A Liittle Grin

OK, I can't help it. I know it is kind of nasty to be this way, but I can't help it. When you are a writer and you pour your heart into something and it doesn't find its way to some kind of critical fame, you die a little bit inside.

I like to write stuff that tugs at the ole heart. I like to write stuff that makes people smile and maybe snicker a little. (No, I am not recommending eating a candy bar when you read one of my books.)

So, when something comes along like this, well I just can help smiling a little and maybe even flipping the bird to the publishing world and her.

She is the guard to the door of who makes it big and who doesn't. She seems to be stuck on these great journeys of the down and out and how they came back from drugs and bad marriages and anything else about the frail human condition. She should go to an AA meeting and listen.

So Oprah, here's to you and the big lie you turned into a blockbuster best seller.

I can't help feeling nothing for you. After all, there are lots of good books out there that can make you laugh and cry and snicker and they are not written by lying gold diggers like the ones who sit on your couch so often. (Go ahead and eat one.)

Winter?

It was 58 degrees in Lincoln yesterday.

The sun was bright and shiney and the Mopac trail, my favorite bike trail, was as packed as I have ever seen it.

I wore short and walked a little. The key word is little because my knee is out and giving me lots of grief. But, you can't pass up a day like that. What a treat!

One of my resolutions was to get out more and I am keeping true to that one. It's easy when winter doesn't happen. January, which is usually pretty brutal in Nebraska has really been tame. So, keeping the outdoor resolution is really easy--no biking through the deep snow.

Even with the nice string of days, the common phrase is "we need the moisture." Yup, we do. It's plenty dry and fires could get going at anytime. You see the results of small ones along the Interstate where somebody has tossed out a lit cigarette.

Stupid.

Kind of like this blog entry today. But, I needed to tell about yestereday.

What a nice gift!

The Touble With Texas

Well, it's over. College football has a new champion and it is fianlly...Texas. When you consider a few things about Texas, they sure have taken their sweet time to get there.

First of all, Texas is sooooo damn big. Did you realize that a flight from Lincoln to Houston is over Texas for almost half of the time? Did you realize that a flight from Austin to LA is about the same? Texas is massive. It's the land pig of America covered in bait and BBQ sauce.

Sure, there are other great universities in Texas. Smarties go to Baylor. Preppies go to A&M. Also rans go to Tech. People who like Chinese food go the Rice I suppsoe. But, Texas is still the BIG deal! There are over 50,000 students at Texas. Oklahoma is barely 20,000 and I think Nebraska is 28,000.

And some would say that makes it a little unfair when it comes to football. Football is different in Texas. I know, I lived there. My golfing buddy was God...Darrell Royal.

A kid who can play football in Texas is going to do just fine in high school. Trust me. A really good football player kid is going to do fine at A&M. But, the great football player kid is going to go to Texas and become a "horn."

That just is. Plus, universities from all over the country cross Texas day and night to pick off some good to great players to get them to come to wherever. Even Oklahoma.

The Texas trophy room is full of great honors and Heismans but they are a little short on fine crystal. Darrell won a couple when he was the head man but there hasn't been any since. By comparison, Nebraska has 5. That will give a Texan with a mouth-full of BBQ a spit hemorrhage.

Finally they won the big one. It was close. It was brutal. Nobody in the press thought they would win except Terry Bowden who had it almost nailed to the exact points.

Vince Young was incredible. Hopefully he will turn pro in the next 15 days so the playing field in the rest of the Big 12 can be level again. (Nebraska has to play both USC and Texas next year.) But have no fear, Nebraska is on the way back.

None the less, Texas is just too damn big. It needs to be whacked up some. Let's pass a law and create North Texas, East New Mexico, Southern Panhandle Oklahoma, and maybe, New Bevo. (That would be the turf down by the Mexican border.) If we whacked up Texas, we wouldn't have to listen to the downside of last night's long over-due win.

That would be the whooping arrogant Texas fans. Not Mac Brown. He's a good man and deserves this win.

For a long time, I had a t-shirt design that said:

Never have so many...
Done so little...
With so much...
TEXAS FOOTBALL.

Last night they finally did. Congrats Texas. The fat lady with the paralyzed hand finally sang.

The New Year Wish

I wrote this and sent it out to my friends. Since you are my friends, too, here ya go!

May the mountain lion you meet not have any good teeth.
May the rattler come along a minute after you have passed his bush.
May your pickup always start when a tornado is coming.
May Wal-Mart always accept your starter check.
May there always be one little busy ant in your tighty-whites to help show off your great smile.
May our lust for political power include a mandate for higher taxpayer mileage.
May you always find a peaceful place to share with your busy mind.

Happy 2006!

Kenny

Happy New Year!

Are you happy to see 2005 go?

If you watched the ABC evening news last night, you probably are. Over 2,000 talented young Americans are gone forever in Iraq and Afghanistan. A series of hurricanes dominated our TV's for months with suffering and blame for suffering. Great minds like the Pope, Johnny Carson, Richard Pryor, and Mrs. Robinson are now silent. What was her name anyway? Her husband was right about plastics, you know.

But maybe the biggest news is I am walking out of my 50's into... God, I can't even think it. My dear 'ole dad died at 62. Why is life in such a hurry anyway?

I could get pretty depressed over all of this but that would not be me. So, I decided to do something big about it. I bought a new cowboy hat. That's right, I am back to the cowboy thing and I must say I look pretty good in this one--kind of like a grumpy Ronald Reagan. Good Lord, he's dead, too.

Life is pretty good for me right now. I am living alone and am comfortable and plenty warm. My place is a little camper which I named the Palace. Yes, I am trailer trash but they pick it up every Tuesday and Friday so I can live with that.

The only problem I have is with a neighbor. He is kind of a a know-it-all who likes to rearrange my little yard with his old lawn furniture and put that tire stuff on my bike tires because they didn't look shiney enough. We had to have a little "visit" and now he's a little gun shy of coming near my place or me. (That's his truck to the right of the palace. It's a diesel and he likes to sleep all day and go to the gym about 3:00 am so when he starts that damn thing, it sounds like it is in the middle of my bed.)

Oh well, live and let live for a while.

If I could pull the Palace with my little storm chasing car, we would blow this popstand. (I hear they are paying a cool million for trailer trash lots in Florida!)

Maybe a truck is in order for the new year. I am a pickup guy anyway and for guys who wear cowboy hats and look like grumpy Ronald Reagan, a pickup is the only thing to have. Plus, you can toss the walker into the box.

60. Good Lord why is life going by so fast and I have so much still to do? My dear ole' dad died at 62.

So on to 2006. If the water gets too high, may God bring you a canoe with a paddle and instructions written by a trusty Indian on how to use it. If the wind takes you away, may God drop you into a nicer place. If a sour smile fills your face, may God put a very active small ant in the back of your tighty-whities.

Happy New Year. *Tips new hat*

Weather

It's foggy today. Not snowy. Not icey. It's foggy.

Yesterday, it was downright warm. Almost 60. I should buy some field outside of Lincoln and convert it to a beach.

Anyone who knows me knows I am a weather nut. If I could make a living chasing storms, I would do it in a hail drop. Some say it's a way to hold on to my flying years.

Maybe that's true. Maybe not. In the cockpit, watching weather wasn't near as much fun as chasing it on the ground. (Bumps in the sky are different than bumps on the ground.)

As a pilot, I had to learn alot about weather. As an "official" storm spotter, complete with photo ID, I found out how little I knew about weather.

There are weather nuts and there are turbo weather nuts.

The turbo ones hang out at a site called f5data.com. You have to pay for the service and if you are not a turbo weather nut, chances are you won't know what you are looking at or how to make any intrepertation.

I hang out at weatherunderground.com. I also gaze at the National Severe Storms Center page and the National Huricane Center page. Between the three, when weather is making news in this part of the country, I am making tracks.

Has weather gone goofy? Some say yes and some say no. There is plenty of data to support each position. I do think it is a little strange.

After all, when you think of winter in Nebraska, you probably don't think of fog and 58 degrees.

The high rocking horse

OK, I am going to get up on my high rocking horse.

The subject is adult toys. (No not that kind.)

These are the toys you may get for Christmas such asn an I-Pod or a Video I-Pod or something techie and toothie.

When I was a kid--granted that was a very long time ago--we didn't have those things to keep the mind occuplied while you "lived" life.

As a result, you had to look people in the eye when you met them on the street and if you of midwestern heritage, you probably said "Hi." You even said "Hi" to perfect strangers. Imagine that! And, when you said "Hi" you were not asking about their condition.

We have lost that art of looking someone in the eye and saying "Hi."

In fact, it has become such a terrifying experience, people are writing books about it. The Fine Art of Small Talk. Good grief.

I blame bad apples. My dad always said bad apples spoiled the whole bunch and that's exactly what has happed. It started with bad Walkmans but we have moved on. Now you can plug in, push on, and tune out.

Once in a while you will see society revert back to the old days. The transit strike is a good example. When was the last time you saw hundreds of New Yorkers hollering out? Granted, they are all trying to catch the attention of the same cab but it's a start.

We sould have I-Pod, Walkman, and cellphone free zones. If we did, maybe we would get back to looking people in the eye and saying "Hi" again. Both exchanges would make this country and better county. After all, how can you tell a man's character if you can't look him in the eye? Do you ask to see his I-Pod playlist or something?

Be warned, if you got one of those Bluetooth things you plan to plug into your ear and wear like a proud robot, don't come near me. I don't want to talk to anyone who is focused on what may come rather than what is. That's as close as it gets to the old expression..."he has rocks in his head."

And if you are walking around a restaurant talking to that thing, be careful. I just may slide a chair out in front of you to trip over.

Or sick my high rocking horse on you!

It's Over!

Christmas is over! Yeah! I know it is a little early for most folks but my family Christmas is over.

Now mind you, I don't start shopping until noon on December 24. That is all of the "season" I allow. We used to have a great store in Lincoln that was perfect for a guy like me. The store was Miller & Paine and it was a traditional department store in the heart of downtown. I would go in there about noon on the 24th, buy what I needed to buy, and take everything downstairs to gift wrapping. In two hours or so, I was out the door with cool wrapped packages and on my way.

Miller & Paine, including their famous cinnamon rolls and macaroni and cheese, is gone. The building is still there, but the store is gone. That means I have to wrap stuff and the "look" of my presents has gone downhill over the years. After M&P closed, I had to move my shopping up to 10:00 am. What a waste of a day.

Luke, my youngest nephew, graduated from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln this past Saturday. In a passing conversation, my brother, the family host of Christmas this year, mentioned they were having same on Sunday.

Sunday? You mean Christmas Sunday instead of Christmas Eve? (We have always been Eve people.) No, he clarified, Sunday. As in about 28 hours after my jaw dropped.

So, I was off to Target and Wal-Mart for shopping. Got that done in two hours. Wrapping took another two hours. Done.

The car ran like crap all the way up to Omaha and I thought it might not make it there. I was also worried about hitting a Jewish moutain lion. They don't celebrate Christmas and might be waiting in the ditch for a clunky car to come along and stall.

The little red car made it. The dinner was wonderful. The great nephews and nieces liked the stuff and I was home by 11.

Now I can kick back next Sunday and watch war movies.

Merry Chistmas to you still shopping fools!

Here kitty kitty...

It's been quite a while since they roamed Nebraska, but the sightings are happening almost daily. One was hit and killed by a car up by Omaha--almost 150 pounds and six foot long. That's pretty mighty. In fact, there have been several sightings on the west edge of Omaha and in the Gretna area. That's not surprising because the Mighty Platte, The Mighty Missouri, and the somewhat Mighty Elkhorn rivers all come together in this part of Nebraska.

There are tons of deer and the wild turkey population has exploded. There is a little flock of turkeys roaming my brother John's neighborhood and have even been so bold as to come up and look through the windows while we were having Thanksgiving dinner. Can you imagine?

Up until now, most of the really wild, wildlife has been up around Omaha. Or sure, there was that moose who wandered clear across Nebraska one year. Lots of farmers got their 15 minutes of fame as the wandering moose stopped to graze and have a little chat with the cows. Some farmers claimed to have chatted with the moose but they were written off as part of the crowd that sampled the ethanol too much. The moose, stout of heart, and determined to star in "Mr. Moose Goes to Washington" swam, swum(?) err moose-paddled his way across the Missouri only to be shot by a gun toting Iowa bonehead with a big number 3 painted on his pickup.

There have been other events--an elk here and there and the tansplanting of some mountain goats in the Scottsbluff area--but this is different. These guys are killers.

Some rumors have been spreading that Nebraska Game and Parks introduced them to kill off some of the big deer herd but that can't be right. There are plenty of guys willing to shoot them and pay to do so. But, here they are, or so people say they are.

Now I must admit, I was into Santa once upon a time. But over the years, I have become much harder to convince. I have a touch of Missouri "show me" in me these days.

They can move like shadows through the dense brush like I run along. It's just like the picture and at any minute, from almost any direction, they can come at you and leap at you like a big Linebacker. (Osborn era one.)

So you can imagine what I thought as I jogged along on my favorite trail, at the usual old goat speed, in the dusk of the day, alone, and there he was. For a second, I froze. But then my inner cowboy voice hollored out..."NO NO keep amovin er ur a gonner. Scare 'em sum."

This was a much bigger deal than mutated bunnies. This one had teeth and claws and was powerful and as much, and more, part of the West than I ever was. You need to rely on training here. And that's why I am glad I go for movies like Jeremiah Johnson instead of A Big Fat Greek Wedding. I needed to puff up like that old mountian man coot, Johnson's crazy friend. He was dressed in buffalo robes and a coonskin cap. I was close in my black Adidas running stuff. I started to prance and hollor like a crazy white man in Injun country. Hell, there wasn't an Indian within five casinos of me right now.

He still just stared. Wherever I went. He just stared. Expressionless. He didn't look like he was licking his chops.

I jumped and puffed up like one of the TV Survivor babes trying to get away with telling the truth.

No effect. Not a sound. He just stared.

I could feel the heat of his stare. My heart was already pounding from the jog so that wasn't an issue.

What was he thinking? Had he battled with man before? Had he eaten old goat before?

I knew this wasn't going to end the way I wanted it to end. I needed more information and a better look at him and I was in my running gear. I didn't have the two quarters to put into that newspaper dispenser and get that paper with his picture and story on the front page..

For now, all I could do is look at the picture through the glass.

"Mountain Lions in Lincoln?" Sounded like a good story to me.

"C'mon bunnies, let's roll.

A happy mom

Somewhere in Lincoln, or close by, there has to be one very happy mom.

Someone special is home for Christmas. I met him in the local Target store. No, he wasn't Santa.

He was 20 something, about 6'2" I would guess. He had a perfect smile, was well built,and had great posture. But, the givaway was the haircut. It was butch short on the sides and just a little longer on the top--kind of like a little rug.

"Are you a soldier?" I asked.

"Marine, sir." he said.

There is something about a kid with that kind of conviction that is different from other kids you would meet on the street. The truth is, most kids that age would give an older guy a funny look and probably just push by.

"Well, we're proud of you," I said. "Stay safe."

He smiled, stuck out his hand and shook mine. "Thank you sir," he said. "I will."

Can you imagine how proud his mom is? Can you imagine with all of what's going on today, what goes through her mind when he comes down for breakfast and gets ready to go do something ordinary, like Christmas shop?

I watched him leave the store and blend into the shoppers, the sound of the Salvation Army bells, and the bustle of a Lincoln morning.

Welcome home young Marine. You are one of our very best. Go home to some of your mom's home cooking and have a wonderful Christmas. Most of all, go with God.

And don't believe for one second that more people that you think are praying for you.

The mountainless Vail

Lincoln looks like a mountainless Vail lately. We are getting snow about every night and people are walking around in their cool stuff--the kind of stuff you buy when you go to Vail but can't afford to go after you bought the stuff. You can tell the true Vailees. They have chunks of lift tickets hanging from their jacket zippers and they try to walk without limping.

Lincoln is alot like Vail. Of course, Vail doesn't have a college football team and the Sunken Gardens would be out of the question with the amount of snow they get. But we do have bunches of dumb drivers when it comes to driving on the snow. They forget to use the turn hand on the steering wheel while they are gesturing to the other hand that is holding the cell phone close to the ear. Crash. It would be fun to have a radio show with America's Funniest Cellphone Crash Conversation.

The snow removal has, well not been the best. The City and for that matter, the State both seem to be a little sluggish when it comes to moving the deeper white stuff from the street to the walk you have just shoveled. And drivers just don't seem to get the hang of new traffic flow. We have some of those circle roundout type of intersections where traffic is suppose to blend in and blend out and move along faster that stop-n-go. That is a very trendy idea in Beaver Creek, just a few hudred dollars down the roal from Vail. But in Lincoln, it's been more of a bend than a trend.

And let's not forget, Lincoln has tons more blue-hairs than Vail. After all, Vail is no place for grannies who don't like the cold andthe concept of throwing oneself off of frozen mountains on a couple of skinny boards or one fat board. Since these blue haired babes have more bunions than younger folks, it clearly would be....the agony of da feet.

So what do you do when you life in a place without mountains and with snow? You shop. You go to movies. You eat pizza. And, if you are very talented, you write a cute blog. :o)

Too many damn fools who live here do something really bad. As soon as the snow stops, they put on their cool ski clothes and try to drive a a car with a cell phone.

Christmas tradition

I don't know how Nancy did it, but she is as nuts as my Mom when Christmas rolls around. Nancy is the daughter of my Mom's sister.

And she knows how to make my Mom's mint cookie like nobody else.

The problem is with the mints. It's a special kind of chocolate mint that the Pearsons Candy Company doesn't make anymore. Maybe that's because the Pearsons Candy Company isn't anymore.

Sad.

Nancy starts into this cookie making crisis every year about now. "Do you know where I can find the mints?" she emails me. I Google. I Yahoo. I have probably gained two pounds looking at various chocolate mints online. Even the Swiss missed this opportunity. At least I think they did but I don't read Swiss very well and I am more into their cheese.

None the less, Christmas won't be right for Nancy if these special mints don't appear...and soon! She is really big on the holiday traditions. She wants to make sure her son, probably the pick of the family herd and local fireman/paramedic, gets his fill of mint cookies.

Her house is full of those little things that make her house...well Christmasie. My house looks like everyone left in a big hurry and it smells like wet socks, not spiced hot tottie.

So what happens when a Christmas tradition is threatened by lack of an ingredient? There are only two choices. Let it end and start a new one. Or buy a candy factory.

We come from Norwegian stock. That means we are tough. In fact, we are the people that introduced cruise ships to the world. Granted, they didn't have a roof but none the less. We discovered America. Check it out, there are settlements in Canada dating back 500 years before Columbus. They didn't develop the property because they didn't want everyone in Norway to end a sentence with "eh?"

Norwegians were fishermen and sailors and not whiney cookie eaters. (If you need a good visual, Capitol One hired some of our relatives to do credit card commercials.)

So there is room for a new tradition, I think. Something with the sea and something with power rather than a mint filled dunker. John is a big guy. He needs to keep his strength up to be a paramedic/fireman. So here's my suggestion.

Lutefisk Smoothie

1/2 pound of Lutefisk cooked until it looks and tastes like an old sponge
1 cup or protien power
A pinch of REAL sea salt (One ingredient should be tough to get or Nancy will balk.)
1/2 half can of cooked spinach
2 cups of orange juice
Blend the hell out of it

That will send John out of the house Christmas Eve with more power than a stuttering Popeye and create a new Christmas tradition they will be talking about for 100 years.

Merry Christmas Nancy. Without you, it just wouldn't be.

A Jog in the Snow

Fitness is important to me. I don't want to be a fat old goat. But keeping my weight in line is getting tougher all of the time. Granted, I am still within 15 pounds of my high school weight, and there is not a belly problem, so I shouldn't worry so much about it. But I do. That's why I jog. But to many of the young guys who blast by me on the trail, "jog" may be a poor use of the word.

Sam used to jog everyday. He was the captain I flew with in my young pilot days. We use to laugh at him becuase his jog was nothing more than a fast shuffle. I watched him run from my hotel room and I am sure I laughed. Just like some of the guys, ladies, and maybe even dogs on the trail laugh at me now.

I am paying dues for laughing at Sam. He was out there for the same reasons I am.

But there is an art to winter jogging. We are very lucky in Lincoln because we have one of the greatest trail systems in the country. For the most part, they are paved. They also get plowed within hours of the end of a snowstorm. Sure, there are going to be patches of ice here and there, but for the most part, they're in great shape.

Except for last night.

I was on the fence about jogging. It started to snow about 6:00pm. It was a pretty snow--big flakes with and no wind. Do you remember that crunch under foot from a fresh snow? Do you remember a time when you were all alone in while a pretty snow fell gently on your face? It was irresistable. I layered up and went out.

There was only one other set of tracks on the fresh snow. He was half gazelle about 22 I would guess, because he made one stride to my three. Screw him. I was enjoying my time and watched the bunnies run along the trail with me. I was catching a crippled one until he made a serious right turn. There are some that just can't stand to fall behind.

When I am in the groove because I can barely hum the USC fight song. (That's the best one for jogging because you can slow it down or speed it up to suit your mental and physical state.) The band was a little slow tonight. I made the turn and started back home. The gazelle's tracks were starting to fill in with snow so I image he was home, showered, and drinking a beer. No one was out there but me. I owned the night, and the light, fluffy, beautiful snow. Dah dah, *foot crunch* da duh da dah *foot crunch* da dopie doo, *foot crunch" da doopie dooooo.

Then trouble.

About a block in front of me, everything disappeared. I suddenly realized I hadn't seen a bunnie in a while either. And, in just a few seconds, I didn't see anything. (In case you are wondering, my view would look like the margins on this blog so that's why no picture. I know. Jip.)

It's called a white out. The little snow storm had suddenly turned into a blizzard and I was the blizzardee. My mind raced. What if a Mexican wolf was lurking in the bushes and mistaked me for Little Red Taco Head?

What if I slipped and fell and broke a hoof? I would lay there and feeze to death. (Bunnies don't pack cell phones.) It was suddenly colder. My mustache iced up. That's a bad sign for an x-pilot because that could mean his brain might stall.

Blowing snow also means drifting. Jogging was out. Mountain climbing was in. I jogged. I climbed. The SC fight song was not the right song for climbing. Then I knew my mind wasn't working right because it served up the Texas fight song. I would rather face the Mexican wolf, illlegal or not, than rely on the Texas fight song to get me through this. Plus, the hook 'em thing might scare the Mexican wolf off and he might be my last hope unless I could convince a bunnie to risk it and take an emergency note to Wendys somewhere out there in all of that white.

I am sure there were little sets of eyes starring at me from under little piles of branches and leaves. I am sure they wondered why this old goat was out here in this awful weather. Do bunnies only eat frozen leaves or during winter, do they mutate and develop a holiday taste for fat old goat?

I was alone with the Texas fight song going in my freezing mind. Help me Jesus.

Then, just as suddenly, the wind died down. I could see the lights of the Wendys again. My mind filled with the smell from the fast-food store next to my tin house.

I knew I was going to make it. I wasn't going to fall and freeze to death, only to get plowed into the ditch by the city. My family wouldn't have to identify me in the spring with that horrid expession on my terror-filled face and that hook 'em sign frozen into my hand. Would they know that the fitness devil had put the Texas fight song into my frozen, dying mind as I fell to the ground in bunnieville?

No one would be looking for me here, hell, it's a fitness trail. "Why was he on a fitness trail?" they would wonder.

"Gimmer a triple with the works, biggie fries,and a biggie frosty," I told the Wendys guy.

Screw it. After all, I am only 15 pounds heavier than I was when I was in high school.

The day for kids...

It's snowing right now. It's kind of a light grainy snow. The kind of snow where you can take a little three or four step run and slide for a few feet. Arms out of coure for balance. That's important background info for you because today is Star City Parade day in Lincoln. Downtown will be full of families with little kids watching a discount version of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. There will be small balloons with people trying to control them in the wind. There will be bands, including the band of bands in Nebraska....ladiesssss and gentlemen......the Pride of Alllllll Nebraskaaaaaa....The University of Nebraska CornnnnnnHusker Marching Band!

I still get chills watching them. When they play Hail Varsity and Dear 'Ole Nebraska U, I remember who I am and where I am from. That's cool on an otherwise cold snowy day. (Might not be all that bad to be from Florida, though.)

I was in a band once so I know what it is like to march in snow and freeze to death. The uniforms can look cool but they are not the stuff of the North Face. And speaking of face, there is nothing worse than having a cold coronet mouthpiece stick to the wrong part of your lip. Nothing but air goes through and not enough of it to make any interesting noise that approaches music.

Little kids don't get air. They understand "honk honk honk." And they ask such honest questions...."mommy, why isn't that guy making any music?"

Good question. Hence the keyboard.

So to all of the little kids along the snowy parade route, enjoy the cold weather. Drink some hot chocolate. (If you are REALLY cold and can't find any hot chocolate, ask your dad for a belt of his schnapps.)

Don't bitch about having to come to the parade. There will come a Christmas when your parents are old and you and your sibs can say..."remember when we went to the parade and drank all of dad's schnapps?"

Keep warm by rubbing your mittens together. Brush the snowflakes from your face. Curl up your toes inside of your boots and when the band of bands comes along....clap your hands and enter into your heritage as a loyal Cornhusker.

If you don't have to go pee before Santa goes by, you'll have a warm memory from a cold snowy day etched in your mind and you'll have earned the right to whine about going to Disney World in Orlando.

Oh, and don't try to sneak a pee in your pants. It only stays warm for a little while.

I need to go to Florida

The hurricane season is over. For most folks, that would suggest a trip to somewhere sunny. It's 12 degrees in Lincoln. That would suggest a trip to somewhere sunny. There is snow on the ground. That would suggest a trip to somewhere sunny. The snow has been rearranged from God's idea to man's idea which means it is no longer like a fluffy white blanket, but is piled up in dirty piles. That would suggest a trip to somewhere sunny.

But none of those reasons are the reason I should go to Florida.

Dannie is the reason. She had her surgery and they removed another tumor about the size of a golf ball from the back of her brain. A few years back, they removed a softball size one and she recovered 100%.

This time is a little different. She has some work to do to get back to that 100%. I have no doubt she will do it but I want to go down to Florida and spend a little time with her and see for myself.

Struggle is the best character builder there is. I had to struggle with my polio and most people who know me say I am a character. Everyone will give you the "you're still just as good as anyone else."

You know, deep down, you will never be just as good as. You may come close. You may over-achieve. You may become a character or develop same. But there is a bigger struggle going on inside. It just takes so much more for the bird with a broken wing to learn how to fly.

And the last thing you need is to have a Tom Cruise type tell you they understand. You're kidding. They don't understand. The only people that understand are people who have had to go through the struggle of coming back.

That's why I need to go to Florida. I want to look Dannie in the eyes and let that speak for itself. I will never know the no-polio me. I will only know the one who battled it. Polio made me a warrior. I fought battles that I may not have needed to flight. I did things that I didn't need to do. I completed projects that I didn't need to start. My life isn't about making money. It's about making tracks. My tracks sometimes end at the top of the mountain because I fell down the other side. But, if you look carefully, you will see more tracks on the next one.

Dannie is learning how to make tracks. She is learning about struggle. I imagine her heart is crying because of what was. She may not know about what will be.

But she is making new tracks and I want to see if they are going up the mountain. My guess is there are, so it is best that you get the hell out of the way. She is a warrior, too.

Just keep spreading your broken wing little bird. The hand of God will create the lift.

At the movies...

Well, kind of at the movies. I am not a "go to the movie" kind of guy. I don't like crowds and like them even less when they yap while you are trying to watch a movie. In fact, I don't even rent movies very often. But this weekend, I did. War of the Worlds and Ladder 49.

So the review...

I saw the original War of the Worlds way back when. It was black and white as I remember and Orson Wells did the voice over. It scared the crap out of me. My little brother Roger was with me and we were both, well little. My parents were somewhere and we snuck off to the Lyric theatre to see it.

When Mom and Dad got home, they found us sitting in the middle of the family room surrounded with butcher knives. We were scared to death.

Maybe that's why I don't go to movies. But anyway, the modern version wasn't all that appealing to me even though I kind of knew what was going to happen. The "new" followed the "old" fairly well, san butcher knives.

Ladder 49 was something different. Powerful. I welled up a couple of times. It kind of made me want to call my fireman nephew John and tell him to get a safe job at Wal-Mart. But, this is Lincoln and not Baltimore so there aren't that many tall buildings here. None the less, one of the young stars fell through the roof on a two story fire and they had to summon the bagpipes. During my CERT training, our volunteer fireman instructor told us..."if you want to know what it is really like inside of a burning building, watch Ladder 49." Lesson understood.

Look close at Lincoln's finest with Ladder 5 as it were. It's truck 5 in Northeast Lincoln. That's a pic I took of a fire in the neighborhood last year. Looks pretty nasty, doesn't it.

Maybe you can walk out of Ladder 49 and say, "it's only a movie." Then again, you may hear a distant siren howling in the night. You may see flashing blue and red lights in the distance. And if you stand still for a moment, Ladder 5 will blow on by on their way to God knows what. Raise your index finger when a firetruck goes by. We don't need anymore young families in the first pew and somebody warming up the bagpipes.

God speed Ladder 5 and all of Lincoln's finest.

It's here...Ugh

Ok, it's here. My least favorite time of the year. Winter. Ugh. In fact, double ugh. I hate snow and cold. Once you get by that first fluffy, pretty snow, it's well, just ugh.

Plus, it's "that" season. The season where you over-eat and over drink and well, fall over.

The older I get, the less I like this "festive" time. I am not festive anymore. I hate crowds. I hate small talk. I don't drink. I don't have a cool sweater and yuppie pants and cool shoes. I like jeans and t-shirts. I look like old jeans and old t-shirts with a bad attitude. Worst of all, my muscles and bones hurt from the cold. (They tell me that is especially true of former polio people like me.) Triple ugh.

I need to go somewhere warm and sunny. But, all of the warm and sunny places are destroyed this year. Hurricanes. Is that season over now?

I guess I could go to California. It's sunny. It's full of marachi bands. Maybe I could learn do a California triathlon...run through 100 yards of brush...scare a rickity fence...run across some open land...jump into the river and swim across...run through some open land...sneak around a dark green pickup...run into more brush...spike a bean burrito and give the touchdown sign.

The ground under me would tremble. Oh God. Earthquake.

I knew there was a good reason not to go to California.

So go ahead. Enjoy the snow and the cold. Go Grandma's house. Eat too much turkey. Eat an extra piece of pumpkin pie with Cool Whip on it. Drink too much. Fall over. Nap. Have left-overs. Nap. Eat some Tums. Drive home and half nap on the way.

After all, that's why all of those people are doing the California triathlon, isn't it?

The small town life

I took a little drive out west of Lincoln last Sunday. I didn't take the Interstate. Instead, I chose to take a two laner and ended up in Seward, Nebraska. (For those of you who don't know, Seward is the "4th of July City" and was named after the folly guy.) Seward folks go all out for America's birthday and their population goes from 3,000 something to 30,ooo something. Not a good place for a crowd-hating recluse like me to be.

But Seward was the perfect place for me last Sunday. Beautiful day. Still a hint of fall in the air. A little wind to whip the brown dried leaves around. And a Main Street just as Main Street as America gets. The Seward County Courthouse dominates the center of this little town. Yellow ribbons are tied to the light poles with the signs that tell you to obey this or that. There is a statue of a Civil War soldier standing on a tall white pedestal. Next to the pedestal is a flag pole with both the US and Nebraska flags flapping around in the light breeze. When was the last time you stopped to listen to flapping? When was the last time you looked into the stone face of a soldier and thought about those kids who fell then, and the kids who fall now? It was all right there. From flapping to the stone face to the yellow ribbon. Seward has it right. Seward let's you sample freedom in silence any time you want.

The heart of America is alive and beating in little Seward. God bless it.

A walk down an old path

I haven't been on a personal photo trip for a long time. (That's when you say the hell with everything and everyone and toss your best camera over your shoulder and go somewhere just to take pictures.) In my case, the camera is my trusty Nikon 8008 and the place is about an hour away...Nebraska City.

Nebraska City is Nebraska's hidden treasure. You probably don't think about apples when you think of Nebraska but that's where they grow 'em. You probably don't think of trees when you think of Nebraska but that's where Arbor Day started. You probably don't think of a world class resort when you think of Nebraska but that's where the Lied Lodge is and well...it is!

I shot a couple of rolls there, ate a freshly baked piece of apple pie with ice cream and walked and listened. I had forgotten the sound of leaves and dried twigs crumpling under foot. I had forgotten the sound of the wind as it shakes the top of a giant cottonwood tree. I had forgotten the sound of a distant crow making claim over me for territory.

And if that wasn't enough, there are other things there, too. Including the Mighty Mo...the Missouri River. It's beautiful this time of years and the folks down there make it easy to see in all of it's glory--especially if you climb a tree to get a little better look.

It was a great day for me. I was very comfortable being myself with nothing more than the trusty Nikon, freeing myself from the nagging voice that said I should be using that camera more often. So here ya go. A path less walked.

See if you can do without football for a Sunday like I did. Let your kids see you climb a tree. Teach them to listen for the crow and the sound of crunching leaves and breaking twigs. Let them hear the the sound of the wind talking to the trees.

Find a path and walk it more often. You might even feel your soul smile, just like mine did.

This week in Washington

This could be a very busy week in Washington.

Karl Rove could be charged with something. Scooter Libby is in the same boat. Did his dad make it big canning peas? The President's Supreme Court choice, what's-her-name, is out of the boat and sinking according to Sen. "Swallow the closest Microphone" Schumer. (And no, I don't know if I spelled all of their names right nor do I care.)

That's the key word. Care. Out here in what they call "fly over country" I don't think many of us do care. The exception is that growing number of our finest who are giving their lives in the service of freedom. Don't you guys dare pull another Viet Nam and that includes you, Senator Hagel. (He's one of our locals who went to Washington and got the big head that he was big stuff.)

The fact is, we don't care. Let them fly over. Let them fight. Let them swallow microphones in Washington. Let them choke on those microphones or whatever else they like to swallow out there. Even the cows are mad well errr...sick of them.

I have a solution, however. No, it's not a new party. That won't work. As soon as the new party leaders find the microphones, it will be sameo. We need something more dramatic than a new party. Perhaps we need a new city for the heart of government. I nominate Boise. The west is still alive out there and they have a nice long runway for Air Force One. Plus, they can give a new "spin" to corrupt politicians and "life is all about me" reporters.

Just hang 'em. I think the founders would like that.