The youngest and I are off to see the Gophers. I don’t get to spend much time with her. She’s a social animal.

Gophers won 75-61, not quite as bad as Penn St. beat them, but I’m guessing Iowa wanted to beat the Gophers very badly. oooh, sportsgoddess look at this, the Lady Lions just squeeked past the Badgers by 1! The Hawkeyes starting point guard from last year, April Calhoun, is now a Gopher sitting out a year to play in her home state. We put an emabarrassing whipping on them here last year and they beat us in the Big 10 tournament last year. There is always bad blood between Iowa and Minnesota and this was by far the most intense game yet. Welcome to the Big 10!
Wierdly inconsistant reffing. They were drawing blood in the first half with no calls. At the beginning of the second half the Gophs were called for four quick fouls, which took them out of their intense pressure defense. They were behind in the second half for the first time ever. As usual they were awesome in crunch time. It was the largest crowd to see a women’s basketball game in Minnesota history.
I think Princess Q had a good time. We had some laughs, like when I bought a large tub of popcorn and immediately spilled it on the girl in front of me, dumped the whole damn thing on her. And when we couldn’t find our car in the parking ramp after the game. It’s fun to share traits like total lack of directional sense. The weather was wierd on the way home, above freezing, gray and damp. The kind of late afternoon you expect some zombie to come stalking out of the fog. We live next to a cemetery, I better not let my imagination get going.

Speaking of Awesome, I took the photo with my new camera. Our seats are in the second row of the balcony even with the opposite free throw line. I had the camera on continuous exposure and was just shooting away. I was able to crop the image down to a 5 x 7 of what you see. Incredible!

My normal routine in the morning is to microwave a cup of left over coffee to get me through while the fresh stuff brews. That’s what I did this morning but I forgot and when I went back up to the kitchen and poured a fresh cup the microwave was beeping at me. I guess I always was a two fisted drinker.

The Mountain Man and I are going to a seminar on Yellowstone fly fishing this morning. We are hoping to find new places and techniques for not catching fish. MM, his son and I drive out west every summer to leave deposits of wind knotted leader material in some of the most beautiful spots in the world. I would guess that the cost per pound of the trout we’ve caught must be about $2000. Yellowstone is great though, you can have an audience while you’re trying to untangle your line.

I am such a poseur. We showed up at the seminar and I was looking the part, fleece pullover, ball cap with modern fishy graphics, scuffed slip on shoes for the campsite. I was really flying the testosterone flag. I am a man. I fish. I can find my way around in the outdoors. Problem is I got lost in the strip mall that the fly shop was in. If these bonafide Mark Trail types could actually see me fumbling with a knot, or crashing a looped up ten foot cast with enough finesse to put down the hungriest trout, they’d get quite a bang out of it. The guy put on an hour and a half slide show covering the Gallatin River up into Yellowstone. The Madison, The Yellowstone, Slough Creek, the Lamar River and a few other drainages that I wasn’t familiar with. I’ve actually spent a lot of time in that area and I love to get out and fish, it’s as good an excuse as any to stand around in the middle of paradise. And maybe if I worked just a little harder at it I’d catch some fish and really get the bug. For now I’m fairly satisfied with sitting around camp, watching the river flow and going out to flog the water, pretending that I’m fishing.

It’s really all part of the romance I’ve had with the West since I was a kid. West Fargo was kind of the gateway to the West. Moorhead and even Fargo are on the edge of the East. In 1965, the Union Stockyards in West Fargo was cowboy country. It was a bustling place, my dad wore a cowboy hat to work and you heard that western twang, that accent that I love so much. Women who talk that way….wow. Barrel racers. And then after college Bill Benson and I went out to his native Idaho and experienced the summer of a thousand stories. I’ve tried to get out there as often as possible. Bill has made it now, he’s living out there, but he’s a real fly fisherman.

Bill Benson, if you’re reading this, feel free to refute
my assertion that I wasn’t a very good basketball player.

Eavesdrop:
Telephone conversation heard over the cube wall:
“Hello”
pause
“Really!”
pause
“Did she poop?”

I’m so excited! My digital camera should arrive today!
Gophers beat Northwestern 72-40.
They are only 600 tickets shy of selling out the Barn for the Iowa game on Sunday!

Let’s Talk About Me!
Brief biographical notes

I’m 54 years old.
I’ve been a recovering alcoholic for close to 19 years.
I’m a lousy speller with a short attention span.
I fly fish, but only because I think the clothes look cool.
I love the sport of basketball, although I never was much of a player.
I was born in St. Paul, Minnesota on the Westside. I moved to Moorhead, Minnesota in 1954. Had nightmares about the High Bridge.
I attended Carleton College in Northfield, Minnesota.
My father was a cattle buyer at the West Fargo Union Stockyards, My mother had, along with her sisters, an incredible sense of humor. My dad died in 1970 when I was 20. My mother died in 1992. They were in their forties when I was born. I have a brother and a sister, I am by several years the youngest. An afterthought or no thought at all. I suspect the latter. My Dad was a recovering alcoholic who quit before I was born. Was I a sobriety baby?
I have been a bartender, a tow boat hand, fought forest fires, two of which I started myself, driven a taxi, worked in a machine shop, been a block layers assistant, short order cook, taught art, guarded the rich, been an animator (OK in-betweener), an illustrator, graphic designer and now I’m the Poster Child for the Peter Principle. Yeah, he’s a pretty good artist, let’s make him a manager. OH YEAH!
I have a beautiful and talented wife and two beautiful and talented daughters.

I’m so tired!
Too much adrenalin pumping after getting home from tennis at 10:30. Stayed up and wrote until after midnight. Layed awake for awhile and then got horrendous cramps in my lower legs just above the ankles. It felt like my foot and calf muscles were trying to snap my shin bones. I got up and tried to walk them off without success. I actually got sick to my stomach from the pain. This seems to be happening more regularly as I get older. Any advice on what to do?

By the way The Old Pea Picker was Tennesse Ernie Ford. I got 0 answers.

Lost 6-0;6-3. Had fun.
A sketch from an old sketchbook found laying around the house. This must have been done sometime in the 80’s. Not sure who it’s supposed to be. Probably just practicing by drawing from photographs. The standard art school reasoning is that drawing from photographs just isn’t good. You’ve got to have live models. Naked preferably. I say it’s a hell of a lot better than not drawing at all.
I’m sure every former art student remembers that first life drawing class with the nude model. In my case, as usual, I was out of the loop as to what was going on. Let’s see, that would have been 1968. Can’t imagine me being out of the loop. More like I was into what the loop was made from. Anyway, I walk into the class and there’s the model sitting on a stool next to the platform in a bathrobe. Until that point it had been students in leotards. That’s what I was expecting. I found myself a donkey (that’s actually what they call those wierd drawing benches) and got out my pad of newsprint and my conte crayon start rolling my shoulders around to loosen up and make the girls in the class think I was serious. The model, climbed on to the platform and dropped the bathrobe. I let out an audible gasp. Figure drawing studio models come in all shapes and sizes, this woman came in the shape and size of a young goddess. Her name was Naomi and she was an art student at the U. She drove a red jeep. Damn, I wonder if I can find those drawings. Maybe I didn’t do any. I was probably having a hard time balancing the drawing board.

Tennis tonight. USTA match. The joys of senior tennis, nobody can remember the dam score, and I get to get my ass kicked by guys 20 years older than me. Haven’t played for a week either, so I’ll be really rusty. I’ll report back later on my results. But it’s usually the same. So far I haven’t found a partner who wants to come to the net, so we get stuck in the I formation, one up one back, the other guys get the net and it’s all over. I’m a good net player but I’ll go entire matches without getting set up because my partner lays back and is content to play cross court baseline. I’m no great double player but I do get the fact that aggressiveness is the key. Let’s win or lose at the net. The ball should not touch the ground. Dang it!

I’m getting a little worried about my coloration, maybe I should have my liver enzymes checked. Whaddya think?

Eavesdrop:
Actually overheard convesations

“It was a once in a lifetime thing that happens every once in a while.”

Good Old-Fashioned Norwegian Lutheran Funeral

Ole died so Lena called the newspaper to put the obituary in.
Newspaper guy, “OK Lena, how would you like the obituary to read?”
Lena: “Ole died.”
Newspaper guy, “Ole died? That’s it? You’ve been married for 35 years and that’s all you have to say about him? Wouldn’t you like a little more information published?”
Lena: “Nope, Ole died”
Newspaper guy, “Lena, if cost is a consideration, you should know that the first five words are free.”
Momentary silence.
Lena: “Ole died. Boat for sale.”

Yesterday was Jo’s funeral. Redeemer Lutheran in Fridley was packed. A niece that was very close to her did a reading. She started to choke up early, and that’s all I needed. I was bawling like a baby. I’m a sentimental old fart. The pastor who gave the sermon was a young intern who had spent the last seven months visiting Jo her as health deteriorated. It was pretty obvious that she had captured him in her web of love and charm. He was having trouble keeping it together. He did tell an Ole and Lena Joke though. She was known as the Queen of the Ole and Lena jokes. My nephew Scott read the eulogy written by his wife Jill (Jo’s daughter) who knew she couldn’t get through it herself. Jill’s a writer by profession and the touch of her creative hand was evident through the service. It was a beautiful tribute, expressing sadness, loss, remembrance, humor and the joy of faith.
The day had an extra dose of pathos to it. An eleven year old girl blessed us with a solo performance of Amazing Grace. This kid will be famous some day. She is a fearless performer, a ham’s ham, always ready to do her latest bit at family gatherings. What I didn’t know about her was that she has a genuine country twang. In other words, she can sing two notes at once! I thought only Tibetan monks could do that. Some of you may not care for that twangy music, but to me it’s beautiful when done right. (Soundtrack of Brother Where Art Though) And she did it right.
Now for the pathos. Her grandfather had died the night before. Her parents didn’t tell her until after the performance for fear she couldn’t do it. It was a touching scene after the service when her dad had to break the news to her. Jill and little Sarah crying in each other’s arms.
God bless Jo Palmquist and all the Palmquist family.

Before I sat down to write, I went out to the fridge¹ to grab a Coke. Sat down cracked it open and….It was frozen!

1. Minnesotan for refrigerator. We called ’em ice boxes until 1960.