The Thief of Life

My concept of God has evolved from the white- bearded old man in robes. He was in a bedroom-sized observation post up in the sky. There were windows all around so God had a 360-degree view. It was like a gondola and it was red. I didn't know the character or temperament of God. Later I saw God as this mighty and vengeful deity that would throw me into hell of I misbehaved. I feared that death would be my portal to fiery and everlasting hell.

The backdrop of my childhood belief was a town of about 10,000 people. Long trains of ore cars would held up traffic now and then. The iron ore mines were still going strong. The downtown was bustling with traffic on Friday night that you never see nowadays. Two traffic cops at the two main intersections.  There were 4 pharmacies, two movie theaters, 3 hotels, 8 franchised auto dealerships, 6 grade schools, 2 high schools, 14 churches, 8 taverns and 2 supermarkets. And it snowed all the time in the winter.

Our family attended St. Paul Lutheran, just around the corner from our house. On any given Sunday the church was full of people in their Sunday best. Dad and I attended services every other week, because of Dad's work schedule. He was a pharmacist at the Walgreen store on Suffolk Street. Mom didn't attend because she thought church had become a fashion show. She would stay home, cooking Sunday dinner, but she listened to the Baptist Hour and the  Lutheran Hour on the radio.

The seeds of my faith, however were in television. Just about every roof was adorned with a TV antenna. I had a great desire for TV so that I wouldn't have to go to Billy's house to watch cartoons.

Our entertainment was a Capehart radio and phonograph in an elegant mahogany cabinet with doors on the front. It was okay but didn't have the electric and dynamic appeal of TV.  Dad always said, "Be patient. I'm shopping around for one and I want the most for my money."

"Are we going to get a TV soon? " The patience of an 8 year-old boy is brief. I just hung onto the faith that Dad was going to have a TV in our living room, but after a few days my faith waned.

Then one gray October day in 1955 as I was coming home after a hard day at school, I saw the antenna on our roof! I broke into a run. Now I could see Popeye, Mickey Mouse and the Three Stooges at home. It was a General Electric 21-inch black and white.

Mom liked to watch American Bandstand with the teens dancing to the just-evolving rock and roll music on channel 3 while my cartoons were on channel 6. I was frustrated, but I soon found out that Mom was too busy to sit down and watch TV for very long, but still, a 20 minute portion of American Bandstand was her coffee break show.

I became acquainted with such personalities as Jackie Gleason,(The Honeymooners), James Arness (U.S. Marshall Matt Dillon of Gunsmoke), Aaron Burr The lawer who always won in Perry Mason), Walter Cronkite(CBS news) and Captain Q (really Jack McKenna the weather man on channel 6.)

On Saturday nights I'd be watching "Gunsmoke" and I'd hear, "You better get busy with your Sunday school homework," Mom yelled from the kitchen. "You could do it any night you want then your Saturday night would be free." It was more sensibility than I could muster so on Saturday nights I opened my Bible along with the workbook. I read the text then hunted for the answers to the questions in the old or new testaments.The Bible was in the ancient King James version and from that I gathered such misunderstandings asPsalm 23 (the Lord is my shepherd I shall not want) meant that God is my shepherd and I don't want Him. There were other misunderstandings but there was a whopper that robbed me of peace and serenity and the joys that a middle school kid should have.

I had several Sunday school teachers and all of us boys liked Margaret. She was a stunning beauty, but she was teaching the junior high school group, so I was in the middle school age and Mrs. Perlberg was the teacher. She was humorless and strict. She was also ancient with deep creases and wrinkles. I imagined they had dust in them. She also wore a floral hat since women wore hats in church.

Mrs. Perlberg expedited us to come prepared. We were to speak when addressed. I thought she was also a public school teacher with her rules. She also told us to sit up straight. The forty-five minutes of class time seemed like half a day.

I wondered why Mom and Dad sent me off to Sunday school. By the end of the fifth grade I thought my chances of going to heaven were slim. I thought 'who can be good all the time.' 'I thought of spanking Miss Kemp, my fifth grade teacher at Central School when she reprimanded me for tardiness. Miss Kemp and Mrs. Perlberg could have been sisters.I asked God for forgiveness for my sinful thoughts but never felt forgiven. The Bible tells us to love our neighbor as yourself. I didn't love Miss Kemp or our neighbors. I liked them but I didn't feel mushy about them, particularly Claude, who was always crabby and never smiled or said hello. Then there was a bully next door to Claude and he bullied me in front of his friends many times. I couldn't find anything about bullies in the Bible.

Mrs. Perlberg's class took a frightening twist when we got to the topic of the unpardonable sin. I wondered how any sin can be unpardonable. The Bible said in 1John 1 "...He is faithful and just to forgive our sins."

But then there was Mark3:28-29, "Verily I say unto you all sins will be forgiven unto the sons of and blasphemies with which they shall blaspheme; but he that blasphemeth against the Holy Spirit hath never forgiveness, but is in danger  of eternal damnation." My innards turned to ice. I was not only going to hell but I would also receive eternal damnation.

My life was ruined! For eternity. When this thing hit me my mind was not there in the classroom.  I was  imagining what hell was like. I didn't hear the pertinent discussion.

Central School was turning into a disaster. I became inattentive, moody and withdrawn. I forgot to do homework assignments. One morning I wore my bedroom slippers under my overshoes. I ran home and put on my shoes and I got the expected lecture from Miss Kemp. I wasn't sleeping well.

Mom reacted to my hang-dog look:

"What are you worrying about now?"

"I've committed the unpardonable sin."

"Who told you that?"

"The Bible."

"For crying out loud get those cobwebs out of your head. You're enough to drive me nuts!"

I consulted Webster for meaning of what the word  : "Showing a lack of reverence for God."

How reverent did I have to be. Maybe there are no degrees of reverance. Maybe it was like the status of a light switch. On or off. Maybe I was irreverent, like when I hung out with guys and we smoked and swore and talked about the birds and the bees. I'd ask God for forgiveness in silent prayer but then I'd do something else.

I crawled into a shell. I had enjoyed playing basketball with the guys at the Memorial Building, or attending Saturday matinees at the Ironwood Theatre. On  spaghetti night I barely ate anything.

"What's going on, son?"  Dad's vertical lines between his eyes became pronounced with care. "You've been unusually quiet the last couple of weeks."

Mom was just about to say what I had told her, but I headed her off. "I'll be OK."

"If there's something you want to talk about just get it out on the table."

"No, it's ok Dad."

"Sure?"

"Yup."

                                       ----------

Next week I was home, ill with a cold so Mom kept me home from Sunday school.  Mom said it was okay to watch TV but I had to rest and stay covered up. I surfed our two channels, finding David Brinkley in a boring political discussion. Channel six had something I hadn't ever seen.

It was the Oral Roberts crusade under a huge tent. There must have been thousands in attendance, men, women and children. The hymns they sang seemed childish to me, having sung more dignified and majestic hymns at St. Paul's.

Roberts preached a  sermon about salvation and he had me dangling over hell-fire. Then he was putting his hand on people who were in the throes of affliction. Some were in wheelchairs, others had cancer, and then there was this tall teen with his mother, who said her boy was eighteen and his doctor had given him six to eight months to live. He had heart failure and his lips were pale and his fingernails were blue.

Roberts asked the boy,"Do you believe that Jesus has the power to heal you?"

"Yes, I do, sir." Oral Roberts put his hand on the boy's forehead and prayed fervently.

"In the name of Jesus cast out this terminal disease and make this young man strong and hearty. Heal him o Lord! Heal him!"

The boy shouted for joy, claiming he was healed and he felt stronger already.

(I obsessed about the color of my fingernails and lips and for months.)

Then came the altar call and Oral Roberts spoke calmly on  behalf of those who came forward. He recited John 3:3,5-7, and 16.  "You are here because the Holy Spirit has convicted you of sin. Pray with me all of you, including those with us by television." I closed my eyes and folded my hands as I was sitting on the floor in front of the TV. Maybe this was my escape from eternal damnation.

Oral Roberts prayed a line and the audience repeated it.

"Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner.  I have done wrong in your sight. I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of the living God. I deserve the horrors of hell but you give grace and salvation. You blot out all our sins and I now ask you into my heart, oh Jesus! Thank you Jesus! Yes thank you that I am now a child of God. Amen.

As Oral Roberts opened his eyes they were flooded with tears and he yelled,"Praise Jesus!"

Others were crying, some rejoicing, even jumping up and down. Jubilant glowing faces bore testament to their salvation. I had prayed that prayer too but I had no tears, no ecstasy. I didn't feel like jumping around. Crestfallen, I assumed that the Sinner's Prayer didn't work for me. I was still going to hell. The winter sun was brilliant and I was going to hell.

Another week passed and Dad asked if I wanted to go for a ride with him and so we drove to Hurley and the target destination which was Fino's Bar on the second block of Silver Street. We entered the back door through a long, dim corridor. It was dark in Fino's. The shoe repair shop in one corner of the bar-room was darker but the pairs of boots and shoes needing repair were still displayed. Buck Owens, a country singer was singing from the jukebox.

I climbed up a bar stool next to Dad. Dad ordered a beer and I took a bottle of Squirt, sitting there, trying to look grown up, but I wasn't tall enough to comfortably rest my elbows on the bar.

"What's got your boxers in an uproar?" Dad asked. It was noisy with the din of conversation and the Wednesday Night Fights on TV, making our conversation  private.

"I'm okay," I replied uneasily.

"I've known you for all your life. I'm your Dad and I can see that something's not right. You've been quiet and withdrawn and you're not hanging out with your buddies. Whatever it is, you can tell me. That's what Dads are for.," He ended his sentence with a kindly smile.

"I think I'm going to hell."

"Why?" Dad took a sip of beer.

"It was in Sunday School a few weeks ago. There was this passage from Mark 3:28-29 about the unpardonable sin."

"What's it say?" Dad was nicely drawing me out of my shell. He also had some familiarity with the Bible.

"The sin of blasphemy against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven."

"Do you think you're guilty of this?"

I nodded.

"Tell you what. let's finish our drinks and go on home?"

Dad led me out of the long, dim corridor back to the car.  It had started snowing and I cleared the snow away from the windows. I liked watching Dad drive the '54 Chevy, the way he effortlessly shifted gears.

"Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit means you have rejected the Holy Spirit. Have you done that?"

"I don't think so."

"Of course you haven't. You prayed the Sinner's Prayer. Mom told me about that. If you rejected the Holy Spirit you wouldn't even watch Oral Roberts or anything that pertains to God. You have nothing to worry about."

"I thought about what it is like to commit blasphemy. I imagined it It seemed like I had really done it.."

"That's all you did, son. Think of Jesus at times like that. He wouldn't want you to be in such pain."

As we walked through the snow in the yard Dad put his arm around my shoulder.

"No more worrying about this?"

"No more worrying," I said with the first smile on my face in a few weeks. I was glad that I had such a great and wise Dad.

"Son, you've just experienced God's grace.

                                                 -------------------

I Guess it was the Lord's Will

Chuck was foursquare. You could count on his word and now the world has one less foursquare person.

I want to remember him in his white work clothes when he did plastering. He and his dad plastered the Woodland Church forty years ago. He drove an old Ford paneled van as he went to his jobs. Never advertised in the paper. His craftsmanship preceded him and he didn't lack for work. He plastered our ceilings and made friends with our (then) dog Teddy. They became buddies as Chuck listened to Christian radio while working. Chuck asked so timidly if he could keep his portable radio on while he worked.

 I wondered how he could listen to sermons all the time. He loved his Lord.

Chuck was the essence of humility, the essence of the chapter in the Bible called the 'love' chapter, (ICorinthians 13.) He was never proud, never uttered harsh words. He looked for the good in people. His love showed in his concern and patience for people.He shared his faith wherever he went, never too shy to tell a total stranger that he needed Jesus Christ. Once I met Chuck at the old Ahonen's Mill. We had each bought a bundle of slab maple wood and we were loading up. A stranger backed his pickup to load wood.

"Hi, I'm Chuck and I wondered if you would accept this (Bible tract) and read it over in you spare time."

The stranger was at a loss for words. Chuck always had tracts in his pocket, concerned that the next person he met needed Jesus as his savior. I marveled at this because I wouldn't have had the boldness to even say 'hi.' The stranger politely accepted the literature.

But that was Chuck. Taciturn and meek on one hand but he had this remarkable boldness to spread the Good News.

None of our Bible studies at Woodland Church was complete without Chuck's sage advice and opinions. His Bible was worn, indicating his devout Christianity.  Once we were befuddled as to a Bible passage. "Chuck, where is that reference about giving to the Lord's work?"

"Chuck replied without hesitation, without turning a page in his Bible,  "Second Corinthians 9:6, he who soweth sparingly shall also reap sparingly."

All of us smiled.  We were delighted at his command of the Scriptures.

Lois and I delighted in having Chuck and Lil for dinner after church during the football season. Although he didn't wear licensed Packer clothing and their car bore no Packer bumper stickers and he didn't talk much about football, a part of him was in the green and gold nation. I never knew Chuck could get so excited! "Touchdown! Hooray for the Packers! Did you see that perfect pass by Brett Favre?"

When they lived in Iron Belt they had us over for dinner occasionally and of course, the Packer game. After a scrumptious dinner we descended the stairs to their completely finished basement. It was a bone-chilling Sunday in December but Chuck made their basement recreation area toasty with a fire in the stove. It was the Packers vs. the Vikings and we were  pumped up for the occasion. It was a pivotal point of the season, a crucial game. Lois and Lil were upstairs and Chuck and I continued to watch the game. Then we took a nap! Right during this  game that had playoff implications! Our full tummies along with the warmth from the wood fire and the comfort of the recliners did us in.

"Are you guys sleeping?" Lil asked as she and Lois returned much later. We had to admit that we couldn't stay awake under such extreme conditions. The Vikings won.

 I was angry, "The Packers had that stupid holding penalty. The replay clearly showed that there was no holding."

Chuck calmly replied with a wistful smile,"I guess it was the Lord's will for the Vikings to win."

Chuck was always concerned to do and accept the Lord's will. We will surely miss him.

To My Friends at the Comfort Inn

Some days are unforgettable. Jamie asked me two weeks beforehand if I would come in on Feb. 12 to clarify some things about the pool, including the paperwork. I obliged and wrote the note on my office calendar.

I recalled my appointment on the appointed day and as I was leaving I told Lois I'd go to the store and get the few things we needed. Strange thing is that  Lois said  not to bother. She would get them. That was okay with me.

When I got inside the lobby Jamie told me that the hotel was in an uproar and that hoards of rug rats had rendered the pool into a state of emergency. 'Whatever it is I've seen worse,' I told myself as I punched in. I was focused on bringing the pool back to a healthy state and then Jamie (oh, that Jamie) said the breakfast room would qualify for disaster relief from FEMA so she entreated me to come and help put the furniture back in order. "Not a problem," I said, wondering how much work would go into the pool maintenance.

The French doors to the breakfast room were papered over and a sign proclaimed that a private party was in progress. Jamie opened the doors and the room was dark. As my eyes adjusted I wondered why the room was full of people sitting in the dark. Someone turned on the lights and a loud and unison yell of "surprise!" unhinged my jaw. Talk about shock and awe! I saw fellow employees as well as former employees and I became aware that I probably looked silly with my jaw down to my knees. The room was packed. And Lois was there!

Sue Spets, the General Manager and I have been with the company since the doors opened on my birthday  in August of 1990. Sue read some of my entries in the operations log and brought to life in vivid color the night that I came to work and an old classmate was in charge behind the counter. His demeanor suggested that maybe he was the CEO of Choice Hotels Int. I hadn't seen Jack since high school.

"Do you have enough confidence to do this?" Jack asked in a patronizing tone. My engine temperature sharply increased but I was careful not to show it. I remembered him from fourth period physics with Mr. Supercynski. Nonetheless he had a point since I didn't have enough confidence to take algebra as a freshman but as a senior  I was doing quite well in math and science. (That's another story in my blog.) "Yeah. I can do this," I replied, remembering to relax my jaw. I lasted long enough to retire, and overcame  many difficult situations so there, Jack. (I'll elaborate on the trials in my book.)

Sue read other entries from the operations log that I had written. Some were angry, some were lighthearted and humorous. Some were incredulous.  She masterfully framed my career at The Comfort Inn. Her cohorts, led by Jamie helped her pull it off. Thanks to Sue and the crew for this soiree. The next morning I asked Lois, "Did that really happen?"

Now it's time to let go of my duties behind the desk, although I'll still work as a consultant for our aquatic recreation facilities. (Could Jack. manage a swimming pool?)

I made a statement in my book that my career at the Comfort Inn wasn't something to brag about at a class reunion, minimizing the importance of fellow employees and management. Working at the desk requires a rare skill set.  There are difficult  and sometimes delicate situations and the desk agent must deal with while making everything work in our complex computer technology. Quick decisions must be made under pressure. There are many judgement calls, tough calls. The general Manager gets the same menu of stress only it is magnified tenfold. I've called her many times in the wee hours for direction. Sue, you have the strong and broad shoulders needed for all of the issues that come your way. Please accept my apology for that statement.

Now I have different challenges: 'where are my reading glasses? ... what do you mean, doctor- I don't need Lipitor....why is the floor down so low when I have to pick something up... who is that person who seems to have known me forever ... did I take my pills? Where are my pills?...that new music drives me crazy! When I was young we had the Beattles, Rolling Stones, Credence Clearwater Revival. Real music!... the gal on the ten o'clock news should get to bed. It's a school night.

He Keeps Me Running

I have the tendency to get moody and my countenance darkens. That's my tendency. Currently I have no time to brood. My retirement job is the church janitor at Woodland Church. Today I cleared snow away from the fire doors. The east door required the use of a mattock, a steel shovel and the 12 horsepower snow blower. That one door took a half-hour. The four doors took over an hour and the mercury plummeted. I felt tired and old and cold on the way home so I settled into my recliner and fell asleep till suppertime.

After supper Chris called. He's been an object of my prayers lately, a 28-year-old whirlwind who came into our lives out of nowhere. He painted our house last summer and he's finishing the remodeling project in our upstairs bathroom. He's ambitious, works as a jack of all trades, barely making a living. Chris shows up and the dogs erupt and I prepare a cup of coffee for him.  He has a naughty sense of humor even though he's up against it.

Things haven't been so good for him lately. The market for projects has slowed. His pickup truck gave up the ghost and he lives alone in a rented house out in the sticks of Bessemer. Lives on mac and cheese except when we have him join us.

Prayers are being answered as he found a truck, an old beater, yet something that will take him to his jobs. He has applied for any available jobs and just today he got a call from Ironwood Plastics for a Monday interview. Our prayer chain at Woodland church is praying he will get the job and a steady income.

Chris has exasperated us, amazed us and become the son we never had. He makes me forget about besetting troubles.  He's a good kid, no matter what anybody says. Reminds me of that 1967 song by the Byrds. The refrain goes,"I was so much older then; I'm younger than that now."

Preface to "Fortuitous Friendships."

The house next door had been vacant for many months and now I saw an elderly couple going in and out of the house. It was late autumn of 2013 and the couple was to become our new neighbors.I didn't make any overtures, being a reserved Finlander and I really tried to avoid meeting them, silly as that was.

Eventually we met when I was going to move my truck away from our garage doors. "Hi! We're your new neighbors. I'm Jim Johnson and this is my wife Serpa" Jim and I shook hands.

"We lived in Milwaukee for many years and I had a carpet cleaning business that eventually wrecked my back. We've decided to retire in Ironwood. Serpa was born in Finland. We met in Milwaukee and married."

Serpa asked, "How long have you lived in this house?" Her English was superb, wrapped with a charming brogue.

"We moved in when I was five years old so that makes it sixty-two years."

I would later find out that Jim is an artist. I would later see his art hung on the walls in the house. His work is excellent, striking in depiction and form and detail. I admired his depiction of a European cathedral in particular.

Serpa was an interior decorator and she applied her talent to their new abode. I would walk through their house, stunned at her use of contrast to the white walls with dark-colored furniture and the paintings. Her kitchen has Scandinavian appointments, a hutch with an oak stain. The cupboards are all white. Above the stove is a plaque in Finnish, giving glory to God.

With winter fast approaching Sirpa asked if I would remove snow for them since Jim has debilitating back trouble and I consented, with one caveat. I would not take any money. Serpa's face glowed in relief. Actually I would have done it anyway, as I have for the several other families that rented this house. Jim would sneak a five-gallon can full of premium gas into our garage anyway.

Lois and I have dined with them and I was amazed at Serpa's kitchen table covered by signatures of their friends. I was honored that they asked us to sign. We also shared our troubles and triumphs and prayer requests.

I've learned how to handle Jim's rants against democrats in general but he still gets in a word or two. He wears a "Trump" cap and I just ignore it. Jim and Serpa have enriched our lives and we love them.

SISU!

My training for the Paavo Nurmi half-marathon began in May. I burned with desire to better last year's personal time. Throughout  summer the Paavo was on  was on my mind, so I ran the hills in nearby Jessieville during 80 and 90-degree temps with a soaked t-shirt. I did speed intervals in the Iron Belle Trail located on the former Chicago Northwestern railroad bed. It's a new, blacktopped trail.

My goal was to beat last-year's time and I knew I could do it, judging by the weekend runs which exceeded 9 miles. I learned how to regulate my running speed into five levels of progressing speed, keeping my training runs disciplined and without injury. I used a fitness monitor, the Fitbit Zip along with a stopwatch to monitor my training.

I tried to run three times during the week- short runs around six miles and concentrated on a different aspect in each run. The weekend runs started at 4 miles in May and progressed to 12 miles by July 30. The  12-mile run, two weeks before the big event gave me a lot of confidence.

Lining up at the start of the half-marathon I was a little nervous. There were some exceedingly athletic young men and women present but I would not be competing with them. I only wanted to beat last year's time.

When the starting gun went off I tried to avoid the feet of the person ahead of me.  My friend, John Hein, a veteran full-marathoner now retired, told me he saw incidents where several people were injured, even trampled just yards from the starting line. He told me to line up at the outside of the pack .

The first leg of the race was a two-mile stretch on Highway 77, mostly uphill. I restrained myself from passing slower runners in order to save 'gas' for the latter part of the run. Lois was on the side, taking pictures with her camera for Facebook.

My right calf cramped a little but I blamed the 62 degree drizzly and foggy weather. Just about all my training was done an at least 80 degree weather. I was much relieved as the cramping stopped when we turned into County C.

This year I slowed to take a little drink of water from each aid station manned by unselfish and encouraging people. I can't give these volunteers enough praise.

Six miles into the run my Fitbit and stopwatch told me I was a little ahead of schedule to beat last year's finish by a half-hour. I slowed slightly at each hill and accelerated a little on flat terrain. I felt good. My stride felt good. My legs had lots of running left in them.  Everything was going well. I was probably somewhere in the front one-third of the herd. Occasionally I was passed by a young and fast runner but didn't let it faze me. One young male runner ahead of me ran into the woods and a few minutes later he returned and passed me.

At 6.5 miles  I was alarmed at a sharp pain in the outside of my left knee. I knew this pain. Had it once when running in worn-out shoes. My shoes had about 300 miles on them and I noticed some extensive wear on the soles. The life of a running shoe is 300 to 500 miles. What I've heard and read told me not to change anything, stride, gait or shoes before a marathon.

The pain forced me down to a walk. I watched my stopwatch and when 30 seconds elapsed I ran again. I was okay for a couple of minutes and the pain returned. I was mad. I went injury-free all summer and now this! This would be my method for the rest of the race. My heart sunk as many runners passed me. I couldn't sustain a run.  

When I reached Highway 51 a lone spectator was yelling encouragement to each runner.

"Hurtin' ain't ya?"

"Damn!" I shouted this.

"Only 5 miles to go. You'll make 'er."

His encouragement didn't warm my heart as I was passed much less frequently, meaning that I had fallen back in the race. I couldn't make that up even if my knee was healthy. Anger simmered inside me, mostly anger at myself.   Yet, who knows how new shoes would have affected me.

A deeply-tanned middle-aged woman stopped alongside.

"Looks like your knee is sore. You have a bandage (on my left knee). I bet you fell and skinned your knee while running."

"Yup."

"It doesn't look swollen but there could be internal swelling."

"It happened to me once. I dropped out and took an ambulance ride back to town. Well, I'm really sorry. Gotta go."

I noticed that she ran about a half mile then turned off on a dirt road alongside an old tavern. Weird!

I took a bag of ice from an aid station and applied it to my knee, to no avail. I ran and walked to the 11-mile mark and tried the ice again, then I threw it to the ground in an explosion of ice and water. Despair had set in.  I was limping now during the walk intervals. I thought of giving up and being picked up in an ambulance but I kept going in spite of the excruciating  current of pain that even made me miss Chuck and Lil Lundberg, dear longtime friends who were cheering me on. The tanned woman passed me.

You should have joined me. I had enough beer for two people!"

I walked down the highway to Hurley's main intersection. Some people cheered and I wondered what for. No runners passed me and none were in front of me. All I could focus on was running across the finish line so I walked toward the finish line. I would give it one last burst. Lois was there aiming her phone. I thought of how much I love her.

I hoped that I was distant enough so my face, now streamed with tears and contorted with pain would not show in the photo. I started my limping run for the last time and crossed the finish line. I stopped, hands on my knees. I was wobbly and then I felt a gentle arm reach around my shoulders. I sobbed a little.

"Son of a bitch," I cried. "I trained so hard all summer."

The woman was a race volunteer, unknown to me. She said something but I don't remember it. Then Lois came. I regained composure and got a medallion for finishing.

On Sunday morning I awakened refreshed and I tried my knee. It didn't hurt except for negotiating stairs. Then the sharp and bitter taste of defeat returned. Images flashed back but I buried these and insisted on putting yesterday's melancholy behind.

Lois insisted that I wear my new t-shirt that read "Courage to start. 13.1 Strength to finish." I felt silly wearing it but when we got to church John Hein shouted, "You finished." We bumped fists.

"I ran a lot of marathons and I quit three times when the going got tough. Each time I felt rotten about quitting, especially days afterward. It's better to finish than to quit, even if you come in nearly last place."

Jerry Wanink, the guy who does the announcements asked what happened. He is usually at an aid station but he had to work this time. After I filled him in he was impressed and he said he would tell the congregation.

"One person represented our fellowship in the Paavo Nurmi Half-Marathon. That's 13.1 miles. He hurt his knee hafway through and he struggled through the last half of the race in horrible pain but he crossed the finish line. Give George a hand!"

And everyone clapped. I have been blessed by good friends and most of all I have been blessed by my wife, Lois. She's a diamond.

(Sisu is a nuanced Finnish word. Today I found one of its meanings.)

                                                        

Summer Trip?

Recently Lois and I discussed a trip to Lower Michigan to visit family and maybe do a side trip to Cleveland to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. We have a window for doing this since my wife is no longer tethered to a job and I only work part-time. We haven't visited Evelyn and Jack for sixteen years, and that's ridiculous.

We also haven't had a summer trip since 2014 when we stayed at a bed-and-breakfast which I had suggested. Imagine that!

We hadn't discussed this for a while then this morning Lois asked, point blank, "How do you feel about going to Cleveland?"

"It scares the hell out of me."

She received my response in a matter - of -fact way, making me feel that I was talking to an psychoanalyst trying to draw me out.

"How much extra travel and expense would be involved?" I asked.

"Why don't you get the atlas and we can look it up. "

Lois's sister Evelyn and husband Jack live in Lapeer, near Flint so we thought of visiting them for a couple of days and then take the road to Cleveland which doesn't seem formidable on the map in the atlas yet I had qualms of driving in uncharted territory among cars speeding 80-90 miles per hour. We can use our cell phones as GPS guides as we have before and that worked out well. Jack has also traveled extensively in that area so he would probably give us pointers for which routes to take and which to avoid.

If you've read The Hobbit I'm somewhat like Bilbo Baggins. The trip would be an egregious violation of my routine and lifestyle. I like routine and the slow life pace of the sleepy town of Ironwood.  Lois is the adventurous one. She loves to go to uncharted waters. She makes it fun. She knows how to smooth my ire when another driver has transgressed the traffic laws or the bounds of courteous driving. Nevertheless I'll probably have to make a dental appointment to have my teeth unclenched.

Lois knows how I think and what appeals to me so she mentioned that we could visit the Museum of Science, also in Cleveland. I love Rock and Roll and I'm a geek. Science and math always had a spell on me so I won't decline the Cleveland trip (I wouldn't anyway.) Instead I'll rely on Lois' traveling wisdom, her knack for finding the right route when the traffic signs and the GPS guidance are misleading.

Lois suggested I search the Web and find out about these places. She knows how to get me hooked. I bet I'll be able to finagle  a stop at Ann Arbor and take photos of 'The Big House.' Maybe take a tour of the hallowed grounds of the Michigan Wolverines. Can't wait!