a close. I have spent most of my evenings with a delightful group of people who came together back at the beginning of June with a single goal—bringing the musical “Chicago” to the stage of the Lake Benton Opera House. Yes, for the past 16-17 years I have given in to my girlie-man propensity for getting involved in Community Theater. This year was no different.
As a director it is hard to pick favorite plays I’ve done over the years…each had different qualities. Each year I have expended a blog or a newspaper column telling you reasons you should come and see the show. This year I will make a statement that I’ve never made before…this is the best show I’ve ever directed. I should qualify that pronouncement with the following disclaimer, however: The reasons that this is the best show I’ve ever directed do not include anything I have done. It was just my good fortune to draw a cast, crew and orchestra that came together to create a remarkable final product.
From the biggest parts played by Audrey Bloemendaal, Ashley Vogt, Adam Madsen, Brad Nupen and Sara Vogt to the smallest parts played by Amy Wyatt, Brock Nelson, Carrie Schwing, Alan Riedel and Sandy Hanson, I was the beneficiary of top notch performances. I am always impressed when an actor with a bit part will do everything in his or her powers to make their own 90 seconds of stage time memorable.
The choreography created by Ms. Bloemendaal (pictured [l.] with Ashley Vogt [r.])is wonderful. That she pulled it off while playing one of the lead characters is just short of freakish.
When Stacey Voit of Ghent agreed to participate I knew we would have a splendid orchestra, and I again was not disappointed.
We still have six performances…Aug. 4-7 there will be shows at 7:30 PM…Aug. 7-8 there will be shows at 2:00 PM. That Saturday show, incidentally, is our Senior Citizens special, with tickets reduced for seniors by $2.50, to $10.00.
Don’t go anywhere just yet…I still have my special whining portion…
Each year the summer musical takes up a lot of my time, but the satisfaction I receive in return more than makes up for the busyness. It is when the Big Guy decides he needs to throw me a few curves that things get difficult.
“Let’s see, how can we mess with Mark this year?”
In past years most of my undue stress was provided by my career as a newspaper editor. Naturally, since my Great Emancipation from the newspaper business over a year ago, something else had to take over in the “messin’ with me” department. This year it was my first-ever summer cold. Somehow, on July 3rd, I came down with some chest cold issues. Three types of medication and an inhaler later, I’m still fighting with the cough. There was a stretch of 60 hours last week where I got a grand total of about three hours of sleep. It was timed perfectly with the days leading up to opening night. To say that I was in a fog is an understatement.
I’m now on the inhaler, as well as prednisone, which coincidentally is the same stuff we have to give our cat, Joe for his odd affliction of being allergic to himself. I now know why he doesn’t really appreciate the taste of his food on the mornings we mix in one of his little steroid pills. I can’t get mine swallowed fast enough to keep the nasty taste out of my mouth.
It will be worth it if it helps. I really hope to one day again be able to sleep lying down. In addition, I’m very close to being voted out of the house and into the garage at night by my frustrated family.
So it has been a difficult run this year. Add in a Relay for Life event in July, and enough rain to give my lawn a lush quality that begs to be mowed every four days and my life is full. I would guess if I were to get creative, most of this stuff could be blamed on the Obama administration.
Or maybe BP.
The lawn got so out-of-hand before the end of the week last week that one of our neighbors graciously mowed it for me. He said to consider it his donation to the arts. Thanks Rick…
Oh…one more whine…does anyone else feel like they are breathing pudding when they step outside?
OK, thanks for letting me get that out of my system.
“How else can I, a reader of Mark’s blog help lift his spirits?” you ask.
Come see the show. I will absolutely assure you that you will enjoy the performance, and in the process, you will make a small donation to the Opera House that will help keep it healthy and a contributor to the quality of our life here in southwestern Minnesota.
Need more convincing? You can check out the pictures and a video on the Opera House Facebook page at www.facebook.com/lakebentonoperahouse. You do not have to be a Facebook member to see it.

In the throes of my third most favorite season…

I used to like summer a lot better. I’m almost sure of it. I would guess that it has something to do with my formative years. Risking the danger of oversimplifying…summer was ingrained into my consciousness as “those three months that I got to go outside and play.”
In those halcyon days it meant school was out. That was the catalyst that would lead to 90 days of unfettered adventure.
For many years after high school graduation the memories of those years were so ingrained into my being that I would experience a heightened sense of euphoria each May in anticipation of June. Unfortunately, June would arrive and I was left with a heightened sense of, “um…I got excited about this?”
I eventually evolved past the giddiness in May and now when June arrives, I’m just left with a heightened sense of the current relative humidity.
If it weren’t for wind chill, summer would be in danger of slipping to my fourth favorite season.
Here are the realities…
Back then…
I was constantly mowing lawns of Russell residents in order to make lots of money to blow at Ike’s Recreation and the Rainbow Café.
Now…
I am constantly mowing lawn.
Back then…
My life revolved around Little League baseball games…win or lose.
Now…
I CAN’T BELIEVE THE TWINS LOST THREE STRAIGHT TO THE MILWAUKEE FREAKING BREWERS!
Back then…
I loved walking the trails in the hills at the Russell Park.
Now…
When I get my car serviced I have to walk to DeBoers to pick it up when it’s done.
Back then…
Clarence and Harlan and I used to spend half of the summer nights sleeping in a tent in our backyard.
Now…
Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.
Back then…
My friends and I would load up the station wagon and go to a double feature at the Starlight Drive-Inn in Marshall.
Now…
I try to stay awake through a double feature of the weather and the sports.
Back then…
I would get to sleep in until 8:00 every morning.
Now…
If I’m not up by 5:45, the cat is checking my vital signs.
Back then…
We would be so busy entertaining ourselves in and around Russell we would sometimes forget to come home for supper.
Now…
Yeah, I have fixed that issue.

So you can understand why summer has lost some of its luster for me. School never gets out anymore.
I still have a couple of bright spots during the summer. I get to spend a few weeks hanging with some of my favorite people at the Opera House; I get to eat some Aebleskivers in July; and there is that whole grilled burger thing.
Oh, and some years my lawn goes dormant in early August.
For the most part though I’m just biding my time until late September when the air turns cool and the leaves turn yellow.
And admittedly, next January when I’m standing at a gas pump with the temp at zero and the wind at about 35, I’ll remember why summer still has a tenuous hold on third place.

A case of the blind hanging the blinds

Yes, I am indeed still alive, despite what my blogging silence may have indicated.
It’s been a busy couple of weeks with Opera House tryouts for “Chicago” and the ensuing casting and rehearsal preparations. Rehearsals began Sunday evening and I’m thrilled with the quality of the cast. If anyone out there would like to join us, we are still looking for a few people who would like to dance in some of the group numbers…male or female. It is a great opportunity to be in one of the most successful musicals of all time, while making a few friendships that could very well last a lifetime. If not you, maybe you know of someone????
Outside the glitter of show business, some of our time at the Wilmes household over the past few weeks has been tied up in a home improvement project. By “some of our time,” of course I mean “way too much time.”
My lack of handyman skills has been well-documented over the years. I never did inherit my dad’s ability to fix stuff. If it can’t be duct taped, I’m probably screwed. Of course duct taping the new blinds in place wasn’t good enough for my fussy wife…even if I COULD have found matching white duct tape.
That left us with only one option: screws.
Unfortunately, we found out early in the project that the screws that came with these top-of-the-line blinds are made of something that approaches Play-Doh in terms of durability. My “stand back and let me handle this” machismo was soon quashed as I ruined the first five screws, either by stripping the wimpy Phillips grooves with the cordless drill or by snapping them in two.
While I have no doubt that Kathy was thinking I am a moron and the screw snafu was my fault, we found the job started going much smoother once we scrounged our drawers for higher quality screws. Of course, I was stripped of my cordless drill and with a “just get out of the way and let me do this” attitude, Kathy took over with a manual screwdriver. This was just as – I’m still convinced – the cordless drill would have worked just fine following the screw upgrade.
In an attempt to make the task even easier, we made the decision to drill holes in the window frame before attempting to install the bracket screws. The instructions recommended a 1/16” drill bit. Before the end of our first day of the project, I had snapped off two borrowed bits for which we would need to purchase replacements.
After upsizing to the 5/64 bit, things went a bit smoother. In the end, however, the project, from purchase to final installation was about two weeks in duration. We ended up installing nine sets of blinds. This required Kathy to manually screw in precisely 63 screws, giving her a right arm that is nearly Schwarzenegger-esque in girth. I think she may now be a bit “bustier” on the right side also.
The project took a lot longer than we expected. Certainly longer than the manufacturer’s claim on the outside of the box of “15-minute installation.”
We were duped.
What next? Well I’m now on to my next big project…trying to mow a lawn that has been wet for 10 days and has grown to astounding heights. I’m hoping to be done by Sunday.
Oh, and you won’t see Kathy for awhile. She hit the road in pursuit of the National Women’s Arm Wrestling Championship.
I think I’ll wait until she gets back to put up those new shutters on the outside of the house.
Should take her about 10 minutes…

Two decades of living with me finally having an effect…

I would like to start by confessing that what started out as a weekly blog has become somewhat sporadic. It probably will continue to be somewhat random in its regularity in the coming weeks with another big show starting up at the Opera House (****“Chicago” opens July 29th and runs through August 8th! Call 507-368-4620 for reservations!****). For those of you who actually read this stuff…thanks for your patience.
After several weeks of the last Opera House show and some major photography projects, Kathy and I have been trying to catch up on “our shows” that have been collecting on videotape over the past couple of months. We have five or six hour-long shows we can’t live without each week, as well as another five or six half-hour sitcoms.
As of late last week, we had a backlog of about 32 hours of TV shows awaiting us on VHS tapes. Imagine the surprise (not to mention unbridled admiration) that I felt towards my antsy wife when we slogged through nearly half of that over the weekend. When you consider we also got the lawn mowed, the house cleaned, the groceries bought, a grad party attended and went to the RTR spring play, the accomplishment is that much more remarkable.
It was almost like a bachelor weekend, except the dishes had to be washed regularly.
A couple of times during the weekend I had to talk myself down from a hyper-euphoric state, briefly imagining that after 18-½ years of marriage, she might finally be turning into me. I took the more sensible route—not allowing myself to get prematurely exhilarated and set myself up for an impending letdown. I was encouraged, however, and will be monitoring her behaviors closely.
That being said, here are my Top Ten Signs To Watch For That Could Be A Hint Kathy Might Finally Be Turning Into Me…
10. Hearing the comment “yeah, Mark, I’ve been thinking we should put off replacing the carpet and get a bigger TV.”
9. If I were to notice butter pooling on her toast in the morning.
8. She’s wearing a t-shirt—“Vegetables Suck.”
7. I catch her dialing down the thermostat.
6. The cat starts spending more time with her.
5. If I were to notice butter pooling on the front of her shirt.
4. I walk in the house after work and she shouts, “ROAD TRIP! DVD SALE AT TARGET!”
3. She finally admits my theory is correct…you don’t need to vacuum until you can visibly notice chunks.
2. She starts to like Charlize Theron.
And the number one Sign To Watch For That Could Be A Hint Kathy Might Finally Be Turning Into Me…
1. She starts to laugh as hard at my own witty comments as I do…

No thanks, I like where I’m at…

No thanks. I’m still not interested in buying a newspaper. As I tell everyone who is kind enough to ask, my favorite thing I’ve ever done in my life was put out a newspaper every week. It was also the most difficult. The lifestyle seizes all your waking hours, and you don’t realize to what extent until you have been able to step back from it for awhile.
Our current Lincoln County newspaper situation is a bit volatile. I hope for the sake of the area residents that something gets resolved. I’m confident that it will.
One thing about old newspaper columnists, we always like to give our opinion on subjects, whether people want to hear those opinions or not. That being said, here are a few of my thoughts about a small town newspaper…
• One of the most important features of your local newspaper is the public forum. It is supposed to be the voice of the people. Readers should be able to express their opinions—positive and negative—without being censored or ignored. Even if you are criticizing the newspaper or the guy who decides what goes on the opinion page. In my days as a newspaper editor, I never kept a letter that was bashing me or my opinions from my readers. The subscribers were always well aware of my opinions, they deserved to hear the other side and formulate their own judgment on the subject at hand. There are exceptions to the rule when bashing others to keep the paper protected from libel…but nothing was off limits when voicing your displeasure with yours truly. The newspaper business is not for the thin-skinned. If you can’t take criticism don’t take the job.
• I’ve always felt it was a conflict of interest for me to hold public office while covering that same body. Your job as a local publisher and editor, in part, is to be a watchdog for the people. It is too tempting to be less than transparent when you control what the people read.
• Don’t take yourself too seriously. Have a sense of humor and know when it is appropriate to let it show on the pages of your newspaper.
• A newspaper survives on its advertising revenue, and it takes a large amount of that revenue to collect all the news and photographs each week, lay them out in an easy-to-read format, have them printed and deliver them to your doorstep. A very large amount. And if you think for a moment that any of the fine people who do this for you each week are overpaid, you are sadly mistaken.
• It is impossible to cover, or even know about, everything that happens in your town. If you want your newspaper to know about the tree planting in honor of the 1958 Arco High School Glee Club at 8:00 Sunday morning, call the newspaper office and tell them. Better yet, go to the event yourself, take a picture, and submit it with the event information. They will be happy to print it, but at least give them Sunday mornings off when possible.
• Everyone makes mistakes. With hundreds of bits of information coming into the newspaper office each week, once in awhile your paper is going to miss printing the blurb announcing the semi-annual meeting of the Petunia Club. It does no good to yell into your phone on Wednesday morning. They didn’t leave it out on purpose.
Okay, I admit I certainly SOUND like someone planning on getting back into the newspaper business, but rest assured the answer is still no. I’ll stick to this blogging thing. It doesn’t pay very well, but weekly submission is optional. I’ve been doing this for a year, and although it is always possible, so far nobody has called and yelled in my ear.
And next week I’ll be back to give more of my unsolicited opinions…or not. Why didn’t I think of this blogging thing years ago?

Happy Mother’s Day to me

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you moms this weekend. Myself and a couple of my siblings will be partaking in a Mother’s Day buffet on Sunday with Mom, so actually I too will be the beneficiary in the form of five different meats and all the gravy I can eat. In actuality, I am the incidental recipient of a Mother’s Day gift each year, as Kathy, Lindsay and Kathy’s sisters do a girls weekend that started years ago. That leaves me and my feline friend Joe (pictured) as kings of the castle. I’ve been busting my proverbial hump all week in an attempt to get all my extracurricular work done before the womenfolk leave on Friday afternoon.
I probably shouldn’t get this excited over being home semi-alone, but I can’t help myself. About 3-4 weekends per year I am left to explore those white trash instincts I work so hard to repress the rest of the year. With more than a little effort, Joe and I usually snap out of our haze soon enough so we aren’t discovered on Sunday night dozing next to a pile of pizza boxes and Little Friskies cans.
I really don’t understand the mesmerizing appeal that overtakes me when I’m left to fend for myself. I mean, it’s not like I can’t kick back and watch a movie or two when Kathy is home. I just can’t seem to stifle years of pent up Lutheran guilt that comes with lifting my feet when she is vacuuming. It doesn’t matter if I’ve worked for 36 consecutive hours preceding…if she is working I feel I have to be working. Unfortunately, Kathy is clueless when it comes to kicking back and being irresponsible. She has a lot she could learn from me in that area.
In the end, I figure as long as the house looks no worse when she returns as it did when she left. I’m covered.
About 10 minutes after she pulls out of the driveway on Friday, Joe will start bugging me to take a nap. My eyelids will indeed start to droop, and I’ll drag myself to the bedroom. Joe knows the routine (even though a nap rarely presents itself), and two or three minutes later, I’ll feel a paw poking me in the back, notifying me that I need to lift up the fuzzy blanket behind me so he can crawl under.
Once we are settled, I gradually slip into a semi-conscious state, and towards snoozeville I drift—ever so slowly…slowly…slowly, until at last…Wells Fargo calls to see if I would like extra insurance on my debit card purchases.
This type of thing doesn’t seem to affect Joe’s nap, but it generally ruins any chance of me getting to sleep. So I tiptoe (yeah, right) out of the bedroom and slip in a movie. The nap finally arrives about 45 minutes in…pushing “pause” during the last moments of consciousness.
This routine will be repeated several times throughout the weekend.
Late on Sunday I’ll sit by the window and watch for them, and when I finally see the Grand Am rounding the corner, I’ll bound out the front door and down the drive…um…okay I’ll shake off the sleep and pretend I’m fixing the vacuum cleaner.
I cherish my alone time, but it is always good to have the rest of the family return eventually.
We all know that a Lutheran can only stand so much happiness...