A Thowback Game

Packers vs. Bears, Bears vs. Packers. I cannot help but think of my Dad this time. He was a devoted Packer fan and held season tickets for years until his financial situation in the 60's forced him to give them up. I first started going to Packer games in the mid-50's when they played at old City Stadium, a wooden bleacher stadium that held about 30,000 souls. When Lambeau opened in 1958 it was like another world. Dad went to the inaugural game and ended up riding down the elevator at the Northland Hotel with Miss America who was part of the pageant.

Today the Packer's play the Bears at Soldier Field in downtown Chicago, not far from Lake Michigan. The temperature at game time is supposed to be 9 above. It is old time football at its finest. On the line is the NFC championship with a shot at the Super Bowl to the winner. Obviously I want Green Bay to win. Some experts are picking the Pack to win, however I've seen the Bears play and their defense is powerful. Green Bay is also playing stout defense and Green Bay's offense is probably one of the best in the league. Aaron Rogers is certainly playing superb ball. So my hopes are riding on the Green and Gold, but my heart will also be thinking of my Dad and how much he would've enjoyed the game today. So, c'mon Pack, win one for Vern.

Christmas 2010

It was a different Christmas. With two dogs in the house Terry did not want to put the packages under the tree for fear they might tear into them. So the packages were in a pile up in our sleeping loft bedroom. When we woke up at 5 AM as is our wont, I went down and made coffee, let the dogs out for their morning pee and checked out what had happened on face book the night before. I took the insulated carafe of coffee with two cups upstairs and Terry suggested she and I open our gifts up there instead of carting them downstairs and then back up again. I like that woman's sense of economy. So we did. It was really rather nice, intimate, cozy and a fun experience sitting near the bed watching each other open our gifts to one another.

The rest of the day was fairly normal. Jessi and her friend (ex-husband) were here and in and out. Terry spent a lot of hours in the kitchen preparing the Christmas feast. We had baked ham, beef brisket and a hearty gumbo that seems to delight our guests as it goes in a hurry. Chips, dips, barbecue baby sausages, along with assorted condiments made for a festive meal.

We served 10 for Christmas dinner. Gift opening when the family is together is a mishmash of paper flying, ohs and ahs, and laughter.

We had very light snow flakes stirring the air throughout the day making the spirit of the season a little more meaningful for me as I grew up with white Christmases. So my 66th Christmas passed on into history. Another day of being with loved ones, sharing some food, drink and gifts. We are not a religious bunch so there is no church going or thoughts of Jesus. But the season is celebrated and the fun of talking with loved ones on the phone, the joy of being with family are probably more what Christmas is about than religion.

I especially enjoyed Terry's new found freedom from work a source of pleasure. There was no great fatigue from having worked Christmas Eve, there was no race to make the meal and clean up afterward because she had to go to work on the 26th. Her time is her's and it is nice to see the pressure and worry of having to go to work removed. This was a good Christmas.

It is almost here!!

This is a recopy of an email I sent my two daughters on December 23, 1999.

Dear Jen & Kris:
I am assuming you are both working today and will be off tomorrow. I just wanted to type a few lines because I know I will be talking to you over the weekend. It is odd, Christmas for me as a kid was a real exciting time. When I was about five or six my Dad ordered from Western Union a telegram from Santa addressed to me telling me he was on his way and would drop by our house later in the night. I can still remember that Christmas Eve night when the knock came to the door. It was dark out, our Christmas tree lights were on and the house was decorated. Dad opened the door and announced that I had a telegram. I went to the door and the man gave me a genuine Western Union telegram in the official envelope. Upon opening it the telegram was indeed genuine, the teletype tape had been cut and pasted as real telegrams were done. It was even in the official language. DEAR TOM STOP I AM LEAVING THE NORTH POLE NOW STOP I WILL BE STOPPING AT YOUR HOME LATER TONIGHT STOP MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR STOP

I cannot tell you the thrill that came over me. It sure put all those doubting playmates to shame. I'll bet they didn't even get a telegram from Santa. The excitement it created in me and the anticipation were almost more than I could bear. I took my telegram to bed, just to make sure the message didn't change.

In the morning our tradition was we could not go downstairs by ourselves. Of course Carol and I were the only kids there. We only had one bathroom, Dad had to go in, wash his face, potty, and otherwise consume eons of time while I tried to sit still with Mother in their bedroom. Then Mom's turn in the bathroom came. Dad sneaked downstairs and turned on the tree lights while I paced and plead with Mother to hurry up. Finally, with Mom leading the way down the stairs we came and whoopee, Santa had actually come. The evidence was overwhelming, the milk had been drunk and the cookies partially eaten.

I could not begin to describe the presents. I am sure they were plenty, and I am sure I had asked for things. In my mind's eye, today I remember the anticipation and excitement, and the feeling of being with family. During this time of year I often find myself thinking of some of those days. I don't remember too many Christmases, however I remember the excitement. There are those who say it isn't healthy for a child to get excited over avarice, but it was more.

On Christmas Eve, as I grew older, there was the evening church service when the altar looked so nice, we sang Christmas carols, and everyone seemed to take a little extra time and wish each other glad tidings. Mom, Dad and I would pile into the car, with me in the back seat. You could eventually feel the heat flow under the front seats, and warm your feet. We would ride around town looking at the lights people had decorated their homes with. I have no idea of the style of decoration, but the lights seemed brilliant and almost blinding.

Other times after church we would stop and the Gibson's or Bakkum's. We would admire their trees, I would drink pop while the grown ups got the hard stuff. We would visit and I would feel like things were all right with the world. So my real remembrances are of people, the decorations, the anticipation excitement, and the music. I remember that on Christmas day after the presents were opened an anticlimactic feeling as the day started to assume the mantel of just another day. However, that all changed in a few hours when friends came, coffee was made, Stolen was sliced and conversations took place. It is those types of memories I wish for you. I guess it simply revolves around security, love and joy. So may your Christmas Eve and Day be as exciting and fun as possible. I love you both very much.

Dad

I wish you could see what I saw!

The walk started about 5:45 this morning. It began as it usually does, me sitting in my chair on the porch trying to put my walking shoes on while two large dogs try to sneak licks in while I have my head down lacing my shoes. After much good natured admonishment they stand aside quietly to let me finish. Then up, fire up the stop watch, and off the porch we go.

Quickly the dogs smell an unfamiliar scent up near the gravel driveway. Heads down, alert they frantically search for direction, they are absorbed in this new scent and don't follow me down the road right away. Jack tracks the scent down the road, Molly catches up half way to our turning point that leads us out on the lawn. The breeze is steady from the South, it is 62 degrees and the air smells sweet and moist.

We turn North, the dogs with tails at full alert are like to white apparitions drifting in the early light in and out of trees, shrubs and checking those spots on the lawn that serve as markers for them. As we turn North I look West across the lawn toward the cabin and there hung in the sky like some giant light bulb is the moon. It seems to be protesting its descent to the West, but it still casts a strong white light over the landscape. There is a tall tree line behind the cabin and the moonlight glints of the branches of the trees. Fast moving clouds march to the North under the moon which illuminates the tops of the clouds. It reminds me of the old moving pictures where they moved the scenery to give the illusion of actors on the move.

Turning the corner to the island the moon ducks behind the tree tops and seems to play peek-a-boo with me. The dogs still quietly move ahead exploring the edge of the field and ducking down trails they've worn among the honeysuckle disappearing behind a hummock just to reappear as if by magic on the other side. The quiet search they make and the movement of their feed on the leaves and grasses give me reassurance that they are protecting my stroll.

Heading back East down the island the skyline is pink, red and all shades of blue as the sun begins its journey. Still not showing its face it is surely announcing its coming. Once again the low fast moving clouds from the South make the scene ever changing and almost mesmerizing.

So goes the walk. Each succeeding lap shows the moon's retreat and the sun's advance. Finally after 25 minutes the moon has vacated the field and the sun, victorious now begins to shows it jolly red face. The dogs are hanging closer now, Molly stops from time to time to get reassurance from me that everything is OK. Jack is busy chasing a leaf or chewing on a newly found pine branch. We head back for the house to finish our morning chores of refilling the bird feeders and putting fresh water in the kennel.

The walk ends as it began with me sitting in the chair pulling off my shoes, two dogs sneaking in licks while my head is down and anxious for breakfast. There are many good artists, but only one Master - Mother Nature.

Thanksgiving Day in Racine, WI

Our family lived in Racine from 1971 until 1982. During that time I established a Thanksgiving tradition with a good friend. Andre Carrielo and I worked at J. I. Case and while neither of us worked for the other, we were in the manufacturing area and were colleagues. Andre has a knack for noticing things and suggesting a change, he isn't shy about doing it either.

Around 1976 Andre suggested I buy a shotgun as he knew I used to hunt and we could go out to Bong, which was an old SAC airbase that had been closed for years. The Wisconsin DNR had a "put & take" pheasant program there. They stocked the birds on Tuesdays and Thursday and you could buy a tag for $0.50 per bird and hunt them up after they had acclimated for a day or so. It was enjoyable, a cheap source of game birds and good exercise for the dogs.

Well, it got to be habit that he, I, his son Dom and cousin John would go out to Bong on Thanksgiving morning for a hunt. It was a good outing, exercise, and made me feel like I was in touch with the pilgrim's searching out the food from the land.

I had a big, blue 1976 Ford station wagon. One Thanksgiving, probably about 1978 I packed up a cooler with some good Wisconsin cheese, sausage, crackers and I bought a bottle of Port, plus some soda for those who may partake of that. After four hours of hunting, a couple of birds, and a lot of watching the dogs work we closed the hunt and went back to the cars. I dropped the tailgate on the wagon and brought out the cheese, sausage and wine and we kicked back for about an hour eating, drinking and talking about the day, the dog's work, the possibilities and all of those things I had dreamed of since I was a lad.

There were two dogs, Captain, my big male Golden Retreiver and Andre had a small Llewellyn Setter whose name I have forgotten. The dogs lay in the tall grass by the side of the road. We had water and some treats for them, so they lay there exhausted from the morning's effort while we looked over the fields and built a fine memory of the day.

We did that several more years until 1982 when we moved from Racine to Sheboygan Falls, WI. I still went back once to join in the Thanksgiving hunt, but it was almost two hours from the Falls and just broke the day up too much. So I continued my own tradition by hunting out in the Kettle Moraine area with Captain scaring up an occasional Ruffed Grouse.

Andre and I spent many a lazy morning or afternoon hunting at Bong. We even cultivated a farmer nearby who let us hunt his property. Andre would take him a big smoked salmon every Christmas as an appreciation gift. The man owned 80 acres, but it actually gave us access to some larger property we kind of drifted onto. Wisconsin pheasant hunting is not like hunting in the big grain states like Illinois or the Dakotas. It is tough walking through tall marsh grass and hummocks of dried grass, but the effort makes each bird worth it.

I still try to take a long walk of some sort on Thanksgiving morning as a reminder of the pilgrims, their out door adventures and my own.

Early New Year's Eves

In the mid-60's my first wife Bonnie and I spent several New Year's Eves in the Munising, MI area at her parents home. It was an old home attached to a general store that also housed the town's post office. Located in Shingleton, MI the home was a short distance from the wilderness that began just east of Shingleton and was known as the Seney stretch. At one time M-28 the highway that ran East/West through Shingleton had the longest stretch of highway with no curves or hills. It ran from Shingleton to Seney, MI for about 25 miles without a break.

On several New Year's Eves I would take a pair of snowshoes from the house and set off down the railroad tracks to the Hickey Creek that ran in a North/South direction and would snowshoe at night along the creek at the edge of the field. Even though there may not be a moon there was still light from the reflection of the stars off the snow. It was dim light, but was a magical period of time. The snow lay unbroken by tracks or footsteps. Diamonds sparkled among the flakes and made the field almost shimmer. In the winter you don't hear the splash of water in the creek, the sounds is more like a gentle bubbling that seems to slide along your senses. You end up wanting to see the creek in the night to watch the water glisten in the reflected light of the snow and disappear into ink black spots as it passes under fallen trees or undercut banks. The snow in places forms hillocks as trees block that air passage and snow falls in the lee of the trees and piles up in cotton ball shapes along the edges of the creek. It is a peaceful time. It is as though nature and God were whispering songs of solace and comfort. I often wished Bonnie had not been so afraid of the woods and I had someone to share this spiritual experience with. Often I found myself simply standing, looking at the snow blanketed forest, observing the quiet movement of water in the stream, and then scanning out to the field and wondering at the beauty of the scene. It was always cold, but I was bundled and I think the setting provided its own warmth of spirit. I often spent several hours in the woods and then would return to the Dolaskie home.

Coming in from outside felt so good. Bonnie and her mother had made snacks and there was usually cold shrimp cocktails to nibble on while my hands and feet thawed. We would watch the New Year come in, then climb the squeaky stairs to a small bedroom with a soft bed and many blankets. We had a window that looked out on the intersection of M-28 and M-94, there would be a flashing red light suspended over the intersection that seemed somehow comforting. If the wind would pick up in the night you could hear it rounding the corner of the house and sighing up against the garage. It was a wild setting in God's great outdoors and one I shall remember and cherish the rest of my life.

By the way, on more than one trek I would fall into the Hickey Creek and get wet. There was no danger of drowning, the creek was small and very shallow. It would cut my revere short however, and I would traipse back home to be received with grins from Tom & Glady at the antics of their son-in-law. That is also part of the good memories.

Ode to Lily

May 2009 Lily and Molly came into our life. Terry and I struggled with two active, curious pups and at times wondered if we shouldn't find a better home for them. So active, so playful, so rambunctious, they were a real handful. A year ago, Labor Day weekend 2009 I laid about 2300 feet of wire connected to a transmitter that put out a signal that would give the dogs a mild shock if they crossed the line. Molly and Lily still had about 5 acres of land they could explore without being shocked, and it now gave Terry and I a great deal of peace because instead of having to be right with out pups we could let them out to play and not worry about them going to the neighbors.

As time passed and the pups grew their personalities became unique and distinct. At times however their actions were eerily synchronized. I took that to be evidence of them being litter mates. It was a rather unique opportunity to see these wonderful animals develop and one Terry and I looked forward to observing.

It is gone now. Lily passed away from some unidentified malady September 2. The symptom was anemia, but we could not find the underlying cause to treat. Two months she declined, rallied, declined until finally her body quit working and she left us.

She was such a delight. Sometimes when I was sitting in my recliner working on the computer she would lie on the couch across from me. If I looked at her she would get this intense stare and her head would come up and she'd just fix my eyes with her gaze. Then all of a sudden she would emit this strong, full throated BARK! I'd yell back, WHAT! Lily would come off the couch, over to me with some want and we'd hug and I'd stroke her then we'd try and figure out what she was trying to communicate and satisfy that want if she could make me understand. Other times she would come along side my recliner and just thrust her head down on the arm and look up at me with a look that made you know she wanted something.

Lily seemed to recognize that Molly was the energy dog and tolerated that exuberance. However, if she felt Molly were getting a little too much affection Lily would softly push in and get her share.

I guess what will always haunt me is both Terry and I were really looking forward to sharing our lives with both of them and watching the interaction between the two sisters. That is lost now, forever. I doubt we will ever pick up two pups from the same litter. We've talked about getting another dog so Molly will have company, but it still would not be the same. The spiritual connection that existed between the two sisters is broken.

Lily will be missed, and Molly will be a constant reminder of what could've been. Ours will be a sweet journey however as Molly is an extremely affectionate dog, but I will always wonder.

Lily will be missed for many years to come.