Band Night 2009

Friday night was another Milestone in my life. For the first time two members of my family marched in the annual Band Night parade in Bismarck. Myself and my daughter participated. I have fond memories marching in this parade with the Mandan High School Marching Band and now with the Eckroth Music Adult Marching Band. When I was a student, it was only high school bands that marched but these days you see musicians of all ages in the parade. It is a wonderful celebration of music inviting bands as far away as Canada and South Dakota to come and march and play.

Here are some highlights. This was my daughter, Brianna's first year marching with Mandan Middle School. Here you see a shot of some of the band, Brianna is hard to see but she is the Tenor Sax player in the middle of the picture. She was marching on the left end of her line.

I cannot tell you how excited she was to be playing. To be honest, I've marched in this parade so much it has gotten to be somewhat of a routine for me. Just another event in my life. But to see the joy and excitement in my daughter's eyes was kind of like experiencing the magic of Christmas for the first time through your children. It was freezing and all they had were long sleeved polo shirts with no jackets or anything. Brianna's adrenaline was running so hot she didn't even notice. My uniform at least had a windbreaker as part of the ensemble but I was still cold.

Here is a better snapshot that shows a little bit of her contagious energy she was feeling at the time. This is actually a cell phone picture. I'm one of the old fashioned cranks that feels cell phones should be strictly limited to talking on the phone, but I was happy to have a phone with a camera that night. My band was the last unit in the parade and Brianna's school was kind of in the middle. So I was able to take a few pictures while we were waiting to get started.

Like I said it was freezing cold standing on the capitol lawn. In between moments of teeth chatter, I was able to ask Brianna if she was cold. She just snorts and rolls her eyes at me. "No!" as if she'd never heard of such a ridiculous question. Fortunately, for me at least, things got warmer once we started moving and got downtown where the buildings blocked some of the wind.

Waiting at the capitol.

The Eckroth Band coming down the street.


Some post-parade pictures. I've been blessed with an amazing wife and two wonderful children. I'm delighted Brianna has got as much or more of an interest in music than I do. I have to also mention my son, Brian. (He's a Vikings fan, if you haven't guessed.) He was showing his purple and gold that night. I hope to have a blog featuring him once the Summer basketball league gets started. I was a little worried he would be bored of the proceedings but he said he had fun too.

I've been marching in this parade on and off for over 20 years, but this year was something special. Here's to hopefully many more.

How Many Men Does It Take To Change a Mailbox?

I saw something I'd never seen before last week. But first a little history.

We've spent most of our Winter with our mailbox supported by a 5-gallon bucket filled with sand. I really must put more pictures in these blogs. Anyway, the reason for the bucket and sand was because I came home from work one day to find our mailbox leaning at roughly a 53 degree angle. Needless to say, I was very concerned about its structural integrity. When I walked out to take a look, all I had to do was touch it to make it fall over completely. The 4X4 treated wooden post supporting the mailbox had been broken at ground level. So I was now the proud owner of a 2.5 foot post and mailbox laying in the dirt and another 3.5 feet of post buried solidly in frozen ground. If we didn't want to spend the next few months getting our mail at the Post Office I needed to do something.

So how could this have happened? I mean a 4X4 post isn't something you can break very easily without some serious Martial Arts training or some heavy equipment. I suspect it was bumped by a snow plow. However, there had been no snow on the day the incident occurred. I also know we have, shall we say, a very aggressive mail lady, who has no patience for our mailbox door. Admittedly, it does require a little more effort to open than your garden variety mailboxes. But just a little. Dear readers, we have witnessed the mail person shaking and pulling the door with such a vengeance you would swear she was trying to rip it out of the ground.

So, I'm guessing the snow plow must have started a crack and the forceful handling 6 out of every 7 days was eventually enough to rip the post completely. We had a truly enjoyable couple months with the mailbox in the bucket. It was always exciting coming home because you never knew what kind of angle you'd find the box leaning at after withstanding yet another day's delivery. On windy days, of course, the whole thing would blow over and usually roll down our steep ditch so every so often I had the pleasure of hauling a 5-gallon bucket of sand out of the ditch. Good memories. Thankfully, we did get a considerable amount of snow afterwards, so I did have a modest bank built up all around the thing. For those of you who remember the movie E.T. our mailbox looked like the little alien with its head poking up out of a thick white robe.

Alas, all good things must end. With the lack of snow and thawing of the ground, I had begun to get troubled over how I would go about replacing the mailbox post. I voiced these concerns to my father-in-law, Jim, one afternoon. The job didn't seem to trouble him at all. He said all you need is a chain, a pick-up, and a spare tire.

"Really?" I asked, somewhat skeptically.

"Sure," says he, "we always pull posts that way."

Interesting, I thought, this I must see. He told me to let him know when I got the new post and he would come over and show me how it's done.

So, last week I happened to be in the Lowe's vicinity and remembered I needed another 4X4 6 foot piece of treated lumber. I was pretty excited about seeing this remarkable engineering feat in action.

Later that evening, the excitement had waned. I confess I was just a little angry. Part of the preparations involved my digging around the existing post so that we would have room to wrap the chain around it. I've always had a difficult time asking and accepting help from others. It's one of my shortcomings that I'm working on. I wanted to get the post out myself. I was digging furiously with a spade around the post trying to get deep enough so I could get it out. I had gotten a foot or so deep and was seriously frustrated. You can only dig so deep where it just becomes awkward. You don't have enough room to get your feet in to press down the shovel and the ground was too hard to dig much at a time. Before long I was scraping dirt out by the teaspoonful and the post still refused to budge.

I finally ended up asking Jim, when he had some time, to come over with his contraption and pull the post. He showed up the next night.

This was really something to see. He took the chain and wrapped it snugly around the post where I had cleared the dirt away. We put the spare tire up against the hole and draped the chain up and over the top of the tire. Then the chain was attached to Jim's pick-up. I held it in place while he got in and drove ahead to take the slack out of the chain. He said it was very important the chain and tire were very straight and centered. We made some adjustments and were ready.

Jim got back in the truck and I backed off. Something about this whole setup just seemed unsafe to me. I didn't know if the tire or post would just go flying off in some direction. So I walked a good distance away.

The pick-up started forward, the wheels were spinning. That post was in there solid. The chain eventually slipped off and the tire fell over. The post stayed put. It was kind of anti-climatic, there was no noise or flying objects. But that initial pull must have worked something loose because the next time we set it up, the post slid out like a knife going through butter. The chain rotated the tire and the post came right out of the ground. Nice and neat, slick as you please. I just stood there with my geeky, gawking grin, looking at the post recently unearthed and lying on the ground. When I found my voice, I thanked Jim profusely and said I had never seen that before. He just said, "Heart River School No. 6." This is his trademark expression for whenever he's developed an interesting way to solve a problem. He claims to have gotten his brains from the rural school where he grew up. Wherever they came from, it worked. And it was amazing to see.

We still had the task of digging the rest of the dirt away and placing the new post and sliding the mailbox over the top. Some things just work better and easier with 2 people. The task was fairly simple, but it was nice to have someone hold and level the mailbox and another person shoveling and tamping dirt. Before long, my mailbox was resting securely on it's new post and standing straight and tall like a faithful soldier.

So the answer to the question, "How many men does it take to change a mailbox?" Is 2, with a little help from a tire, chain, and 4-wheel drive pick-up.

Thanks Jim!

The Only Constant Is Change

I don't like change. What's worse, the older I get, the greater the extent of my dislike. It truly pains me to say this. I remember fondly the glorious days of my youth when I not only enjoyed change, I embraced it. I soaked it up like a hungry sponge. I looked at each new circumstance as a grand adventure to be explored. A new opportunity for success or failure. It didn't matter, the value was in what could be learned from the experience. Sadly, with every passing day, I find myself appreciating more the comfort and safety of having things remain as they are. These days I take more joy in living a carefully planned day that didn't involve any surprises, than a day fraught with unexpected situations.

I got along pretty good in my younger days, no better or worse than anyone else I'm sure. Through all the years of my education, I was surrounded by people my own age and tended to hang out with others that felt the same way I did. It was quite a shock when I graduated college and entered full-time employment. I was suddenly thrust into a 4-story building that was filled with way too many "older" people. But again, I saw this as a new adventure. I happily began my career.

Very quickly, I got frustrated at the amount of griping and complaining being done by the older crowd. Computers were just getting to be understood as a tool that could be used to increase productivity. Not many people had them back then, the Internet was still a government research project. But what got me was that so many people were not the slightest bit interested in having them. When they found out they would not have a choice but to get a computer on their desk, you would have thought you gave them the worst news of their lives. I struggled to understand what the big deal was.

Now, I no longer find myself one of the youngest people at work, or even among the middle-aged people. The best I can do is say that I'm in the "younger" bracket of the "older" segment of our staff. I understand now, that those people I started full-time employment with did have some reason to complain. These days it seems I just learn how to do one thing, when everything changes and I have to learn something else.

I went to the dentist this week. My dentist of almost 20 years had to sell his practice because of a family situation. I wasn't worried. I knew my old dentist cared enough about his customers to not leave them with the first tooth-scraper to come along. I had also heard from the new owner's clients and they had quite pleasing things to say. I was also comforted that the hygienists would be staying and so the woman that has cleaned my teeth since the 3rd grade (over 30 years) would continue to do so.

I sat down in the waiting room to enjoy my brief time away from an office that is way too busy for this time of the year. I knew something was wrong the minute my name was called. "Randy?"

I looked up not to see the woman I expected but someone else. My heart plummeted. Things were very busy with all the changes and there were scheduling issues with the new computer system so my hygienist was busy with someone else. I tried very hard to not let my disappointment show as I was led down the hallway and into a chair.

As soon as I opened my mouth, my worst fears were realized. My old hygienist knows my mouth up and down, in and out. She knows what teeth they have been keeping an eye on and what teeth are safe to be left alone. My mouth was a complete stranger to this woman who immediately started saying things like, "Oh dear," and "Oh my." With every syllable, I had to suppress a groan, visions of dollar signs danced in my head as I imagined what my next month's dental bill was going to be.

She pressed hard on one spot in the back of my mouth, "does this hurt?" She inquires.

"No," I said, "it feels fine." So she presses harder, I actually hear her give a soft grunt she's pressing so hard.

"Does that hurt?" She gasps. "No," I replied, "It feels fine." Evidently, she's still not satisfied with my answer so she goes in again. This time digging and scraping with a vengeance. "Are you sure this doesn't hurt?" She asks again.

I'm thinking, now that you've attempted to excavate a small canyon in my mouth, yes, I am starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. "Just a little," I say.

"Well, we may have to do something about that." Yes, I thought, you just did do something about that. The cleaning continued.

Finally, she gets over to the other side. In all fairness, I have been needing to get a crown on this one back molar that's got a filling the size of a small silver mine. But these things cost money, so I've been holding out as long as possible. When she got the metal hook into that tooth, she started to swoon. "You really have to get a crown on this one." She says.

"Yes," I withered. "They've been keeping an eye on that for some time."

Mercifully, the cleaning ended. I felt as though I'd weathered another storm. I had to chuckle that I came in from a storm outside to walk into another one sitting in that chair. Isn't life grand?

My new dentist walked in. I liked him immediately. Young, sharp as a tack, and very confident in his abilities. I began searching for a ray of hope. Amazing how he was able to check things without digging and scraping everything in sight. Yes, I know, the reason was because my teeth were now clean and no more scraping was needed. Cut me some slack.

He very calmly explained that though I hadn't been having trouble, this cavity had slowly grown quite long and really did need to be taken care of before it caused any worse damage. "Fine, set it up."

Then he explained about my crown. The reason that molar wasn't bothering me was because it bit down on an empty space created by a bottom tooth that had been pulled years ago. There wasn't any pressure being placed on the bad tooth and so I was not experiencing any pain. My old dentist had told me all of this as well, so it wasn't any surprise. "Get 'er done!" I said in my, "Larry the cable guy," accent.

We talked about the gap from the tooth-pulling and implants and bridges. I finally got my silver lining. Because they have oral surgeons on staff, they can do implants at a ridiculously reduced price. It would still be very expensive, but not near as bad as the estimates I had been getting in previous years.

But I put my foot down, "I've got 2 kids worth of braces to pay for first." To his credit, he immediately grasped the magnitude of my situation. I think I will get along with this dude just fine. I will not say change is bad, I just have a harder time dealing with it these days. I did like the new computer system. I sat there as my hygienist was scheduling my next cleaning. She very nicely scheduled it with my regular hygienist and apologized for all the hubbub. She said she understands perfectly that it is nice to be seen by the same people for each visit. Then she told me that they have water in their basement crawl space and that she dearly hoped it wouldn't get to the main floor.

Every unkind thought I had been having just melted. My heart truly goes out to people affected by the flooding. This experience has really hit home for the Bismarck-Mandan area. I thanked everyone for their service and got into my car with my complimentary toothbrush and prayed the serenity prayer which I thought very appropriate for the situation.

"Lord, grant me the patience to accept the things I cannot change.
The courage to change the things I can.
And the wisdom to know the difference."

To everyone affected by the events this past week. Take heart. This too shall pass. Do what you can for others, and may God bless us all.

DEER ME!........Not Again?

OK, maybe the title is a little misleading. I figured I had to do something to catch your attention after not posting for so long. There have been no more deer collisions since the incident I blogged about.

However, the trips to Hebron continue to be exciting. Last Sunday was another one of my monthly visits to the brick maker city to lead worship services. The trip out was uneventful enough. It was pretty cold and windy. I don't believe it was snowing but there was enough wind to blow the snow on the ground. Some places didn't have the best visibility and at times it was difficult to see the road because of all the snow blowing across.

But I made it to church, shook hands with my regulars, and proceeded to worship. I have to say it wasn't one of my better messages, but they seemed to really enjoy the song. I try to always sing something that goes along with the message. I feel if the congregation doesn't care for what I have to say, maybe they'll appreciate the song. Sunday's message was about weathering the storms in our life. I chose the song, "The Anchor Holds," by Ray Boltz. I thought it was quite appropriate singing about our lives being like a ship on a storm-tossed sea. It also tied in pretty well with the windy weather that day.

About noon I pointed the car East and started home. I was eager to get back to my warm, natural gas heated house and a spot of lunch. The weather hadn't really changed from the morning other than to tease me with just a glimpse of sunshine every once in awhile. As I passed the West Mandan exit by the truck stop, I started to notice something wasn't quite right.

The cruise control on my car went out years ago. I really miss it as I have a very hard time maintaining a constant speed. So when I noticed my speedo-meter was approaching 85 I wasn't very surprised because my foot doesn't make for a very good cruise control device. I let up on the gas. Unfortunately, my gas pedal wasn't interested in leaving the floor. Then I began to get concerned.

I pushed the accelerator a few times, I tried to pull it up. All I succeeded in doing was pushing it further down. Now I was going over 90 and was very concerned at this point as to how I was going to get this 4-wheeled runaway stopped again.

If I had more time to think about it, I probably would have been more terrified. As it was, I found myself calmly watching the landscape speeding past and pondered my options. I could shut the engine off. I believe I've only done this twice in the 25 years or so I've been allowed to legally operate a motor vehicle. The first time I was in drive but wasn't moving because my foot was on the brake. The second time I was going in reverse but very slowly. Both times, when I accidentally turned the key, there was quite a jolt before the engine shut off. I didn't like to think about what kind of jolt might have occurred had I tried to shut the engine off while traveling over 90 mph.

Now I was approaching the scenic overlook just West of the middle Mandan exit close to the Seven Seas Motel. This was my exit and I dearly wanted to make it. I thought I could shift the car into neutral first before turning it off. Then maybe I could coast to a stop without any damage or jolting that might have occurred with option number one. My exit was fast approaching and I didn't have time to consider any more options.

I mashed the brake to try and slow it down as much as I could before shifting. I got it down to around 60 and started to smell smoke and something like burning metal. I didn't think the brakes could take it much longer. I'm sure brakes are accustomed to being used without the gas pedal pushed to floor at the same time. I shifted into Neutral.

Immediately the car screamed as the RPM's shot to the ceiling and I quickly turned the key. Hearing the engine quit and feeling the car subsequently slowing down was a beautiful thing. I applied the brake again and found it to be much more accommodating when it wasn't fighting the accelerator. The timing was just about perfect. I coasted right off the exit ramp and came to a stop in front of the stop sign across from the Sunset MVP station.

Then the shock of what I had just gone through began to sink in. I started shaking and had to take several deep breaths before I got myself under control. I had just started to calm down when a blaring horn scared the liver out of me again. As I only have one liver I wondered how it was possible to have it scared out of me twice in one day. The honking continued.

I looked behind me to see a cranky lady glaring at me with some very angry eye-balls. She would have made a good character model for the Mr. Potato Head toy. She had those eyeballs down pat. I had pulled over as far as I possibly could without going in the ditch or burying myself in a snow bank. There was a ton of room to go around me. But this woman was having none of it. I looked at her in what I hope was an apologetic look, raised my hands in the air, and tried to mime, "this can't be helped, woman!" She gave me another withering stare, wrenched her vehicle around me and sped off. I prayed she would get home safely as she was clearly upset about something.

I also thanked God for pulling me through yet another storm. I had to laugh when I thought how much better my message would have been if this had happened before church instead of after. As I was laughing I heard a pop and felt my gas pedal hit my foot. Apparently it had had enough of lying on the floor. I worked the pedal up and down several times to make sure it wasn't sticking anymore. Then I did it again just to make sure, then I did it several more times until I was convinced I could make it home without any more emergencies.

And so I did. You would have thought nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I made it safely home but still breathed a deep sigh of relief as I drove into the garage and shut the beast down. Boy did I have a story to tell all the nations. I really like that hymn by the way.

Deanna, true to her nature, immediately freaked out. I did too but I was over it by the time I got home. She insisted I take the car in as soon as possible and get it checked out. "It's working fine now," I say. "Yeah, now," she says back.

In an effort to keep the peace, I made an appointment to take the car in on Tuesday. It turns out the accelerator had a lot of Carbon build-up which was making it sticky. Everything else checked out fine. I even had them look at the brakes since I smelled the smoking and burning. They were fine also. So I had them take the accelerator apart and clean everything to hopefully stop the sticking.

My next trip to Hebron will be Easter Sunday. I can't wait to see what the next adventure has in store.