welcome autumn

High Country

It is almost midnight Mountain time and I'm hanging out among the peaks in Colorado's Summit County. The windows are wide open as we expect a low temperature tonight in the 40s. We'll cuddle under blankets while we sleep. It is calm and a welcome break from travel schedules and suburban life.

We have no plans for this long weekend in the mountains. We simply want to be here. The five year old wants to hike. The three year old has a bum toe and wants to ride in a stroller. We'll have to find a happy medium.

On the drive up today, we stopped by the lake in Georgetown, Colorado and ate a sugar cookie. It was so simple. We didn't do anything elaborate. There were no picnic blankets or even any preparation. It was a family moment. We pulled off the highway, parked by the lake, got out of the mini-van and enjoyed being surrounded by mountains as we looked at the water and ate our sugar cookies. It was beautiful.

China vs. Mexico, Spain and a host of other countries

As I mentioned in my previous post we are beginning to look at elementary schools. Our local school district has decided that every elementary school student should have the opportunity to learn either Chinese or Spanish.

So here are my questions. Should my two kids learn Spanish or Chinese? Which will be more useful? Which provides the most interesting window into a different culture? 20 years from now, which will be more beneficial in the job market? Which one will open the door to better trips for me when I retire?

Living what you believe

In 1990 I was visiting an elementary school in Alabama during recess. What I noticed was a bit shocking for me. The kids were all playing in groups. All of the groups were racially integrated, gender integrated and even, to some extent, age integrated. What determined the make up of each group was the clothes the kids were wearing.

Kids with more expensive clothes were playing with other kids who were wearing more expensive clothes. Kids with cheaper, more worn out and ill-fitting clothes were all playing together. The kids on the playground had literally grouped themselves based on family income bracket and I knew this by looking at the clothes they were wearing.

Ever since that day I've been a huge believer in school uniforms. I think they ought to be required starting in Kindergarten and ought to stay a requirement all the way through high school.

Tonight, however, I was looking at the website for the local elementary school my oldest child might attend next year. I was surprised to find that they require a school uniform four days a week. (Kids are allowed to wear their own clothes every Wednesday.) You'd think, given my strong belief in the importance of school uniforms I'd be happy, right?

Not me, my gut reaction was, "Screw them. They can't tell my kids what to wear." My gut reaction was to protect my kids' independence and freedom to choose to wear what they want to wear.

In the end, my head will over-rule my heart on this one and next summer I'll gladly shell out the bucks for the appropriate articles of clothing. But I'm not going to feel good about it. I'm going to feel like I did when I was a kid and my parents made me eat liver.

Making Grandma Margaret Proud...

I had Friday off so I took my kids to Broncos training camp. It ends up we live just a few minutes away from their headquarters and practice facility. We had a great time and the kids really did a good job of paying attention. I wasn't sure they would have much interest in watching practice. After about 90 minutes of watching we headed for the team store and then went home to eat lunch and get a nap.

As we were eating lunch, I asked my five year old son if anything at camp had surprised him. His response was, "yeah, I was surprised you actually bought us something."

My frugal grandmother will be proud!

Dress up clothes on a summer day

She turned three this month!

Memorial Day 2007

One of my grandfathers was captured by the Germans in World War II. He wrote this poem about his experience.

I’m an Ex-POW/MIA

And in a land so very far away,
And tho’ by no fault of our own,
We were surrendered … then left alone.

The enemy had surrounded us with their guns.
They picked us off then, one by one.
After a time—many, many dead.
We surrendered. Then wondered why in hell we did.

After many months of agony and pain.
We were told we might get home again.
And oh-the happiness that brought me!
(Hope you’ll never have to experience it to see.)

And now we’re home and well—and, yet-
They say there are some over there yet.
Until they’re home then—yes, everyone;
Then our work as Ex-POWs and MIAs is never done.

In 2003, my wife and I visited the field in Normandy where grandpa was captured.



A small monument marks the field.



After he was captured he was marched out this gate.



His first night in captivity was spent in a building at this farm. Prior to the war it was a quiet family farm and today it is a quiet family farm. As we looked at the first two stops on my grandfathers forced journey to a prison camp in Germany it felt strange to me to see how peaceful these places are today. It was shocking to realize just how much life really does go on. Places that are full of fear and sadness for some are places of great joy for others.





His second night was spent in a monastery.



He was shipped via train to Germany. He and his fellow POWs were crammed into boxcars and the doors were shut and locked. Soldiers died in the boxcars. There was very little room to move and the air quickly grew stale and very hot. The only way to get a breath of fresh air was to stick your nose through cracks in the floor boards. Unfortunately there were also no bathrooms so sticking your nose through the cracks meant pressing your face up against some nasty boards. But the fresh air was worth it so the soldiers took turns breathing the outdoor air.

What's remarkable is that these men in the boxcar were ordinary guys pushed into extraordinary circumstances. I can't imagine how they managed other than to say simply that they were survivors.

The men and women we have in our military today are ordinary people that have been sent into extraordinary circumstances. I encourage you to take a moment this weekend to think about what we have asked them to do. I encourage you to think about the sacrifices we've asked them to make and the sacrifices we've asked their loved ones to make.

Quantel Won!

Thanks to everyone who voted! Quantel just won a trip to the national finals of a slam dunk competition. You can see his dunk in the post below.

We need your vote

My cousin's significant other recently won the University of Nebraska-Omaha slam dunk competition. You can see his dunk below. What we really need, however, is for you to vote for him. Visit this page and vote in the upper right-hand corner for University of Nebraska-Omaha. Thanks!

On the farm with the Grandparents

As a child I would spend a couple of weeks every summer with my grandparents. One week with Grandpa and Grandma H and one week with Grandpa and Grandma L. The weeks would happen back to back and, one might think they would be fairly similar. My grandparents both lived on farms in Eastern South Dakota that weren't all that far apart. They were roughly the same age. Grandma H and Grandpa L were in the same class in school!

With the Hs, my memories are much more focused indoors. Singing along with "Big, Bad, LeRoy Brown," using a tape recorder to do my own play-by-play to football games on TV. I remember being in the house on a hot summer day. There was no central air. Grandma had all the windows and doors open as she tried to coax a breeze through the screens using old box fans. She and I were doing something when she asked me if I could spell the word quarter. "Q-U-A-R-T-E-R" I quickly rattled off. Grandma expressed amazement that someone my age could spell that word, especially with a q-u in it. I told her I couldn't imagine not being able to spell it – after all you can't spell Quarterback if you can't spell quarter!

Outdoor memories at the H's involve riding horses and bailing hay, doing chores, playing with my Uncle Mark, Aunt Cindy and Aunt Margo. Not a bad life.

With the L's, the memories are different but that's probably mostly due to my relationship with my cousins on that side of the family.

One of my earliest memories with the Ls is watching a horse race on TV at Grandpa and Grandma's house. We had a ticket from Hy-Vee, I think, that listed the number of a horse and if that horse won the race then we could cash our ticket in for $100. Our horse started slow but closed fast as they came down the stretch. In the end it was a photo finish. I was excited as I could be. My horse lost by a nose.

I remember going fishing at the river and catching a bullhead, taking it home and cleaning it and finding out it was pregnant. Grandpa showed me the fish eggs and I was fascinated.

I remember playing with Pete, Sean and Chris with home made rubber-band guns Grandpa had made out of clothes pins, wood and the cut up inner tube from a tire.

I remember coffee cans filled with feed for pigs. And I remember the time grandpa asked me if I wanted to do chores with him. I said yes and raced out the door as he got his boots on. "Don't go in with the hogs until I get there," he said. "Okay," was my reply.

I, of course, went down and got my coffee can, filled it with feed, climbed the fence and jumped into the middle of a bunch of hungry hogs. I held the coffee can full of feed above my head. The pigs, being unable to jump decided to take me down.

Now grandpa was a master at working with dogs. His dogs were well trained and protective. Grandpa was still up at the house. His dog, I don't remember which one, jumped the fence and bit pig ankles, moving them out of the way until she got to me. Then she stood right over the top of me, refused to let me up and let go with a torrent of high pitched barks signaling danger until Grandpa came to get me out of there.

Now I was grateful to the dog for saving me but scared as could be about what might happen when Grandpa got me out from underneath the dog. I think that's the most trouble I ever got in with a grandparent.

I remember setting off fireworks, bailing hay, separating lambs from their tails, painting buildings, learning to drive tractors, football games, baseball games, country music, Christmas mornings, ping-pong, dominos, Coca-cola, rodeo on tv, baseball and football in the yard, bottle-feeding calves and lambs, coin collections and visits to the casino.

Either way you cut it you can't beat those memories. It was a good way for a kid to spend some time in the summer.

Genetic Language

Subtitle: How to talk Minnesotan.

My four-year-old son tonight showed that language can be genetic. He's never lived in Minnesota but he came up with this classic gem.

Me: "Will you please take your red chair upstairs?"
Him: "Yep. You Betcha!"