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  • I LIKE THAT STORY
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Home/LIFE/The Good Old Days

The Good Old Days

  • June 15, 2018
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Vintage Map Soviet Union

I bought this map at an antique store. It helped me remember why I’m a little weak on my eastern hemisphere geography. When I was a kid, many answers to quiz questions were swallowed up by the good old Soviet Union. Many fewer countries to memorize back then.

Did I just say that? Holy cow! This big bad blob of (usually) red country was disturbingly larger than the United States (our teacher said that much of that was flat map distortion, but that didn’t help much) and was a convenient plot device for any spy show that needed a lurking enemy. A lurking and permanent enemy.

I remember blowing off a World War I quiz because the Arch Duke of blah, blah, blah was killed by a Serbian.

“What’s a Serbian?” I asked.

“Someone from Serbia.”

“What’s Serbia?”

“A piece of land that’s now part of the Soviet Union.”

Okay! No need to remember that. I tossed it in the mental bin of useless outdated information with other names like Siam and French Indochina.

All those stories and more washed over me. I laid down my 45 bucks with a plan on where to hang this in my house and what I was going to tell my wife.

“It’s an historical artifact.” I’ll say.

She’ll say, “You just bought it because you wanted to have it.”

What can I say? She knows me.

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Golden Years

Sometimes you’ll hear a kid say, “I wish every day was Christmas!” Well, I have seen it happen, when I will see a little bit of Christmas magic in an unexpected place and time…like the man who taught me about Golden Years

He was sitting on his front porch when I first saw him…I suppose in another time, I would have strolled over and started talking since he only lived across the street…but neighbors aren’t what they used to be…now they’re just people who live next to you- and most prefer their anonymity.

He seemed different though- for one thing..he spent a lot of time on that porch- mornings, evenings..rain sun…even snow I’d see him alone or with his wife just – sitting.

So one fall evening…it was maybe 8pm, I was picking up stuff out of the yard putting the car away..I saw him across the street sitting on his porch. I gave a wave and called out, “beautiful night.” … he called back “Sure is…little nip in the air”…by that time I was at the edge of his property…it seemed natural to walk across his lawn…and more natural still when he motioned to the rocking chair next to him…to sit.

To tell the truth, I always wanted to sit on that porch…something about a porch, I guess.

He introduced himself and thanked me for joining him saying, “Some things just look better when you have someone to look at them with.” And that is all he said.

We sat for..I’m not sure…20 minutes…maybe …watching fireflies, listening to the chirp of crickets…the occasional car…and the creak of the two rocking chairs

I couldn’t say how old he was for sure..I was pretty sure he was retired…and although I can make conversation with anybody if I have to, with him it seemed better to share the company of silence.

Finally he stirred, “Yknow…people always talk about the Golden Years…like it’s someplace you gotta get to…maybe the 20 years when you retire.” He paused and looked around

“I built this porch when I was 35…when I was done, I sat out here and watched the kids chase those same fireflies, watch thunderstorms, spring rains…I even like to take some coffee in a thermos and watch the snow fall specially when the flakes are big like goose feathers…and the birds. I fill that feeder up and my wife and I will have a little breakfast in the mornings watching the birds. I guess what I’m saying is it turns out those 20 golden years weren’t all at once, but cut into tiny 15 minute to half hour pieces where you can just sit like this and just enjoy …living.”

He looked at me “you know what I mean?” It was nearly dark now…a chill that promised the coming of winter made me glad I had a jacket on, a firefly..the same kind I used to chase around the yard when I was a kid ..winked on and off

I looked at him, smiled and said, “I do now.”

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Four Gifts to my Daughters

Being a parent is a great gift and a great challenge- We want to provide our children with everything yet we know that if we removed all obstacles they would become weak instead of strong and would lead lives empty of promise and joy.

I would like instead to give these four gifts- each one is more valuable than gold or diamonds to the person wise enough to look closely.

My first gift is the Permission to Fail.

Like many parents, I have asked how you did on tests, classes, in games and performances. I have praised you in direct relation to the outcome. In doing so, I have failed you- because I have taught you that success is more important than failure- and unwittingly have helped you lower your vision to the easily attainable- the easy “A”, and the tried and true. Failure and Success however are part of the same gift. When you were a baby you learned to walk by falling over and over- not by me carrying you around. And in the same way, I want you to take the tough class and get a D, I want to you try the new job and feel awkward and nervous- because when you do that, you learn faster- both how to do it right the next time, and that failing itself is good and necessary if you are ever to succeed in life

My second gift is the Permission to do what you love.

By now you’ve been given all sorts of advice on what you should do. This has been given by well- meaning people (myself included) who have tried to steer you to a safe and lucrative lifestyle that you will be good at. My own father wanted me to be a dentist- and I have no doubt that I would have been a good dentist. But I’m also sure I would not have been a happy dentist. Being good at a career and being happy in a career is not the same thing. No job is perfect- especially the one you first get- but by learning what you can, failing when you are allowed and doing what makes you happiest are excellent ways to succeed.

My third gift is the most important. To love the lord your God with all your heart and soul and mind.

Of course you don’t have to take it- no one does. But if you believe that you are created, doesn’t it make sense to seek out that Creator? In that way you will find that what brings the most joy to Him will also bring the most joy to you. Your path in life will wind and twist and turn, but if you seek God and put him at the center of your path, you will find the journey exceedingly satisfying- even joyous.

And the final gift Passion-with great gifts come great responsibility

All of these precious gifts are perishable, they will not last long and at any time they can be taken from you. At that same time they are taken back you will be asked what you did with them. Remember to spend your gifts wisely- but also to spend them. How sad it is to see someone die a miser, with a fortune in the bank. Sadder still to have all the gifts and talents God placed in to (some you don’t even know about yet!) and see them still idle because of fear, apathy, laziness, or the seeking of petty temporary things. Those are the gifts I would wish to give- but like all gifts, they must be accepted, opened, appreciated and finally used. And even though they are invisible – they are the most precious gifts I can offer.

With love, pride and admiration, I remain
Your loving father,
Jeff Gould

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Christmas at the VA

Christmas- the holiday, is of course December 25 th – But Christmas- the memory- the feeling- the true celebration of Christ’s birth and what that means, can come at any time- the story of a busy, stressed Mother who found Christmas in a nearly deserted cafeteria at a VA hospital is next On APC

In one of those Christmas events that gets out of hand, I set up a impromptu concert for some veterans at the local VA hospital…this is a trick since I don’t sing or play an instrument- I volunteered my wife, Libby, who plays the piano and sings- she agreed and then I found out we had a problem- there are two lunch rooms at this hospital –they serve at the same time, and both were expecting to be entertained.

Well, my wife has pianist friend…Dorene and this becomes her story yourself- it was a Friday- shortly before Christmas…there was shopping to do, a house to clean, kids, programs…everybody is busy that time of year- there are no free evenings.

But because it was veterans and because she was asked…how can you gracefully say no?

So there she was in the cafeteria of the VA hospital 7pm on a Friday night the concert was over. ..the room was empty, the dishwasher could be heard in the distance, most of the lights were shut off. Because her ride wasn’t due for another half an hour, she sat at the piano idly leaving thru a hymnal playing some of her favorite carols.

It was then that she saw the man. He was in a wheel chair and bathrobe. He had been watching her play from a darkened hallway, but now determinedly was scooting his wheelchair forward with one good leg foot by foot. He stopped about 10 feet from the piano and asked a question:

“Can I …sing?”

Sure!, Dorene said, “what would you like to sing?” He said nothing…just looked at her. “How about Silent Night? Do you like that?” Again he said nothing.

She decided to play a few bars of the introduction…but got no reaction…at a loss for what to do..she decided to sing the song for him…maybe that’s what he meant..

But then something happened… at first sound of her voice, it was as if a curtain opened up in the mans mind. The name of the song meant nothing..not even the tune on the piano… but the sound of another human voice allowed him to Sing! A Beautiful Baritone voice joined with her alto singing all the verses of the that amazing carol until the last note died away and there he sat again alone and confused.

The in the silence he asked again, “Can I …sing?”

This time she understood, with tears in her eyes she would select a Christmas favorite and start playing the piano, each time he would stare lost and confused until he heard her voice…then each time the same rich baritone, blending with hers…they would sing together all the verses, all the words.

Two voices- two souls giving the gift of song to the Christ Child

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Christmas Alone

There have been many memories over the years from people who have had to spend Christmas away from their family, either because of weather problems, or health or job…yet from these times come some of our richest memories.

As it happened I spent my first Christmas away from home in Mitchell, South Dakota. I am from Minnesota, and landed my first job at KORN in October of that year…hired over the phone…for the sum of $140 a week.

I was the new guy, so didn’t expect I would get Christmas off—and I didn’t, besides, I didn’t have enough money to travel or buy gifts anyway.

I worked from 6pm to 1am, 6 days a week, and learned the hard way how to pronounce Jim Abouresks name, that Lead is not pronounced Lead, and the department store in Mitchell’s was pronounced Booies, not bouches.

I learned all these lessons, from our most loyal listener- Leta. Mind you, she didn’t have a choice…she was a widow who lived alone in a small house right next to the radio tower- and it overpowered all other signals…(I think you could pick up our station from an aluminum chair behind her house)

Anyway, from 7 to 1, she would frequently call and give me and say “I was listening and happened to notice…” I don’t know if I was grateful for the help, or irritated at the constant reminders of my shortcomings…but at any rate, she was as much a fixture of my new job as anyone else, even though I never met her.

As the first weeks of my job unfolded, I would spend my of my work shift alone, and had time to contemplate a grim, lonely holiday without friends or family.

Oh, I was asked by fellow workers to come over for a Christmas meal, but felt determined that no one would ruin my bad mood.

Finally, it was Christmas Eve…I signed off the station at 12 midnight, and said Merry Christmas without meaning it. Sure enough the phone rang—and it was Leta “Sounds like you might be spending Christmas alone.” “yeah,”( at least she wasn’t correcting mistakes from my newscast) “Well, I know what that’s like…and we said good bye and she hung up.

And I sat there alone for a minute for once thinking of someone besides myself.

I finished up my work at the station, hopped in my beat up Oldsmobile and drove to the only place that was open.. a 7-11. I had 3 dollars. I bought a can of cashews, and dug around in my trunk and found a beat up yellow bow. I had never been to her house, but even I could find the radio station tower…I found a small little house next to it with a light on in the kitchen.

I walked slowly up an unshoveled path, watching my breath freeze in the cold night air…thinking of a million reasons why this was a dumb idea.

I knocked on the door. The seconds crawled by…just as I turned to leave…the door opened a crack, and small frail woman with snow white hair said…”yes?”

“Um, my name is Jeff, and I work at the radio…I thrust out the can of cashews. “Merry Christmas” She opened the door wider and stared the Cashews then up at me…a 23 year old kid in a beat up jacket.

Suddenly she threw the door she smiled, a brilliant joyous smile and said “You came! You came—thank God Almighty, you came!”

And so, the two of sat in her tiny little kitchen in the wee hours of the morning, eating cashews, laughing and telling stories

and we had a very Merry Christmas

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A Pig for Christmas

Kids are funny. Who knows what they want for Christmas or how they decide, or how deeply they desire it.

I’m not really sure how my 10 year old sister came to her decision, but it was clear that the thing she wanted most for Christmas was a pig.

Don’t ask me…I was 7 at the time and thought it was dumb. And my dad was just as straight forward—absolutely not. Well you would have to know my sister, but all the negative words only made her more positive.

Pigs are farm animals not pets.
So?

Pigs are meant to be eaten.
We can eat it when it’s done growing

We don’t live on a farm.
We have 5 acres

Who’s going to take care of it?
I will

You know nothing of pigs.
I can learn..

And so on and so on…until my dad had her boxed in a corner. “If you can get all the food that a pig needs, you can have a pig”
My sister was ecstatic. At first.

Dad called his farmer friend John Gleason and asked if my sister could glean the corn fields after the combine went through.. He said yes, and so began our day of misery.

I’m not sure why I was dragged along (I still thought pigs were dumb) but we were dropped off at the edge of a corn field on a dreary day in November with two feed sacks. Every once in a while a combine will miss an ear of corn, especially if the ear is small. After 2 hours we had picked up about half a bushel of corn.

“Now,” said Dad warming to the bad news, ”this corn has to be shelled off the cob and cracked so the pig can digest it” We sat in the garage prying the kernels off the cob with gloved hands…an hour later we had hardly made a dent, when Dad came out with a burlap sack and a hammer. He dumped our piteous pile of corn into the sack and showed my sister how to whack the side of the bag with the hammer to crack the corn inside. “how long will this corn last?” asked my sister? “Well, I’m not totally sure, but you can figure a pig will eat about 60 bushels of corn before it goes to market.” Well that did it. I had never seen my sister beat, but she was that night. We gave up about 7 o’clock and went in to eat. She ate her food without saying a word, not angry, not pouting, just one hundred per cent beaten. What happened next I can remember like it was yesterday. We had just put on our pajamas and were ready for bed, when we heard a strange noise outside. It was John Gleason, the farmer, tractor lights on, trailer in tow, pulling in the driveway. My sister ran outside, in time to see him dump 60 bushels of corn in the driveway.

He leaned out of the cab. He was a man of few words…all he said was “that aught to be enough to feed a pig”

I have heard what Santa looks like and what he wears…but if you ask my sister, that night he wore a worn denim jacket and a feed cap

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