Archives

Triple-A

Feb18

I planned to do three errands after my weekly three o’clock appointment. By the time I finished my first errand, night had already settled over the parking lot. I shivered as I walked to my car. For the last several days the temperature in Wisconsin was often below zero in double digits. Today a brisk wind made this Siberian weather unbearable and very dangerous.

Once inside the vehicle, I decided to forget about the other two stops I had planned to make. I was cold and tired. All I wanted to do was go straight home. Cars are dependable these days, even during cold winter weather, so I confidently pressed the starter. Instead of hearing the familiar purr of the car engine, all I heard was an unfamiliar clicking sound! The car didn’t start. I had hoped the heater would make me feel warm as I drove home, but now I didn’t even know how I was going to get home. I felt betrayed. My trustworthy car had let me down!

It didn’t take me long to assess the situation. My preferred car repair shop was nearby but already shut for the day. Who could I call for help? My immediate family is extremely light on adult men who could come to my aid. At this point, I realized that I was losing feeling in my fingers and toes from the cold. I have a sister who lives in Marshfield, so I called her to see if one of her sons could come to my aid.

I was ready to abandon ship and hitch a ride home, leaving my car where it was. But if I got a ride home, then how would I get back into town tomorrow? I had no faith that my car could be easily resurrected. As far as I knew, it was dead and hopeless. My sister said she and one of her sons would be with me in a few minutes. She had more confidence in my car than I did, telling me that her son would be able to get it started. My face was now feeling stiff with the cold, which made it hard for me to talk, so I walked back to the store where I hoped to warm up. Frostbite was a real danger in as little as ten minutes because of the extreme cold and wind.

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Dreaming of my Love

Feb14

I put down my book, more interested in sleep than reading and knowing what happened next in the story. With the bedside lamp turned off, I snuggled into my favorite sleep position. A thin stripe of yard light shone though the bedroom windows onto the wall nearest the bed. The alarm clock on the bureau slowly ticked, measuring out the seconds and minutes.

The last thing I remembered was squirming to adjust the pillow under my head and the angle of my hips. Suddenly I found myself in a dream world with Arnie, my late husband and my two daughters when they were in fourth and eighth grade. We were so busy going places that I had trouble completing a satisfying conversation with Arnie. At the social functions we were attending, all of us were with friends, separate from each other.

Each time I spotted Arnie in the crowd, I felt a burst of affection. It was like the crowd was in monochrome black and white with Arnie being the only one in full color. I wanted to shout, “I love you. I miss talking with you. Do you still love me?”

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Mystery Furnace

Sep24

Snow underfoot squeaked with each step I took. It was a sound I learned the meaning of as a kid. It was too cold to play outdoors. Brutally cold breezes moved mist-fine snow particles from place to place in my backyard. Turning toward the woodshed where my husband’s outdoor furnace stood, my breath sent a column of mist into the air. The stovepipe above the furnace sent smoke into the wind as if mimicking the mist.

I didn’t like this furnace. When my husband built it, he promised to take care of its feeding and cleaning. And he did, except when he had to be away like today. Unlike the wood furnace we once had in the basement of our house, this one was large and took huge chunks of wood. I dragged three logs closer to the furnace door and struggled to lift them into the red ember-lined firebox. Having fed an entire tree to the monster, I returned to the house.

Arnie must have not liked the outdoor furnace either. We only used it for two winters. One day, I found him in the basement installing a new furnace. I hadn’t even known he was shopping for a new one! He never told me who he bought it from and unfortunately, I never asked. The brand new, shiny machine was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Arnie admitted, “With the outdoor furnace, we lost too many BTU between the fire and the heat converter in the house.”

This furnace, wherever it came from, burned wood pellets that came in forty-pound bags. A large hopper on the side of it could hold three and a half bags. That usually took care of heating the entire house for a day and a half, but when it was very cold, it needed to be refueled every 12 hours. Arnie took care of most of the refueling of the furnace, but he did all its cleaning and maintenance.

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Fumes

Sep17

Cicadas sighed long, hissing calls from the treetops. I stood a few moments on the back deck, listening to them on that hot, late summer afternoon. The sound of cicadas in August makes me think of bacon sizzling in a pan. When bacon fries, the fat is rendered. Cicadas announce that the fat days of summer are coming to an end.

            I heard Arnie working in the shed. A moment later I peeked in and saw him applying his welding torch to one side of a metal box he was constructing. Realizing I was standing in the doorway, my husband turned off the welder and flipped open his welding helmet. His ruddy face was beaded with sweat and smudged with soot. The acrid smell of hot metal filled the air. A radio in the back of the shed was playing a country western song.

Grinning, Arnie asked, “Have you heard this new song by Toby Keith?”

The voice on the radio sang, “I like talking about, you, you, you, usually. But occasionally, I wanna talk about me!”

I laughed, “That’s a cute song.”

Inspecting his weld seam, Arnie grumbled, “It’s clever, but it isn’t country western although they call it that. Country is starting to sound like pop music. I don’t like the change.”

Glancing around the workshop and seeing large metal plates of various sizes, I asked, “What are you working on?”

Arnie happily explained, “I’m making an outdoor furnace with a water jacket for us. The fire box will have several angles to its roof to efficiently heat the water. The hot water circulates underground into the house where it goes through a heat exchanger and then it comes back to the furnace to be reheated.”

I didn’t know we were getting a new furnace! Seeing my surprise, Arnie hastily explained, “We won’t have to put anymore wood into the basement. The wood can be kept outside in the shed next to the furnace.” I made a face, thinking about middle of the night furnace feedings when it was cold and snowy. As if reading my mind, Arnie added, “We would only have to stoke it once or twice a day. I’d do it before and after work.”

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A Special Treat

Sep3

The alarm clock buzzed and progressively became louder until I slid out of bed to turn it off. Only the light of a waxing moon and a sprinkle of stars illuminated the darkness outside our bedroom window. Arnie turned on the bedside lamp and quickly slipped on blue jeans and a plaid shirt. He glanced at me, still in my nightgown and standing next to the bed, rubbing my eyes. He urgently advised, “Hurry up! Get dressed. Gene and Thelma will be here in half an hour.”

“Who are you?” I snapped grumpily. “You certainly can’t be my husband. He never gets up without a fight.”

Pinching me playfully, Arnie happily explained, “We’re not getting up for work. We’re getting up to start our vacation!”

Our two-truck caravan, each pulling boats, reached the north shore of Lake Superior just as the sun started to rise above the horizon. I spotted a breakfast diner and sighed, “Breakfast, at last!”

Seven hours later we stopped for lunch at a Canadian café. Poutine was on the menu, so of course we ordered some. Gene dug into the gravy drenched, cheese-curd-dotted, French fries and announced with a shrug, “It’s a weird way to eat French fries, but since we’re in Canada, we should give it a try.”

The next two days, Thelma and Gene fished from their boat while Arnie and I fished from our boat. They often quietly sat with bobbers floating on the water. Arnie preferred trawling through bays and inlets. We all caught fish.

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Fishing For Memories

Aug20
The best fisherman guide…ever!

Placing a box filled with family photos on the floor next to my chair, I assured my daughter, Tammie, “The picture you want will be in this box.” Reaching in, I pulled out an envelope marked “2006”.

Looking over my shoulder, Tammie shook her head and declared, “It’s not in that envelope. Those are from the fishing trip that Daddy, you and I went on after I earned my master’s degree.”

Quickly shuffling through the first few pictures, I slowed down to study ones that were taken while on the boat, right after catching fish. I sighed, “Weren’t those fishing trips to Canada with your Daddy wonderful?”

Sitting on the footstool next to my chair, Tammie agreed, “I loved the fishing vacations I got to go on with you. The place we stayed at was so beautiful, and we always caught fish!”

Chuckling, I pointed out, “I think Arnie took great pride in his fishing guide abilities when his wife and daughter caught fish.”

Studying a picture of herself holding a walleye she’d caught, Tammie asked, “What ever happened to that resort we stayed at?”

I shrugged and admitted, “I don’t know. The man who owned the resort was a bricklayer from Minnesota. Terry worked at home during the winters and then spent the summers in Canada at Moose Tracks Cottages. Around the time your Daddy died, I heard that Terry had sold the place.”

“Wouldn’t it be fun to go fishing again?” Tammie asked wistfully.

I nodded and admitted, “When I was younger, fishing seemed so boring. But the fishing trips we took to Canada were fun once I learned how to fish.”

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Panning for Gold

Jul9

I carried two cups of tea into the dining room and placed one on the table in front of my daughter Tammie. Glancing up at me, she questioned, “Did you put sweetener in mine?”

Sitting down across from her, I admitted, “Your tea might be sweeter than you like.”

Taking a sip, my daughter raised her eyebrows and chuckled, “It is pretty sweet!”

I offered, “Would you like me to get you a fresh cup?”

“No, it’ll be fine.” Tammie assured me. “I want you to stay at the table with me so we can discuss where we will go for our vacation this year.”

Cupping my cold hands around the warm mug of tea, I confidently suggested, “This is the year we should go to Alaska.”

With a broad smile, Tammie commented, “We’ve talked about going to visit Alaska for the last dozen years. Somehow, it just never happened. Why do you suppose that was?”

Nodding, I admitted, “The idea of going there has always appealed to me, but we never could agree on what we wanted to see or do while in Alaska. We talked about going salmon fishing on the ocean, but I felt really reluctant about it. This year I’ve finally realized that fishing would be fun to do if Arnie were still with us, but not for us to do alone. A fishing trip like that was something he would have absolutely loved, but that doesn’t mean we have to do it! We also talked about Alaska’s gold rush history and how much fun it would be to try panning for gold in a stream. We never investigated finding a guide for that.”

             Tammie added more reasons why our plans to visit Alaska other years just never worked out, “We never could come to an agreement about which cities to visit, where to stay, nor how long to stay.”

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What Was That?

Jul2

The loud, frighting bang against the living room window and a flash of light happened simultaneously. Something had entered the house and zipped past me into the dining room, then I heard what sounded like shattering glass.

What had come into my house? Although I didn’t exactly see whatever it was, my eyes had tracked its movement as it entered the dining room. Where was the broken glass? I got out of my rocking chair to investigate.

Earlier in the evening, ominous dark clouds had filled the sky. The air in my backyard was still, like it often is right before a storm. Standing at my back door, I studied the dark, roiling clouds overhead. Then my cell phone buzzed, and a business-like woman’s voice announced, “Attention please! Tornado warning in this area until 7 P.M. Take shelter now! Check media.”

Having to deal with something scary like an approaching tornado makes me think of my late husband. If he was still with me, he’d probably would’ve stood on the back deck and not retreat to the basement unless he saw, with his own eyes, a funnel cloud approaching. I didn’t want to sit in my unfinished farmhouse basement for three-quarters of an hour, so I compromised by wrapping up in a blanket and sitting in the stairwell to the basement. Fortunately, the power didn’t go out, so I had lights and WIFI.

The worst of the storm passed, so I returned to the living room where I sat down in a rocking chair across the room from the room’s large window. The drapes on the window were open a few inches so I could still see the flashes of lightning. On the television, a meteorologist was pointing to a map, showing where tornadoes had been sighted.

I wasn’t expecting anything to happen, but by chance I glanced at the big window just as a ball of light, about the size of a basketball, struck the center of the window with a bang and I sensed something zipping past me into the dining room and nearly simultaneously hearing glass break.

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Weird Sense of Humor

Apr23

I felt totally comfortable with my husband and often shared funny asides and comments about life when we were together. Arnie usually laughed at my observations, but sometimes exclaimed to me, “You and your weird Altmann sense of humor!” Despite his negative description of my family’s humor, I got the distinct impression that Arnie loved it, was sometimes bewildered by it, and even, at times, secretly admired our outlook on life.

A sense of humor is a personality trait that allows people to understand funny things, appreciate jokes, and in general, see the funny side of life. I don’t think living a perfectly happy life necessarily produces happy, joke-spewing people. If you have a sense of humor, it will show up even in the darkest of times. When I gave birth to a baby with an obvious birth defect, I joked, “At least we know we brought the right baby home from the hospital. There was no way there could have been a mix-up. Ours looks different!” This is an example of ‘dark humor.’

Does everyone in a family share the same type of humor? Not always, but I know my daughter Tammie shares my dark humor abilities. She once said she never worries about anyone stealing her winter coat from public coat hooks because, “Not many people can use a short-armed coat!”

Is a sense of humor trait something people can learn, soak up, or discover like a treasure? I’m not sure, but can verifiably report that, if that is possible, that is what happened to me and my family. During the 1950’s when the lean years of the depression and war was over, Daddy bought every Donald Duck comic book written by Carl Barks as they were published. At first, each of these comic books cost only five cents a copy, which was very affordable for our farm family.  

We loved these comic books because they contained references to geography, history, literature and science. The humor Carl Barks infused into the duck family’s experiences was sublime and clean. We read and reread each issue. Our meal-time discussions sometimes centered around the duck’s latest adventure. One of our favorite, playful family insults was taken from one of the stories. The horrid Beagle Boys had been outsmarted by the wily old duck once again.  Holding Scrooge by the feet, upside down, Beagle Boy number 716-617 angerly shouted, “You rich pig of a duck!”

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Another Once-in-a-Lifetime

Apr9

I stood by the night-darkened window, watching rain drops gather and trickle down the screen. I sadly asked my husband, “Why does it always seem to rain when a person has something nice planned?”

Arnie irritably responded, “You can’t change anything by watching it rain. Get back into bed and forget about it.”

A flash of lightning and a roll of thunder accompanied my return to bed. Needing to unwind before going to sleep, I pointed out, “This rain is coming too soon after we almost got trapped in Canada by gully-washing rainstorms. It’s hard to believe that we got home from that experience just one week ago!” A gentle snore made me realize Arnie wasn’t listening.

I usually love lying in bed at night and listening to a summer thunderstorm passing through the countryside. Watching the flashes of lightning and listening to the gentle rolling thunder and pattering rain on the windowpanes make me feel cozy. But tonight, it just made me feel uneasy.

The event that I was worried the rain would ruin wasn’t just a simple occasion that could be postponed to another week. This weekend the church Arnie and I attended was celebrating 125 years since its formation. A picnic with lots of food for all the parishioners was planned. Someone had arranged games in the park across from the church for the children to play. The parish was celebrating our patron saint’s name day in conjunction with the quasquicentennial anniversary. In preparation, the church building was given a much-needed restoration leading up to the occasion. In addition, I was excited about the debut of the parish history book that I’d worked on for the past year. I looked forward to seeing it in print!

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