Before I went to my Urologist’s office to get my quarterly PSA (Prostate Specific Antigen) level checked, I whined a bit to Linda about how inconvenient getting my PSA level checked is.

When I checked in, there was a somewhat disheveled man about my age, on a four wheel electric scooter with a deep, loud, raspy voice, checking in one window down. At first I thought he was being rude then, after a second, I realized he was not being rude, just direct and efficient.

They were busy. There were three seats in the row I sat in. I was on one end, the middle seat was empty and in the seat on the other end was a man about my age. He looked deep in thought. Judging from his tattoos and patches on his jacket he was probably in the Navy at some point in his life. I’ll call him, “the Navy guy”.

Right after I sat down, the scooter guy drove up and parked next to the Navy guy. Below is the gist of the discussion I overheard during the couple minutes I was sitting there.

The scooter guy started the conversation by telling the Navy guy that his left leg will be chopped off below the knee in a few weeks. He said his right leg was chopped off below the knee a couple years earlier.

The Navy guy responded he was there for the final check before the removal of his left leg below the knee in just a couple days. The Navy guy’s voice and demeanor made him seem to be very nervous. They were seeing the same doctor.

I have no idea why two guys getting their lower legs removed would be seeing a Urologist. I just sat quietly and didn’t ask.

The scooter guy tells the Navy guy it is scary but, never forget, you’re alive to be scared, so that’s a blessing. He added, every day he was thankful to be alive. He said, during one of his previous surgeries, they brought him back from the edge of death. I wanted to ask for more details but I didn’t.

The conversation continued with the scooter guy reassuring the Navy guy that while life without the lower part of a leg has its challenges, the challenges were all surmountable. After all, you either get your leg chopped off or you will soon die.

He talked about the process of getting his prosthetic lower leg. Lifted up his pant leg to show him his “leg” which was a metal bar attached to a foot from the ankle down. The “foot” had a sock and tennis shoe on it. If he hadn’t said so and lifted his pants leg, I would have had no clue his lower leg was missing.

The scooter guy’s advice was to make sure your artificial foot is the same size as your other foot so your shoes will match. That way most people who see you will not even know you are missing the bottom half of your leg.

Then in a very serious voice he recalled how relieved he was when he learned Medicare pays for the scooter if you pick the right scooter. He said make sure you tell them you want the scooter medicare covers. They will try to convince you to get one with all the bells and whistles but the medicare covered scooters do the trick and don’t cost you a dime.

The scooter guy said he sold his house and moved into a “facility” to get some care. He did not explain what he meant by a facility. All I can say is the way he sounded, moving into the facility was like a blessing, not a negative thing at all.

The Navy guy asked the scooter guy if he had diabetes also and the scooter guy said yes. The Navy guy then said “damn diabetes” while shaking his head in disgust. Scooter guy nodded in agreement.

The Navy guy said he was nervous about the surgery. The scooter guy laughed out loud. He said something to the effect of, well, without the surgery you will soon die. With the surgery your whole life will change but you will be alive.

Then the boisterous and gruff scooter guy looked straight into the eyes of the Navy guy and said “feeling sorry for yourself is a waste of time”. Apparently being direct was just what the Nave guy needed to hear. The Navy guy looked visibly calmer.

About that time I was called in for my blood draw. Only the scooter guy was there when I was done getting my blood drawn. He gave me a quick nod, I quietly said, “Good luck” and he quietly responded “thanks”.

As I walked out of the office, I knew it was time for me to stop whining about my medical appointments. It was time for me to take better care of myself. I am lucky to be alive and functioning. The time is now for me to start appreciating how lucky I am.

Real life serious medical issues are not fun. The state of the art with cancer is to remove it and continually check in case the cancer comes back. The poor circulation which some people with diabetes live with results in the loss of appendages. I felt a little ashamed at being annoyed with having to get a PSA test every three months.

Each of my three cancer surgeries, kidney, prostate and colon, disrupted my life for only a couple months while I healed from the surgery. I am thankful I am alive.

My PSA level was undetectable, good news. However thank you scooter guy for reminding me how lucky we all are to be alive. I feel ashamed I whined and pitied myself for the inconvenience of having periodic tests.

The closer you look the more you see

In third or fourth grade, probably fourth grade, my brother shot me with the BB gun Santa left for me in the living room under the tree just a couple hours earlier. My brother didn’t say he was sorry, well, probably because a few minutes before, l had shot him. Mom didn’t even bother hollering at us.

It stung for a minute and left a red mark. I loved that BB gun. Right now, the same gun is in my basement gathering dust. Back in the day it was used to shoot at targets, some squirrels, birds and trees. Doubt I ever hit a bird or a squirrel and I probably missed most targets. Haven’t shot it in several decades. Don’t know if it still works.

The reason I wanted, actually desperately needed, that BB gun was to protect me and the family from bad guys. Fortunately, that BB gun was never placed into service repelling an attack by a gang of notorious criminals. However, my trusty BB gun remains at the ready should the bad guys ever show up.

Back in the day, distinguishing between the good and the bad guys seemed pretty straight forward. Everyone I liked was a good guy. Bad guys included jerks like Mike B, whose dad ended up grounding him for tying me to a tree in the woods.

Mike was older than I was. As an adult, he is a nice guy. A couple years after being tied to a tree, he gave me my first ride on a motorcycle. As I aged, I came to know the line between good and bad is often blurred. Nobody is perfect, mostly nobody is all bad either.

My BB gun looked to an eight year old me, just like the Winchester rifles used by all the famous TV Cowboys in the western TV shows: Bonanza, The Lone Ranger, Maverick, Roy Rogers and the list goes on.

Wish I hadn’t but I just went down to the basement to look at my trusty BB gun. In my mind, it was full sized and looked close to being a real Winchester rifle from the late 1800’s.

Sadly, my BB gun is actually about half the size of a real Winchester rifle, not really that good of a Winchester imitation and maybe worst of all, my trusty rifle is not in very good condition. The pump action jammed and the trim is falling off. We are all showing our age, I guess.

My BB gun was the perfect weapon to deter bad guys from even thinking about attacking our home. They’d never know what hit them. The local authorities would have been so appreciative that I, a nine or tenyear old kid, captured the thugs which were terrorizing so many. My plan was to go upstairs and shoot down at them from the windows.

I was in my forties when my mom moved into an apartment from the house I grew up in. She gave me my dad’s two old guns. A 12 gage shotgun and a rifle that I have no recollection of what kind it was. Not being a hunter or a gun person, I sold them to a gun shop. The point being, I can’t actually say I never owned a real gun, but as a practical matter, the only gun I’ve ever really “owned”, was my trusty BB gun.

So far, in seventy years, fortunately, nobody has ever broken into my house or held me at gunpoint. No situations have come up where me having a gun would have been beneficial. No drug addicts or prison escapees have ever come to our door demanding our valuables or taken us hostage so we can be exchanged for ransom.

We have had some Mormons, people who want me to sign a petition to save the planet and political candidates but they were all very polite and left when I politely asked them to leave.

About fifteen years ago there were several break-ins around our neighborhood over a couple month period. To my knowledge nobody was ever home when the robbers came in. However, our house was not one that was broken into.

We do hear about a catalytic converter being stolen here or there. Periodically there are some porch pirates who steal packages or someone reports a garage being broken into. I can’t recall any instances in our area where someone forced their way into a house while someone was home.

To date my personal interaction with criminals has been pretty much limited to phone calls trying to talk me into sending them money for one reason or another. BB guns, or any other gun, doesn’t work against phone call scams. I have known people who have fallen for them but I have not.

Some people own guns for hunting and handguns for protection. They bought their guns legally and have taken safety classes. Some of them enjoy going to firing ranges to practice shooting. Some people I know enjoy hunting and have guns for that purpose. One of my friends used to be on a skeet shooting team. He loved that sport until medical issues caused him to quit.

Except for those I know who used guns as part of their job, law enforcement or military, I don’t remember knowing anyone personally who has fired their guns at another human. I have known of people who have shot themselves. Although right now, I don’t remember who, so maybe I just think I knew people who used a gun to take their own life.

My trusty BB gun, back in the day, would leave a red mark and sting for a bit. Maybe it could shoot an eye out but in my case, it didn’t.

The closer you look the more you see.

This time colon cancer in the form of a small cancerous polyp. The portion of my colon containing that polyp and the surrounding lymph nodes were removed. Annual colonoscopies are in my future.

This is my third cancer removal surgery. The first was three years ago, December of 2019, a cancerous tumor and the associated right kidney were removed. Annual CT scans and X-rays for the rest of my life.

The second was about a year and a half ago, March 2021, my enlarged prostate and the small but nonetheless cancerous tumor it contained were removed. PSA (Prostate Specific Antigen) test will be done semi-annually.

Which as a practical matter means, every year, prior to my annual physical I will get a CT scan of my lower abdomen, lung X-rays, PSA level and now an annual colonoscopy. Keeping track of usernames and passwords for my various medical providers “systems”, any one of which I don’t log into often, is a challenge I face..

It’s early days post colon surgery. A consultation with an oncologist to see what I can do to prevent / predict other cancers is in my future. Along that line, I try to keep our daughters informed so they and their physicians can keep a wary eye out, just in case any of this is hereditary.

Nobody knows for sure if any of my cancers will return but we, several doctors and I, are reasonably hopeful they will not. All three of my cancers were caught early. “The cancer did not exceed the margins” is what the doctor said and what their reports stated for all three of my cancers. That means no cancer was found outside of what they removed from my body. Basically those magical words are a thumbs up emoji.

How I feel about having had cancer is evolving. I’ve always said I don’t want to be defined by my cancer. I still don’t, but here is the reality of it for me. It is what it is.

The cancer is discovered then a plan is made. More tests needed to prepare for surgery. Thorough preoperative physical. In each case I was in the hospital for several days. The first 36 hours in the hospital were pretty intense but for the couple days after that, while I healed enough to go home, it got progressively more boring.

My life is different because I had cancer mostly because life is a bit different with only one kidney, no prostate and a shorter colon. Different but not outrageously different.

My cancers were all caught early. Each of the cancers would likely have been fatal if not caught early.
In each case I had no symptoms. My kidneys were well functioning, mild discomfort which went away but let’s do the routine follow up anyway. A routine five year colonoscopy routinely scheduled to happen before my annual Medicare physical. While seeing a urologist about my enlarged prostate he suggested we do a scan just to be sure.

By the time one gets symptoms with kidney cancer it has already spread to your lungs. And apparently it’s a hard fight. If colon cancer spreads to your lymph nodes you are in for a hard fight. If prostate cancer spreads outside the prostate you are often in for a multi organ hard fight.

It sort of freaks me out that I had cancer before I had any symptoms of having cancer. Do I still have undiscovered cancer? Hopefully not.

What I do have is a life living with one kidney, no prostate and a chunk of my colon removed, the consequences of which are not supposed to be too bad but only time will tell.

My life with one kidney for me means my blood does not get cleaned out as well as it should be. My doctor is not at all surprised that I get more tired more easily than I used to. I can power through the tired and have very active days but then the piper must be paid and I need to rest so my body can clean out my blood. It is getting better but afternoon naps are still refreshing.

The removal of a prostate, at least for me, is about controlling my pee. Leaks happen. Mostly just a couple drops. I haven’t just wet my pants but I have occasionally changed my underwear a couple times a day. I wear a thin pad and that usually is enough.

I can walk and rollerblade. I’m currently on a ten pound lifting restriction. Which is more about the stitches in my belly than my actual colon cancer. What life will be with a shortened colon is to be determined.

So my attitude about cancer is evolving. I’ve asked and have not been told I could or should have done this or that to prevent the cancers I’ve had. Certainly there is a reason why I had three different cancers but that reason is truly unknown to me.

There are real, affecting my daily life, consequences of having had cancers . Tired, pee control and I suspect I’ll have some eating restrictions due to colon cancer. Yet when I think about it all my consequences are really more about the removal of an organ or at least part of an organ. Not so much about why that organ was removed.

Where do I go from here? The answer is forward. Recover my strength from surgery. Whenever the snow falls for the next month or so, watch other people clear the snow from our driveway.

The closer you look the more you see.

Over my Seventy years, there are many things I once believed which I came to no longer believe.  For example, I now know not all girls have cooties.  Happiness is a personal decision, not at all about attaining wealth or position.  If you’re alive to wonder, your life has been blessed by having had enough. 

Believing is a personal choice. Reality does not have to be a criteria in what you believe.   Santa is real. Ignore the laws of physics as it relates to the delivery of a billion or so toys in one night. My advice is to never even hint, even silently to yourself, that you’re a non-believer.  Also don’t forget to thank Santa for the presents. Like I said, Santa is real.  Thanks Santa for all of the presents over the years.  

Beliefs are powerful things.  People put themselves in harm’s way for what they believe in.  From schoolyard fights to wars. Families and other relationships get torn apart by disagreements over beliefs. My dad and I did not agree about the Vietnam War.  

Technically belief means: to accept (something) as true or hold (something) as an opinion.  It’s easy to believe in things which are accepted as facts.  The earth is a sphere. The MN Vikings will never win a Super Bowl. The sun will come out tomorrow.  Harder to actually believe when the odds are stacked against you.  Could the Vikings actually win the Super Bowl?

The basic plot line of every Christmas movie I’ve ever watched comes down to the questioning of the validity of a strongly held belief. The plot is always basically the same.  The main character’s beliefs are in danger of being let go. Then a series of experiences, some unpredictable, happen which teaches the main characters to believe once again. 

Our beliefs are very fluid. Our beliefs can change for any or no reason. Sometimes we believe something just because it would be great if it were true.  Did you ever buy a lottery ticket?  Did you ever choose not to buy a lottery ticket one week and a week later feel lucky so you bought one?

You might believe sunny days are wonderful but does that mean rainy days are not wonderful.   Not all sunny days are wonderful. Beliefs are not cast in stone. Ask any one with a newborn baby. Raising a newborn is a humbling experience which changes nearly every belief you once held dear.  Pacifiers can save your sanity. 

We humans change our opinions on things all of the time.  We learn new information, or otherwise decide to change our opinion.  For example, when we commit to a relationship, quite often each person in the relationship modifies some previously held beliefs. It’s part of the deal of being in a new relationship. 

Previous to our marriage, I thought museums were boring. Linda always liked museums.  Now, I believe most museums are very interesting.  I will travel a great distance to see a good museum.  Linda convinced me to come with her to museums but it was the museums themselves that taught they are not boring.  

Almost every day there are stories about natural catastrophes directly or indirectly caused by global warming.  Drought, flooding, wildfires, sea rise and the like are very real evidence. Then there are the recorded measurements of the temperature over time which is irrefutable.

Over the past couple decades, many people believed global warming was not real. Others believed global warming was real even before the evidence was overwhelming that it was real. However, the funny thing about facts, they are true whether or not you believe them to be true. 

Too many times I’ve known someone was so sick they would die within a month or so. Hope against hope, Believe in miracles because there have been folks who survived with similar circumstances.  Yet reality happens and the sadness comes.  Yet, I will continue to believe in miracles and hope against hope.  

The funny thing about believing is that it does not have to be based on hard evidence or reality or the words of an authority figure.  Believing is a personal thing. Believing is sometimes more about hope than an expression of truth.  Yet, there are limits to what we believe. 

Go ahead and believe the MN Vikings will win the Super Bowl this year. However, don’t bet your house and the kids’ college fund on it.   There is a difference between belief and delusion.  The line between belief and delusion is often not clear but it is real. 

How many teams succeeded because, at least in part, they believed deeply they could succeed.  At the heart of most amazing business successes was someone who believed and acted on what they believed. Read business books and sports books and they are filled with stories of believing in the face of lots of reasons not to believe.  

How far should a person go to act on what they believe? While the stories of successful people are full of stories of believing they are also filled with stories of divorces, estranged children, and so many other negative results. Believing to succeed is often at a cost. There is often collateral damage.  

What you believe or not believe is, of course, up to you.  Obviously, not everyone believes in the same things. Never forget reality is what it is, no matter what you believe.  

Some people do not, for example, believe in Santa.  They point to the fact that they personally pretended to be Santa or some such. I’ve worn a Santa suit several times in my life. I’ve assembled toys in the middle of the night so they can be found the next morning. Yet, as I think about it, this is all powerful evidence that the essence of Santa is actually very real.  I believe.  

The closer you look the more you see. 

At seventy years old, I still inline skate during the summer with my sister Pat. We skate at the Roseville Oval.  It is very smooth.   No, you are not invited to skate with us.  We need to be careful, age is a real thing.  Pat and I have skated together for several decades. We feel safer if it is just the two of us.  Thank you for understanding. 

Five feet ten inches is how tall I used to be; however, as I gained age, I lost an inch.  Which means, I’m now exactly average in height for men in the USA, thank you very much.  Interestingly, or if you prefer, oddly, my legs are far shorter than average. My inseam is twenty-seven inches, three to five inches shorter than the inseam for the vast majority of men my height.

Another of my physical oddities is I can not hold my hand flat with my palm up.  My wrists just won’t let me.  I can get my palms about two thirds of the way but not really even close to flat.   

To make a long story short.  I was always a slow runner (short legs). I was always pretty bad at doing anything which required flexible wrists.  Sucked at throwing a ball, sucked at hitting a ball, sucked at shooting a hockey puck, sucked at golf, sucked at stickhandling, sucked at building model cars, sucked at playing a musical instrument and you get the idea.

Short legs and inflexible wrists didn’t make me a good ice skater. Lots of practice skating is what made me a good skater. It’s just that short legs and inflexible wrists pushed me to do what I can do rather than spending so much time regretting what I am unable to do. 

From about age four until I graduated from college, during the winter, ice skating a couple times a week was my norm.  I really enjoyed skating.

Once I was out of college life happened.  Got married, worked full time, got a house, eventually we had kids and, like I said, life happened.  Skating took a back seat.  Still had my skates and would take the kids skating once in a while however, not very often. That was just my reality.  Time passed.  

For my 40th birthday, June 26, 1992, my beloved spouse, Linda, got me a pair of RollerBlades. It didn’t take too long to feel stable and comfortable on those RollerBlades.  Inline skating soon became one of my favorite things to do. 

To keep this real, I must confess, periodically, over the past thirty years of spending lots of time inline skating, sometimes so much time spent skating caused some tension between Linda and myself. That happened. We got through it.  I’m still skating. Thank you Linda.  

Since the day I got the rollerblades, inline skating became my thing.  At forty, I was not, nor could I realistically ever actually become, the fastest.  Young, lean and strong will actually usually beat old and overweight most of the time.  

My personal goal was never to be the fastest or to prove I could skate the furthest or do fancy trick skating.  The goal was then and continues to be to just skate well. I enjoy the feeling of freedom I get from skating. 

When I skate I concentrate on my skating. Smooth even strides, pushing mostly out and only slightly back. The idea is always to keep your center of gravity between your front wheels and your back wheels. While skating for me, the rest of the world sort of fades into the background.

If you fall, the trick is to fall down, not lurch forward or flat back. Yes I know a person who died from a swollen brain caused by a fall while inline skating.  I was the skateguard who tended to him. He was a skating friend.  I just wiped away a tear thinking about it.  Trust me, if you’re going to fall, fall straight down rather than forward or back.

Shorten the stride going up hills, lengthen the stride going flat.  Alternate stride and glide when going downhill to preserve your energy.  Take into account the smoothness of the pavement, wind and temperature. Watch out for cracks, leaves, sand, sticks, animals, kids, bikeriders, other skaters, and turtles.  At the end of a stride, lift your back foot just a half inch or so to bring it back to the front.  Repeat.

For a long hard skate, bring like 12 ounces of water, you don’t need a gallon. For an hour just chit chatting with a fellow skater you don’t need any water.   Drink lots of water when you’re not skating and you will be just fine.   

One cool fall morning skating on the Gateway trail about five miles in, going through a wooded area, two young deer ran next to us for about a block and a half as we skated.  It was way cool.  

There are literally hundreds of stories I could tell about inline skating.  I was a skate guard at the Metrodome for several years.  My sister Pat, her husband Chet (I miss him every day) and I skated in many marathons and were volunteers at many others.  We’ve skated through downtown Minneapolis on several early Sunday mornings.  We’ve skated several trails, many of them hundreds of times.  

Be courteous to others on the trail.  Skating is an individual sport most often done around other people. For the record, it is very rewarding to help an inexperienced skater learn. Always remind them to relax and have fun skating. 

I’d like to publicly thank the staff at the Roseville Oval for being so nice to Pat and me.  Thanks to Linda for being so understanding.

The closer you look the more you see.

Making it to seventy was just checked off the to do list which is both a milestone and just another day. I’m feeling good. I still rollerblade, although I am extra cautious because, well, just because.

We, Linda and I, just painted the garage which needed painting badly. It took several days, I got sore. I hate chipping off old paint but did it anyway. Linda is much better at both chipping off old paint and painting than I am. I have to say, there is some pride in painting a garage “at our age”. The garage looks better.

Just had an egress window installed. Redoing the landscape around it didn’t take much time but like anything manual labor wise, when one is seventyish it must be done more carefully. I don’t go down to the ground and back up again on a whim. It’s a process.

Truth be told, when climbing up and down a ladder, stretching to paint a high spot or when getting up off the ground, I have a bit of minor bladder leakage. I know too much information. A prostate removed fourteen months ago gives me a new reality. I don’t make a big deal out of it. Just quietly go in, change undies and move on.

We used to volunteer at the local elementary school reading to or being read to by the kids. With COVID we are no longer able to do that. Although we chaperoned two field trips this spring for our fifth grade granddaughter’s class. Doing a little volunteer work is an easy way to give life a touch more meaning and purpose.

I do get more tired than I used to. Taking periodic naps is the cure. The doc said after kidney removal (cancer 2.5 years ago) that it is to be expected. They say, the remaining kidney, over time, gets better able to clean out the blood (which is the cause of the tired feeling) almost as well as two kidneys do. However, the doctor also said, remember you are also not a kid anymore.

The new 60 volt electric Toro lawn mower has exceeded my expectations. It cuts grass like a champ, is lighter and thus easier to maneuver than the gas models. As I’ve gotten older I’ve been able to pull the chord fast enough to start a gas mower but just barely. The maintenance on an electric mower is almost nothing. No more pulling the chord to start the motor. No more figuring how to bring it in for a tuneup.

There is no doubt I am more forgetful than I used to be, not that I was ever really good at remembering things. It also takes me a beat longer to process thoughts than it used to. Here is the deal though. I don’t think I’m losing my mind but I admit I am not as quick witted. On balance, not responding with a quick and witty retort means I am probably a nicer person now. Linda is tired of needing to tell me the same thing over and over again.

I’ve always been a bit of a loner, however during the COVID years, I’ve kind of gotten used to not spending too much time with others. I now get a bit overwhelmed when I’m in a large crowd with lots of stuff going on. Maybe it is just my age however no matter the cause, a mild anxiety in a crowd is how I feel.

Over the past year or so, we’ve gone to too many Celebration of Life ceremonies. Some passed at an age younger than I am and others were older. The older I get, accepting the fact that life is not forever gets easier.

All deaths are sad. Some deaths relieved horrendous pain. Most were not a surprise although a couple were shocking, out of the blue, never saw it coming. All will be missed. All left others with a hole, emptiness, in their life. It kind of saddens me that I’ve learned to accept death is a part of life. The older I get the more I realize, a celebration of life ceremony or funeral is not really for the deceased. They are really about helping the living adjust to the reality of living without the person who passed.

One last observation. The past couple years of the COVID pandemic has created a new normal. The norms for work, education, social interactions, entertainment, and so many other aspects of life have changed. As a retired senior citizen, most of my lifetime existed with the old set of norms. Since I am not working or in school, I have less of an opportunity to learn the new post pandemic norms.

For example, I have little knowledge of how a company’s workforce can be both mostly working remotely and still work cohesively. All I really know is as I observe how the younger generations, our children and their children, navigate their daily lives, it is very different than it was for me.

In the ancient days of like five years ago, gatherings took lots of planning and coordination. Planning our fathers day get together only took like three texts between us and our daughters, the last two of which were emojis. Just saying.

So I made it to seventy. At seventy, I still need to do stuff to give life meaning, just like it has been for every other age I’ve been. On balance, making it to seventy is way cool. Again, just saying.

I just looked it up. In 1952, the year I was born, life expectancy for males was 65.8 years old. Currently if you reach age seventy your life expectancy is 85.3.

The closer you look the more you see.

My new “electric” Toro snowblower was delivered a couple days ago. Yes, I know it will likely be eight months before I’ll actually need to use the snowblower. However, I needed a new snowblower, so I got one. Now I don’t have to think about it.

This post is not about my new snowblower as such. This post is about why I went electric instead of gas powered.

About a week before I bought the new snowblower, I finished the second of two classes on Electric Vehicles at the University of MN’s College of Continuing and Professional Studies. Look up OLLI (Osher Lifelong Learning Institute) if you are interested in attending lectures on this and a wide variety of other topics.

The surprising thing I learned is: Convincing the skeptical to buy an electric vehicle is not the constraint on the electric vehicle market. Most vehicle manufacturers felt demand for electric vehicles would be slow to develop. They were wrong. The demand for electric vehicles here in the USA and around the world far exceeds the available supply of electric vehicles.

Here is the deal. Gas powered engines are about 30% efficient. Meaning about 30% of the energy produced in a gas fired engine actually propels the vehicle and the remaining 70% of the energy is wasted as heat off the engine through the radiator or out the tailpipe. Electric vehicles are about 85% to 90% efficient, meaning they are about three times as efficient as a gas vehicle.

A gas powered engine needs to be revved to about 2,000 RPM (revolutions per minute) to develop enough torque to move a vehicle forward and a transmission to move it faster. To reach maximum torque and horsepower a gas fired engine needs to be revved up to its maximum RPM.

Electric motors have maximum torque and horsepower at the first revolution. There is plenty of torque and horsepower available at any RPM. It’s weird, however as a practical matter, most electric cars are faster and more powerful than most gas cars.

To my street rod loving buddies one of the huge downsides of an electric vehicle is how quiet the engine is even at high speeds. There are no flames shooting out of the headers. The tires will still squeal because there is more torque than they can handle. Unfortunately, a very powerful electric motor is really not very impressive to look at.

Most people focus on how far an electric car can go on a single charge. Which means if you drive further than that, the vehicle will need to be recharged (half hour to an hour) to go further. Yes you might be charged for the charge however there are apps to show you where charging is available and more changing stations are being added all of the time.

However, on most days, we drive far less than the maximum distance an electric car can go on a single charge.

Think about your typical day of driving. You drive to work, to school, to the grocery store, to soccer practice, to pick up fast food, to the party, to drop off tickets for the dance recital, etc. and then you go home.

Once home, you plug your electric car in to recharge it. The next morning, repeat. Months will often go by without using a public changing station. You might go to a gas station to buy a lottery ticket but otherwise your frequent trips to fill up the tank will become a distant memory.

Did I mention electric cars don’t need the oil changed or a tune-up. There are no spark plugs or spark plug wires. No carburetor or fuel injectors. No gas tank or fuel pump. There are no tail pipes, no mufflers and no catalytic converters. There is no transmission so the transmission fluid never needs changing. No air filter needs changing. There is no alternator or starter. An electric motor is very simple as it has only one moving part, a turbine.

Most of the electric cars use a heat pump to warm the passenger compartment. They work well. Electric cars are popular in the cold northern European countries where climates are as cold as Minnesota. An electric vehicle can be warmed up while in a garage with the garage doors closed because there are no emissions from an electric vehicle.

Which brings me to the story of why I bought an electric snowblower. Between two cancer surgeries, a multi year pandemic and the severe labor shortage, my old snowblower did not get serviced for multiple years. Yes it is partially my own fault but not entirely. By the end of this winter the snowblower was in sad shape. It worked but only barely.

By coincidence I took the classes on electric vehicles. The instructor mentioned how the new electric snowblowers are very powerful, easy to maneuver and very low maintenance. They don’t need oil or draining the gas tank etc. Besides once you pick your brand, the battery packs can be used for lawn mowers and a wide variety of other power equipment.

We are in the first year of a three year lease on our Subaru Forester. Come 2024 the lease will be up and most vehicle manufacturers will be in full electric vehicle production. I suspect there will be an electric vehicle in my future.

Renewable energy is rapidly becoming the primary source of power in the USA. The average age of vehicles in America is 8.2 years and as a result month after month, the number of old vehicles being scrapped continues to increase. The number of charging stations is growing exponentially . There will likely be an electric vehicle in a lot of people’s future.

The closer you look the more you see.

There are three prints hanging on the walls of the den I am sitting in as I write this. All are limited editions purchased directly from the artist.

On my left is a winter scene. Five teenagers playing hockey on a frozen pond. Most of the painting is shades of white snow and ice. There are a few green evergreens, a couple fence posts and, of course, the hockey players, wearing sweaters, blue jeans and regular old gloves.
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In front of me is a fun, minimalist, depiction of Minnehaha Falls. The water is drawn as various shades of blue ribbons cascading down from just under the walking bridge over Minnehaha creek. The “splash” at the bottom is drawn as symmetrical curls and large drop shapes.

On my right is a print of a photo taken on Lake Superior during an intense October storm of a huge wave crashing against a cliff just south of Tettegouche state park. The intensity is amazing and terrifying.

There are more prints and even a couple originals decorating our walls throughout the house. Outside there are a couple whirligigs, a large iron peace sign, several mobiles, several other random pieces of art in the gardens and hanging in the trees.

Someday our daughters will have to figure out what to do with them. I doubt they will be actually valuable. We did not spend a lot on any of the pieces of art. For the record, framing the prints cost more than the prints. They are all here for our enjoyment, not as an investment.

As we have said hundreds of times, if you want to enjoy art you need to support the artists by buying some art. It is fun to walk through an art fair but it is a lot more fun to walk through an art fair with the intention of bringing one or more pieces of art home with you.

The pond hockey print was purchased from the artist at a pre-Christmas craft fair at Roseville Arena. It was years ago and I don’t remember the details. Maybe it was a present from Linda, however, in the back of my head I think I discussed with the artist how we both had spent part of our youth skating on a pond behind the houses we grew up in.

The Minnehaha Falls print was purchased at the Loring Park Art Fair. The artist is an art teacher and she used an iPad. She told me she used the iPad because her paints and brushes were in her school which was locked up during the early days of the pandemic. She had brought her kids to Minnehaha Park because they were going stir crazy and figured it was a good opportunity to learn to paint with an iPad.

The photo of the huge wave crashing against the cliff was displayed at Tettegouche state park along with some other photos by the photographer. I talked to the park staff person about how cool the photos being displayed were. She gave me the link to the artist’s website. He had many wonderful photos to choose from but the one that caught my eye was the one which made me feel I was standing in the middle of a huge storm, witnessing the raw, savage power of an October blizzard on Lake Superior. I bought a copy. I had a very nice email exchange with the artist about where and when the photo was taken.

The decision to buy a particular piece of art is sometimes a little serendipitous. We weren’t looking for something like this but, by golly, one of us and often both of us are moved enough by the piece that we want to own it.

Sometimes, maybe most often, we sort of have an idea of what we are looking for. It would be nice to have a nice bowl to put cashews in when we have people over. That spot over the chair could use a fun picture. The fountain needs something like a statue of a leaping frog by it.

When we buy art, we talk about how it makes us feel. Is that a feeling we would like to have in our home? Is it enough of a feeling to justify the cost? Are there other choices which would be better? Not all of the art brings a smile to my face, but all of them cause me to feel something.

Most of the time we talk with the artist about the piece and often a little bit about them. Where they are from, what influences them, and often we tell them a little bit about us. Purchasing art is a business transaction but it is also an opportunity to interact with someone passionate about life and art.

I’ve walked past all the art in and around our home hundreds of times. Mostly I just pass them by without thought or emotion. However, periodically one catches my eye and I feel myself emotionally react. Sometimes a slight smile, sometimes it is a deeper emotion. Always, it reminds me that life is more than just being alive.

God knows I am not an expert on art. I do not have an artistic bone in my body. From the time I was old enough to try, I couldn’t even stay inside the lines in a coloring book. I was a business analyst because my brain is wired to think in logical steps. Which is not to say I do not enjoy art. I really enjoy art.

The whirligigs spinning in the breeze look cool and are an amazing feat of engineering. The young couple who made them do less farming now. Between online sales and the art fairs, they said, life is good. They looked happy.

The closer you look the more you see.

Nowadays, “newspapers” are read on iPads. Around sixty years ago, for about four years, I delivered actual newspapers door to door.

My territory was on the western edge of Roseville. Basically east of Highway 280, south of Highway 36, west of Cleveland and north of Midland Hills Golf course. Looking back, I think the lessons learned were probably worth a lot more than the money earned.

The Sheldon’s had a big Saint Bernard. Every time I delivered the paper he would jump up on his hind legs, his front paws against the window and rattle the window with his big deep bark. He was friendly, fun and not at all scary.

One hot summer day the window was open. When I walked up to put the paper in the door, he was across the room and I had startled him. He came running hard, tail wagging, barking, right through the screen on the window, knocked me down and started to lick my face. Mrs Sheldon was mortified assuming I was being mauled. He just wanted to say hi.

Miss Holste, was younger than I am now but back then I thought of her as elderly. On my first day delivering to her she let me know precisely how she wanted her paper delivered. Do not cross over the grass, walk up the long driveway, go into the porch, put the paper on the bench so she does not have to bend over and pick it up. Please don’t walk on the lawn after delivering the paper. I did as she asked. She paid on time, we never really interacted much.

When I got into high school, I learned Miss Holste worked in the school library. Periodically we would nod in recognition, but I do not think we ever actually talked.

About a month before I was to graduate I got a note saying if I don’t return a book, I will not be allowed to graduate. I did not have the book, and I did not know what to do so I did what kids like me do, nothing.

About a week before graduation, I got called out of a class and told to see Miss Holste in the library. She asked if I had the book. I said no. She looked me square in the eyes then tore up the piece of paper she was holding and said don’t worry about it, you were a good paperboy.

Every two weeks, I would go to each of my customers and collect. There were always a couple customers who were on vacation or who would ask if I would come at the end of the week after they got paid.

Along my route lived some wealthy people who were always the worst to collect from. In hindsight, they were probably just very busy people. When I finally connected with them, a couple of them would complain bitterly and threaten not to pay saying they did not get a paper or that the paper was not delivered properly. They would eventually pay but often several weeks late.

Let me just say this. If you habitually try to screw with a young boy by not paying in a timely manner and complaining about it when you do pay, come Halloween, you should not be surprised that your house was randomly egged and your pumpkins smashed.

On one occasion, I delivered the paper the morning after Halloween, the police were there getting hollered at for not properly protecting the good citizens of Roseville. I just delivered the paper and went to the next house.

The newspapers were delivered to the northeast corner of the intersection of Highway 280 and County Road B. From my house the quickest way there was to walk over a large hill, which was the fairway of the second hole of Midland Hills golf course. Looking northwest across the intersection up another hill, is Sunset Memorial Cemetery.

It is Sunday Easter Morning. The Sunday Papers came in two bundles. One was news and the other was everything else. I’m up before dawn, at the intersection putting the “everything else section” into the “news section” and then putting it into my paper delivery bag. There were no cars around, no people around, it was quiet and sort of peaceful.

At exactly dawn, as clear as a bell, several trumpets sounded followed by a very large and loud choir singing the “Hallelujah Chorus,” from George Frideric Handel’s Messiah. It was like a sound from heaven. Stunning. Moving. I assume there was a religious service at the cemetery three blocks away. From where I stood it sounded like they were right in front of me. It still gives me the chills just thinking about it.

Being a paperboy was not easy. You deliver every day. In Minnesota, it gets hot, cold, rainy, snowy, windy, humid and like a postman, it doesn’t matter, you were expected to deliver the paper every day, on time. On the plus side, unlike most of my friends that age, I had spending money. I bought a really cool, purple, Schwinn Varsity ten speed bike with my own money.

Delivering papers day after day, month after month you come to see and understand a certain reality about the people. On a very cold, blustery winter day, some people will insist you come in to warm up before continuing your route, some will complain you are late but most people do neither.

On any given day, over the length of your route you might well hear people shouting in anger at each other and other people being joyous and happy. Mostly though day in and day out people are friendly but are just going about their day doing the best they can to do the best they can.

As a paperboy, I was a kid who had interacted with doctors, lawyers, mechanics, teachers, librarians, nurses, dentists, professors, a bank president, an accountant, several small business owners and like fifty other adults who lived around where I grew up.

The closer you look the more you see.

The list of stupid things I’ve done and the resulting lessons learned is long and varied. The point being, not stupid, just learning my lessons.

We were married but pre kids. We bought a Dodge Aspen station wagon on a cold day in the middle of winter. Do you want air conditioning? Nope, never had AC before, don’t need it now. Six months later, mid-July, road trip to the Black Hills then down the Rocky Mountains to Colorado Springs and then home. Ninety-five degrees. AC sure would have been nice.

Per Merrriam / Websters dictionary, stupid means: ”having or showing a lack of ability to learn and understand things”. Technically, saying no to air conditioning saved a couple bucks on the monthly payment but ended up as a lesson learned from a mistake made. All of our cars since then have had air conditioning.

We all sometimes say or do things which could be called stupid. None of us are perfect. If we learn from our mistakes, we are of course, not actually stupid. So, next time someone calls you stupid, let them know you were maybe wrong but you will learn from your mistakes. Maybe to emphasize the point, say something mature like; “I know you are but what am I”. That’ll teach um.

Calling someone stupid is a harsh insult. It is one thing to tell someone they are wrong. Tommy you are wrong, two plus two does not equal five. It is a whole other thing to tell a person they are stupid. Tommy you are stupid because two plus two does not equal five. Telling Tommy he is stupid implies Tommy lacks the ability to learn that 2 + 2 = 22. (inside joke only my daughters are likely to understand)

Yes I’m sure I’ve called a person stupid in my life but it is an insult I try to not use. First off it is never literally true. Virtually everyone has the ability to learn and understand. Yes, some learn faster than others. Yes, some lessons require a background which some of us do not have. Trying to teach me to knit is hopeless.

When the stupid jerk flew past me on the freeway, my car windows were closed and he was several blocks away by the time I called him a stupid jerk. The risk of him knowing I insulted him was almost nil. I’m not sure it is actually insulting someone when they cannot possibly hear the insult. That said, whether or not he heard me, objectively I did no good by calling him stupid.

I looked it up. Here is the real problem with driving recklessly. “Reckless driving carries with it a substantially increased accident risk. Traveling at excessive speeds requires a much faster response time and can lead to significantly greater injuries to you and others, if you do have an accident. Not only that, reckless driving can carry other severe penalties. Tickets and fines.”

We all hope the reckless drivers learn to drive less recklessly. Calling them stupid as they fly past is not an effective strategy to getting him to stop recklessly swerving in and out of traffic. The more intelligent strategy would be to treat the incident as a reminder to ourselves to drive safely. Being upset with the stupid jerk makes you a less safe driver because you were upset instead of focusing on your own driving.

I know what offsides means in hockey and you’d think most hockey referees would also know. Which is why it is so baffling that over the years, referees often miss offsides calls against the other team and call unwarranted offsides on the team I support. For the record I do not think these referees are stupid. More likely they are diabolical geniuses with a personal grudge against me.

Remember the childhood maxim, I’m rubber you’re glue, your words bounce off me and stick to you. Those who insult a person by calling them stupid come dangerously close to proving the maxim true. If Timmy calls Tommy stupid, Timmy is publicly stating something which is, in fact wrong. Which is not a bright thing to do.

When we learn from our experiences, by definition we are not stupid. Most everyone learns from their experiences so like nobody is actually stupid. However, in the real world, it is common for people to insult others by calling them stupid.

Kidding aside, psychologically there are two basic problems with being called stupid. We all live in a social hierarchy. Labeling a person as stupid, in a sense demotes them within the hierarchy or even makes them feel like an outcast from the group. Which is bad. In addition, calling someone stupid can diminish their self-respect.

Feeling good about yourself and feeling supported by others is like a basic human need. Being called stupid hurts both.

For example, Tommy sits in the back of the classroom drawing as he always does. The teacher asks him what Shakespeare meant when he wrote: ‘Now is the winter of our discontent’ and Tommy quietly says Shakespeare must not like winter.

When Timmy turns to Tommy and calls him stupid, it hurts Tommy’s self-esteem and his standing in the class. Tommy decides he should just shut up and keep his head down instead of showing the teacher the drawing he was making of a person looking from a bleak winter scene into a sublime spring scene. Which would have been actually close to genius.

Insulting people is rarely a good strategy and most often backfires. Do unto others as we wish they do unto you. If I am doing something wrong, quietly remind me about what is right, don’t diminish me. I will try to do the same for you.

So here is the game I used to play with my young daughters. I’d ask what is 2 + 2? If they answered 4. I would shake my head and say, nope it is 22. If they answered 22, I would say nope the answer is 4. It was a fun (for me) way to help them understand there are most often, multiple correct answers to most questions. Even basic ones. Which, I think is not stupid.

The closer you look the more you will see.