i smelled mud

today after a long sleep and a good paper i put on my jeans and went outside and then i smelled mud.

mud!

smells come with every season and you and i can smell them all, we can. breathe deep and think about

rain

hot sidewalks

snow

leaves blowing, and falling

lilacs

christmas trees

fresh cut grass

woodfires

hot coals

blankets hot from the dryer

basil

radiators

dirt and marigolds

too many more to mention, but today i finally smelled the luscious mud i've been longing for.

bozwell pounced with great enthusiam in a big earthy pot of it. fat paws sucking up the soupyness and plopping and slopping, happy boy.

we all love mud, we all who live here.

and the muddy promise of spring.

ready, set, go!

there used to be an old brick fire station in south minneapolis that was tucked into a busy corner. it is a bagel shop now but years ago it was home to shiny red trucks, miles of equipment and a few good men. the light fixtures flanking the garage doors on were made of thick wrought iron and had been there so long they used to burn candles instead of bulbs.

a snowy saturday morning in early march and even though it would melt soon enough, six of the the firemen shuffled out into the front lot and looked up and around at sticky snow on the roof and cars and branches. the men wore dark blue pants and dark blue sweaters and there were red patches on their shoulders that proclaimed their work. one leaned down and made a bare handed snowball and smacked his buddy wet and sloppy. they were all holding snow shovels and then one of them had an idea.

shoulder to strong shoulder, they stood in a tight line at one end of the yard, heads down and shovels poised. one of them shouted "ready, set, go!" and in perfect formation they pushed their shovels across the lot and in two short seconds, the whole thing was perfectly cleared. they laughed hard, slapped backs, high fives all around.

and then the light turned green

and off i drove.

How to Live to be 100

Clement. G Martin, M.D., was the Former Medical Director of Continental Casualty Company when he wrote a book called "how to live to be 100", copyright 1963. he is nice looking man with big black glasses, a white shirt, skinny tie, and a well-groomed hairdo (a long crew cut with modified sideburns).

on the cover it says "how to add up to forty health-packed years to your life expectancy -- ward off the diseases of old age and have the time of your life doing it" and here are a few of my favorite parts:

no weight lifting

...if weight lifting is to be done satisfactorily and safely, a trainer or coach must be available at all times...and, of course, quite a few gadgets are needed."

stress, smoking, and other goblins

stress is overstressed. not only can we tolerate difficulties in our daily living, we need them. the kind of stress that kills occurred far more frequently when our ancestors lived in caves with only a stick to protect them from the tigers.

what about alcohol?

there are other bits of misinformation and half-information that worry us in our search for a long happy life...certainly high on most lists of worries is the question of alcohol...the dangers of alcoholism cannot be ignored, but...wine has been called the milk of the elderly,...and it has even been used, in some cases, as a treatment for alcoholism."

cigarrettes and tobacco

some people say they know the answer (to today's best publicized health problems): cigarrettes cause cancer of the lung, and that is that. others point out that the heaviest smokers of cigarretts are south africans and of european descent, and these people have a subnormally low frequency of lung cancer. cigarrette manufactorers employees, who have been studied for years, and who smoke heavily, also have a lower incidence of lung cancer than might be expected. the answer is plain: no one knows the answer..so the best advice is...moderation.

i knew it! i was right along but it's nice to have some good documentation to support my behavior.

excuse me while i put down the weights, celebrate my anxiety, pour myself a drink and have a smoke. i'm almost half-way to 100 so obvioulsy i'm doing everthing right so far.

cheers.

good dog

we are drazes and we love our dogs and today is a sad day.

teddy charmed his way into jim and deanna's lives as an irresistable ball of fluff who needed rescuing. part something and part something else, he was a feisty ball of insistence, wrapped in layers of fluffy tufts of heaven and a belly covered in white wool, inches deep. hershey syrup eyes, perfect little triangles for ears, and paintbrush paws. a perfect angel. perfect?

jim says at first, no. frankly at first, no. not a good dog. it took a while to break him in. impossible. exasperating. naughty. subborn. incorrigable. but, patience prevailed, and the chocolate eyes and curly wag only helped things along, and by the time i met him he was, indeed, a good good dog.

in our best memories we are gathered in iron mountain, at jim and martha's. we and our dogs, all together. dogs with biscuits and we with our wine, the grown-ups playing cards while the dogs snoozed under the table. and we laughed so hard the first time we heard jim say "come on, you bastard" as he rattled the leash announcing an evening walk. what a funny thing, as he was a good good dog and that would be like calling mother teresa a lazy bum. those days are long behind us, and now, teddy is, too.

he couldn't see and couldn't hear and felt pain when touched, and so the hard time came to say good bye.

and we will all remember the delight of burying our fingers deep in his perfect softness, the way he smiled when we scratched his ears, the noble prowl in protecting his home from wayward cats, and the welcome home dance with steps only teddy could tap.

rest well dear ted, and we send all our love with you as you bounce and run with your beloved cousins - lizzie, tammie, souza, pebbles. thanks for everything, and thanks for loving us as much as we loved you.

good dog.

this bus goes all the way

"thing about that bus is you can ride it all day. all day. are you planning on riding it all day? or how far? where you goin?"

"goin' home, man."

"does this bus take you home?"

"this bus take me home, man. where you live?"

"why yes i do. yes i do. i've done it many times. you can ride it all the way. i've done it."

the black kid with the red hat and the sly, pretty smile looked straight ahead as he waited for the 21. he had just finished his shift at the place across the street and he smelled like bacon and syrup, burnt toast and sweat. this afternoon was all his and he couldn't wait to get to it but in the meantime he found himself standing solidly in the middle of a transient friendship that would last about another 45 seconds.

"i stand here and wait a lot. unless the bus comes. it goes all the way. god oh man, i've seen it. i've done it. it goes all ---- the ---- way!"

he was tiny and clean with a warm hat and black track suit, white sneakers and a pack of merits. his whiskers were grey and neatly trimmed and he started bouncing lightly from foot to foot to foot to foot and said

"it's a good thing. it's a good thing. like when you do a jig! dance! dance! it's just like that!" he tapped and bounced and was fumbling to light a cigarette when the bus came.

"peace, dude." the kid climbed on and the bus headed south.

he blew smoke out his nose and said

"i knew it would do that."

blackjack!

the imperial palace is the oldest hotel on the las vegas strip, and it's my kind of casino. dark and smokey, it's full of comfortable red nawgahide chairs and dusty chandeliers and it feels like something you'd find on the UP in michigan or western wisconsin. it's small enough to find your way around (which is not the case in anything built after 1980 on las vegas boulevard), and they know how to char a steak and create a nasty-wonderful breakfast buffet. the cocktails are strong and cold, and there is a mai tai bar in one corner creating drinkable and drunakable works of art nightly. the bloodies at the video poker bar aren't bad either.

but the big draw at the imperial palace casino are the dealertainers.

"we bring the celebrities to YOU!"

the website goes on to tell us about their blackjack dealing celebrity impersonators - Marilyn, Gwen,the Blues Brothers, Stevie, Dolly, Barbra...we are further tickled at the anticipation of "your dealer stepping back from the table and breaking into song!" doesn't that sound fun? maybe it would be a movie moment - like when you find yourself in a situation that is more like a movie scene than real life, and all of the characters are playing their parts and it feels surreal for just a few minutes. roll tape!


i could just see it..babs stepping back from the blackjack table and belting out "people" and pretty soon she'd see me swaying and she'd grab my hand and swipe all the chips and cards off the table and she and i would climb up and we'd be holding hands and singing together...

"people...people who need people....!"


and soon everyone would be sweaty and teary with their arms around each other joining in on the final chorus...an orchestra magically playing above us...

"are the luckiest people...in........the..........world!"

turns out the dealertainers at the imperial palace aren't exactly what i expected. most of them seemed sincere, but bored and tired as they dealt cards wearing tangled wigs and cheap, crusty costumes. and instead of "stepping back from the table", they climbed up on a tiny raised platform in the middle of the champagne pit with a fake cordless mic to lipsink an old favorite or fake a new hit, and the ones who knew the words were almost kind of not bad.

this got me thinking about impersonations. i love a good impersonator - someone who can mirror the real thing so closely that you are amazed it isn't real. it is real and it isn't - like the infomercials used to say.."a genu-i-ne im-i-tation."

so if an impersonation is good, the character being personified seems real. right? but then i wonder if some of us for some reason at some point became impersonations of ourselves. does it become easier as we get older to be our true and authentic selves, or have we worn out our souls to the point that it is easier to pretend that we have become what we truly meant to be but didn't get quite there?

good question. for me, the real me is showing up in ways i never expected. she's making me think differently about lots of things, like which dreams came true and why, which ones still need to be sorted out, and how when you've got your health you've got just about everything is truer nearing 50 than it was at 35. she's punching me in the heart and she's poking me in the ribs saying "sing dammit, sing" and "write dammit, write" and also "this is the year you really out to plant that border of stella dora lillies out front. it would look so nice."


whatever it turns out we've become, seems to me that, if we still have sweet dreams at night and we still try to do good each day, if we breathe deep and feel blessed, than we have been dealt

blackjack.

have another drink and enjoy the show

what is it about that little bar in my basement? it is old and orange and green with paneled walls and several couches. a big stone fireplace and lots of candles. nothing fancy but they sure love being there, we all do. maybe it reminds us all of basement bars when we were growing up - except for me, because we didn't have one (we were baptists). it is big enough for all of us, but small enough to knock wrists or slap hands when we need to. and everyone is within arm's reach from the liquor, ice, water and snacks.

the christmas gathering was postponed this year at my request. i wasn't in the mood to entertain, so we went out for dinner instead. but everyone asked for a do-over. and last night they all came and we did over. oh this group...sometimes we laugh so hard we can't breathe and always we tell stories, and often we fall silent- one at a time and only for a moment. just long enough to take it all in and feel so lucky for having each other.

we are wondrously entertaining, funny and wise. at least we think so.

as all the cars were starting to back out, tim gave mike a big bearhug and told him "we love coming here".

we love it, too. thanks guys!