This blog was originally going to be about bucket lists. And, as sometimes happens, as background I asked Barb to again watch one of our favorite movies, "Bucket List." It stars Morgan Freeman (Carter) and Jack Nicholson (Edward). The two terminally-ill men go off to experience life on their terms before they die.
I was going to talk about our bucket lists, which are quite short. Mine included three items: Own a Corvette, cruise the Panama Canal, and complete my Master's Degree. Well, a year ago we owned a Miata (a cute little convertible), and I will graduate from South Dakota State University with my MS in journalism on May 7. The third item -- the Panama Canal -- will have to wait.
Barb's bucket list includes going to Hawaii and owning a bed & breakfast. As for those, we hope to make the Hawaii trip a possibility yet. And the bed & breakfast, well, we're working on that -- looking into a B&B operation in Lincoln that, if we could swing it, would be a great adventure for us. But only time will tell.
But watching the "Bucket List" got me thinking. It's a great movie, and hard to watch near the end without a handkerchief in hand. In the movie, Carter and Edward go sky diving, get a tattoo, race a Shelby Mustang, visit France, go on a safari, see the Taj Mahal, visit the Great Wall of China, and go to Hong Kong. But the movie's most poignant moment begins as they're sitting atop a tomb at the pyramids of Egypt when Carter (Freeman) tells Edward (Nicholson), “You know, the ancient Egyptians had a beautiful belief about death. When their souls got to the entrance to heaven, the guards asked two questions. Their answers determined whether they were able to enter or not. ‘Have you found joy in your life?’ 'Has your life brought joy to others?’”
Later in the show, the two friends part ways when Edward is angered by Carter's attempt to reconcile him with his estranged daughter. But later, as Carter lies on his death bed, Edward reads a note from his dying friend, urging him to "find the joy in your life." As Edward gives the eulogy and pays tribute to his friend at his friend's funeral, Edward is shown finally reconciling with his daughter and then kissing his granddaughter, thus crossing off of his bucket list the entry to "kiss the most beautiful girl in the world."
I found that a most touching and beautiful sentiment, and words certainly to live by. "Have you found joy in your life?" and "Has your life brought joy to others?" Hopefully we can all answer "yes." And, if you have found the joy in your life, you have led a rich and blessed life, indeed.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Tropical Nebraska
Why is it that a distance of 100 or 200 miles can make a difference of 20 or 30 degrees in temperature? Oh I know my geography and all of the scientific reasons for temperature gradients and changes and equatorial distance and all that stuff. But when Barb and I visit her family in Nebraska, I refer to our heading for "tropical Nebraska," because the weather's usually warmer there (sometimes quite a bit warmer) than in South Dakota.
On Saturday we made a last-minute decision to go to Kearney to attend a family gathering in honor of Barb's nephew, Josh, who is leaving on Monday for the Air Force. We were lucky in dodging the "S" word (for the most part) on Friday. While much of the state got snow (several inches in some cases), in Hartford we only had a bit more than a dusting... to the point that when we got up Saturday morning the ground was still white, but by mid-morning the evidence was gone, except on the north side of the house, fences, etc.
We packed up and headed out of town Saturday morning. As we headed toward Hwy. 81 (near Salem) we ran into heavier snow cover, which continued all the way down to north of Norfolk, NE. But by the time we reached Columbus (app. 45 miles south of Norfolk), the sun was out, grass was green and one bank proclaimed a temperature of 61 degrees. That sent us to the Weather Channel via Barb's Blackberry to check out local temperatures... Lincoln, 62; Kearney, 64; ... and Sioux Falls, 34. Ugh! Thirty degrees difference in a matter of less than 200 miles.
As we got closer to Kearney we also came upon dandelions. And water. Lots and lots of water in the ditches. Up to 2.4 inches of rain had fallen. That would've been an awful lot of snow farther north.
On our trip home Sunday we knew snow would be waiting for us as we headed north. But near Freeman it started to snow and rain -- snain -- and then more snow than rain, and by the time we reached Interstate 90 there was snow sticking to the roadway, and it looked like things were gonna get slick. But to keep this story short, we made it home fine, and woke up this morning to a snow-white lawn. By tonight, the snow had disappeared, but there's more snow in the forecast.
Hey, it's only April. The snow shovels are still within arm's reach in the garage, and the boots are still in the closet. I expect I'll wear them tomorrow.
On Saturday we made a last-minute decision to go to Kearney to attend a family gathering in honor of Barb's nephew, Josh, who is leaving on Monday for the Air Force. We were lucky in dodging the "S" word (for the most part) on Friday. While much of the state got snow (several inches in some cases), in Hartford we only had a bit more than a dusting... to the point that when we got up Saturday morning the ground was still white, but by mid-morning the evidence was gone, except on the north side of the house, fences, etc.
We packed up and headed out of town Saturday morning. As we headed toward Hwy. 81 (near Salem) we ran into heavier snow cover, which continued all the way down to north of Norfolk, NE. But by the time we reached Columbus (app. 45 miles south of Norfolk), the sun was out, grass was green and one bank proclaimed a temperature of 61 degrees. That sent us to the Weather Channel via Barb's Blackberry to check out local temperatures... Lincoln, 62; Kearney, 64; ... and Sioux Falls, 34. Ugh! Thirty degrees difference in a matter of less than 200 miles.
As we got closer to Kearney we also came upon dandelions. And water. Lots and lots of water in the ditches. Up to 2.4 inches of rain had fallen. That would've been an awful lot of snow farther north.
On our trip home Sunday we knew snow would be waiting for us as we headed north. But near Freeman it started to snow and rain -- snain -- and then more snow than rain, and by the time we reached Interstate 90 there was snow sticking to the roadway, and it looked like things were gonna get slick. But to keep this story short, we made it home fine, and woke up this morning to a snow-white lawn. By tonight, the snow had disappeared, but there's more snow in the forecast.
Hey, it's only April. The snow shovels are still within arm's reach in the garage, and the boots are still in the closet. I expect I'll wear them tomorrow.
Friday, April 15, 2011
My favorite teacher
I think everyone has had a favorite teacher. That one person who challenged you. Believed in you. Recognized your talents -- special abilities -- and maybe made you work just a little harder so that you would reach a little farther than you thought possible. Maybe it was a grade school teacher, or high school, or college. Maybe it was your mom or dad, or a neighbor. But there was someone who recognized your special qualities and wouldn't let you quit until you recognized them yourself.
I could probably name all of my grade school teachers and most of my high school teachers, and some of my college instructors. There were some special educators in that bunch, but no one stood out -- no one simply showed so much compassion or concern for her students or left such an indelible impression on my life -- as did D.J. Cline. She is revered at South Dakota State University, and I was privileged to have D.J. as my freshman journalism advisor. I don't think I realized at the time how blessed I was, because probably no one so ignited my interest in journalism as did D.J., and during the years that I most needed that little bit of an extra push.
D.J. had the disposition of a grandmother -- a very sweet, loveable lady with a soft voice, a great sense of humor, and an interest in and love for journalism that she passed along to every student she advised and taught. D.J. taught Introduction to Journalism, and brought the profession to life for us. But what I loved more than anything was her concern for her students' well-being. She cared about us as students, as journalists, as people. Every conversation with her was an important one. We never took a back seat to her other duties. Her door was always open to her students.
And when D.J. passed away several years ago, I felt sick inside. Because I knew how important she was to legions of SDSU students who had sat in front of her, listened to her lectures, and sat across from her in her office as she helped us sketch our class schedules and our futures. I don't think I ever told D.J. just how much her mentorship and guidance meant to me. But it's why I'm still writing today. It's why I defended my Master of Science journalism project just this past Tuesday at South Dakota State University, on the very floor and just a room away from where I took Intro to Journalism under D.J.'s watchful eye back in the fall of 1973. One of my committee members -- Dr. Richard Lee -- was head of the Journalism Department back when D.J. was on the faculty.
She would've been proud of me. I have her to thank for where I am today.
I could probably name all of my grade school teachers and most of my high school teachers, and some of my college instructors. There were some special educators in that bunch, but no one stood out -- no one simply showed so much compassion or concern for her students or left such an indelible impression on my life -- as did D.J. Cline. She is revered at South Dakota State University, and I was privileged to have D.J. as my freshman journalism advisor. I don't think I realized at the time how blessed I was, because probably no one so ignited my interest in journalism as did D.J., and during the years that I most needed that little bit of an extra push.
D.J. had the disposition of a grandmother -- a very sweet, loveable lady with a soft voice, a great sense of humor, and an interest in and love for journalism that she passed along to every student she advised and taught. D.J. taught Introduction to Journalism, and brought the profession to life for us. But what I loved more than anything was her concern for her students' well-being. She cared about us as students, as journalists, as people. Every conversation with her was an important one. We never took a back seat to her other duties. Her door was always open to her students.
And when D.J. passed away several years ago, I felt sick inside. Because I knew how important she was to legions of SDSU students who had sat in front of her, listened to her lectures, and sat across from her in her office as she helped us sketch our class schedules and our futures. I don't think I ever told D.J. just how much her mentorship and guidance meant to me. But it's why I'm still writing today. It's why I defended my Master of Science journalism project just this past Tuesday at South Dakota State University, on the very floor and just a room away from where I took Intro to Journalism under D.J.'s watchful eye back in the fall of 1973. One of my committee members -- Dr. Richard Lee -- was head of the Journalism Department back when D.J. was on the faculty.
She would've been proud of me. I have her to thank for where I am today.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Lieutenant Colonel (Retired)
Today wasn't unlike most days for me. My Army Reserve unit is gone to Ft. Bliss, TX for a year of active duty. But I'm not with them. To make a long story short, I retired from "wearing the uniform" on Jan. 31 after 30 years in the active Army, Army National Guard and Army Reserve. If not for a three-year break after my initial Army hitch, that would be 33 years total. Because I am a "military technician," a condition of my employment is that I must also be an active Army Reserve soldier. And because I retired on Jan. 31, I now must find a new full-time civilian job within 12 months. Hence the graduate degree study, hence the job hunt.
But today, that "retired" feeling sunk in a bit more as I turned in my active army identification card for the pink ID that is issued to "retirees." I'm also known as a "Gray Area Retiree," because although I'm retired from the Army Reserve, I cannot begin to collect my pension until age 59, which for me is less than three years off. Thus I fall into that "gray area" between active service and full-benefits retirement.
Truthfully, I never envisioned an Army career. Had you asked me in high school what I wanted to do, being an officer would not have been my answer. But, as it turns out, it became a large part of my career and for years has defined who I am. Now I am in the process of redefining myself apart from the Army. Barb knows that on the day my retirement became effective, I packed up my Army uniforms, boots, berets, etc., and put them out in the garage. That's the way I am. That part of my life is over. No need to look back. Well, except for times like this. Something about getting that retiree card was a defining moment.
Camaraderie, travel, unforgettable experiences. I owe all of it to Uncle Sam. On his dime I've flown all over the US, flew on an embassy resupply mission to Ecuador, watched National Guard troops build a school in Honduras, and stood at Miraflores Locks, watching ships traverse the Panama Canal. I watched Operation Just Cause unfold while on annual training in Panama in 1989. We heard the gunfire and saw our planes circling Panama City. My fellow photographer, Ron Carlberg, was whisked away to photograph the swearing in of the new Panamanian president that night. Memories that last forever.
There is a camaraderie -- a brotherhood -- that putting on the uniform creates. There is a connection when you see another man or woman wearing the uniform -- wherever you are -- in an airport, restaurant, grocery store. And some of my most cherished memories came while driving through the Black Hills with Jerry Jorgensen and Tom Berg; listening to Roy Mercer while driving to drill with Greg Schaefers; or riding in a dusty jeep on the way to a news assignment on the back roads of Camp Ripley, MN, where the mosquitoes are as large as sparrows in July (or I thought they were, anyway).
It was tough to see friends leave for Ft. Bliss without me, but life goes on. That day had to come and it was not unexpected. Now begins our new adventure. In one month, God willing, I will receive my graduate degree and we will begin in earnest to plot our next move. It will be an adventure. It always has been.
But today, that "retired" feeling sunk in a bit more as I turned in my active army identification card for the pink ID that is issued to "retirees." I'm also known as a "Gray Area Retiree," because although I'm retired from the Army Reserve, I cannot begin to collect my pension until age 59, which for me is less than three years off. Thus I fall into that "gray area" between active service and full-benefits retirement.
Truthfully, I never envisioned an Army career. Had you asked me in high school what I wanted to do, being an officer would not have been my answer. But, as it turns out, it became a large part of my career and for years has defined who I am. Now I am in the process of redefining myself apart from the Army. Barb knows that on the day my retirement became effective, I packed up my Army uniforms, boots, berets, etc., and put them out in the garage. That's the way I am. That part of my life is over. No need to look back. Well, except for times like this. Something about getting that retiree card was a defining moment.
Camaraderie, travel, unforgettable experiences. I owe all of it to Uncle Sam. On his dime I've flown all over the US, flew on an embassy resupply mission to Ecuador, watched National Guard troops build a school in Honduras, and stood at Miraflores Locks, watching ships traverse the Panama Canal. I watched Operation Just Cause unfold while on annual training in Panama in 1989. We heard the gunfire and saw our planes circling Panama City. My fellow photographer, Ron Carlberg, was whisked away to photograph the swearing in of the new Panamanian president that night. Memories that last forever.
There is a camaraderie -- a brotherhood -- that putting on the uniform creates. There is a connection when you see another man or woman wearing the uniform -- wherever you are -- in an airport, restaurant, grocery store. And some of my most cherished memories came while driving through the Black Hills with Jerry Jorgensen and Tom Berg; listening to Roy Mercer while driving to drill with Greg Schaefers; or riding in a dusty jeep on the way to a news assignment on the back roads of Camp Ripley, MN, where the mosquitoes are as large as sparrows in July (or I thought they were, anyway).
It was tough to see friends leave for Ft. Bliss without me, but life goes on. That day had to come and it was not unexpected. Now begins our new adventure. In one month, God willing, I will receive my graduate degree and we will begin in earnest to plot our next move. It will be an adventure. It always has been.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
April -- the best time of year
Okay, April's here. It's time to sloowwwwww the clock down now so I can enjoy my favorite month of the year. Barb's favorite month is June. "A June bride is a bride for life," she says. (We were married June 7 -- wink, wink!). But there's something about April that lifts my spirits. I'm sure it's a combination of things.
It used to mean the approach of the end of the school year. Who could argue with that? But April is so much more. April is...
too early for mosquitoes.
too early for humidity.
too early for searing heat.
too early for the annual ant invasion.
too early for turning on the air conditioner.
too early for snakes in the lawn (or pythons in the garage -- Barb will understand -- it's a joke -- really!).
April is...
too late for bone-chilling cold.
too late for frozen pipes.
too late for snow?
No, not too late for snow. But it's a passing glance this time of year. Yeah, we've had snow storms in April, but the nice weather usually is not far behind.
Besides, April is for the Boys of Summer.
It's "spring cleaning" and opening the windows and letting in the fresh air.
It's getting off the treadmill and running outdoors.
It's when "the 50s" are on their way up and feel good, instead of on their way down and a sign of coming frost.
It means swapping the lawn mower and the snow blower (but keeping the snow blower still within reach).
April is...
putting the patio furniture out.
just right for getting reacquainted with the outdoor grill.
time to lube the bicycles and check the air in the tires.
It used to mean Dad was ready to swap the glass storm windows for the summer screens.
It's time to dig the short-sleeve shirts and shorts out of storage, and pack away the long-sleeve shirts, sweaters, heavy coats and boots. We're talking sneakers, flip-flops, sandals... well, sneakers maybe but the others soon.
It used to mean track season, one of the greatest legal inventions for skipping a day of school. Nothing compared with getting out of school on a glorious spring day to go to a track meet. We would set up our 'camp' somewhere, turn on a radio, laze around in the sun until it was our turn to run or jump or throw, and then retreat to the same spot.
April is green grass and fresh air. Ah, spring...
Gotta love it.
It used to mean the approach of the end of the school year. Who could argue with that? But April is so much more. April is...
too early for mosquitoes.
too early for humidity.
too early for searing heat.
too early for the annual ant invasion.
too early for turning on the air conditioner.
too early for snakes in the lawn (or pythons in the garage -- Barb will understand -- it's a joke -- really!).
April is...
too late for bone-chilling cold.
too late for frozen pipes.
too late for snow?
No, not too late for snow. But it's a passing glance this time of year. Yeah, we've had snow storms in April, but the nice weather usually is not far behind.
Besides, April is for the Boys of Summer.
It's "spring cleaning" and opening the windows and letting in the fresh air.
It's getting off the treadmill and running outdoors.
It's when "the 50s" are on their way up and feel good, instead of on their way down and a sign of coming frost.
It means swapping the lawn mower and the snow blower (but keeping the snow blower still within reach).
April is...
putting the patio furniture out.
just right for getting reacquainted with the outdoor grill.
time to lube the bicycles and check the air in the tires.
It used to mean Dad was ready to swap the glass storm windows for the summer screens.
It's time to dig the short-sleeve shirts and shorts out of storage, and pack away the long-sleeve shirts, sweaters, heavy coats and boots. We're talking sneakers, flip-flops, sandals... well, sneakers maybe but the others soon.
It used to mean track season, one of the greatest legal inventions for skipping a day of school. Nothing compared with getting out of school on a glorious spring day to go to a track meet. We would set up our 'camp' somewhere, turn on a radio, laze around in the sun until it was our turn to run or jump or throw, and then retreat to the same spot.
April is green grass and fresh air. Ah, spring...
Gotta love it.
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