End of a Long Week

 I haven't been out of the house since getting back from the ER on Tuesday. During this time, I've thought a lot about pain and the numerical pain scale, where 0 equals no pain, and 10 is exruciating -- a number that hardly anyone ever reaches.

My personal points on the pain scale were previously something like 3 (joint pain most of the time) to 9 (serious knee injuries). When I couldn't stand up to walk yesterday morning, the pain made me want to shriek. I couldn't stop crying until the Tylenol and double dose of Robaxin took effect. Movement was difficult most of the day. Definitely right up there on the pain scale, maybe the worst of my life. Maybe not a 10, but damn close.

And then, almost suddenly, I felt better at the end of the afternoon. I had a good evening. I decided to sleep in an armchair and, in fact, got a really good 4 or 5 hours. I  feel so lucky to have a warm, easy-to-navigate house. I don't feel compelled  to check off a to-do list. Mostly, I wonder how people who don't have access to health care manage in a situation like this.

In the past when I've been sick, I've dreaded Friday because it's sometimes harder to deal with health issues on the weekend. This time, I know I'll be OK and find myself thinking "TGIF".

ER Trip + Follow-Up

Here I go again. I thought I'd closed the chapter on health with my surgery and recovery from a middle lobectomy in May of 2024. Guess I was wrong. I’ll post about my latest health adventure until the current issue resolves – soon, I hope!

I woke up on Sunday morning with pain and stiffness in my butt and thighs – not terrible but bad enough that I knew I couldn’t manage the steps at choir, so I didn’t even make it to Mass on the first Sunday of Advent. I had cleared snow the night before (we have a service but I love the exhilaration of  shoveling snow and needed to get out of the house after being inside all day).

I reminded myself that I’m 75 after all, but I’ve never had the slightest problem before, so I did wonder why this hit all of a sudden. While I was more or less OK Sunday during the day, the pain kicked in after I went to bed. It was so intense all night that I couldn’t even rest, let alone sleep. I thought it might be a severe side effect (rhabdomyolysis) from atorvastatin, which I had begun for slightly elevated cholesterol 10 days before.

My nurse practitioner said she didn’t think so but suggested I discontinue the statin for a week. Monday night I really didn’t sleep at all and woke Bob up at 5 AM to take me to the ER, where we spent the morning. By then I needed a cane to walk and was afraid I’d had a stroke.

I had great care in the Woodwinds Hospital emergency room: smart young doctor as well as very kind, competent nurses and technicians. All blood tests were normal, including the CK , which pretty much ruled my rhabdomyolysis theory . In quick order, I was scheduled for EKG, CT and MRI scans: no heart attack, stroke or brain tumor. MRI unchanged from all the MRIs I used to have when I was being closely followed for multiple sclerosis, so probably no MS relapse. ER doc thought sciatica is the most likely diagnosis, since pain originates at the waist and stretches down both legs. Now (a little late) I have a lot of empathy for the late sPope Francis who suffered from sciatica for much of his papacy.

I was released from the ER after a very long morning for Bob and me, with a prescription for a muscle relaxant (Robaxin-methocarbamol), a lidocaine patch and Tylenol., and referrals to primary care, neurology and spine clinics. I slept very little Tuesday night but yesterday was a pretty good day, and I was walking around for part of it without a cane.

I slept well in my comfortable recliner last night and expected to be a lot better today. However, I still have a lot of pain when I try to move and walking is arduous. I never thought I’d be grateful for a cane but here I am, using two of them. I also put myself on the waiting list for an earlier appointment at the M Health Fairview spine clinic, since I feel I can’t really wait for the scheduled Monday afternoon.

Meanwhile, I had to cancel our family holiday party on Sunday and I won’t make it to either book club or choir this evening. Bob is taking great care of me and my lovely friend Sonia (Bob’s daughter) came over yesterday to do my shoveling. I’ve had a lot of texts and emails from friends and family, many of whom are doctors, nurses, or otherwise medically knowledgeable.

So, while all isn’t great, I feel very grateful for everyone’s kindness and excellent access to medical care . As Dr. Helmer reminded me on Tuesday, “we’ve ruled out the worst” – it made me laugh then and again now.

Tragedy in Minneapolis. Again.

Minnesota wasn't always this way.

Yesterday, two children, ages 8 and 10, were murdered in a shooting at a Minneapolis Catholic church. Students, teachers and Annunciation Church parishioners were attending a traditional all-school mass to celebrate the beginning a new school year. 18 other children and adults were injured, some severly. 

I've never seen so many broadcasters struggle to contain their emotions as they report on the shooting and I can't even think about it without feeling the tears well up. This morning, I had that hung-over , post nightmare feeling that follows a restless night caused by a traumatic event. I thought about the parents who were awaking to their first full day without a beloved child to send off to school. I reflected on the family of the shooter, who must today be reliving moments when they might have been able to keep their family member from the terrible murderous path that ended in death, serious injury and probable lifelong consequences for victims.

A few hours ago, I listened to a press conference with executives and trauma personnel from Hennepin Health Care, formerly Hennepin County Medical Center (HCMC), who detailed yesterday's horrific events from their perspective. They praised first responders, teachers and students themselves who all did the right thing to save children. A 10-year-old boy described how a friend, "Victor", had covered him with his own body and been injured by gunfire in the shooting. A heroic eighbor ran toward the crime scene , with a view to neutralizing further threats and helping the victims

I was most impressed by the description and implementation of incident plans that included the well coordinated roles of everyone from first responders to emergency room providers, nurses, trauma surgeons, and support staff for victims' families. The first ambulance arrived at HCMC within 10 minutes. Within 25 minutes of the shooting, other ambulances transported non-critical patients Children's Hospital (Minneapolis) and North Memorial Hospital (Robbinsdale).

 I've received messages from friends and acquaintances around the world, concerned about my family and me. Fortunately, immediate family members and friends were not directly involved in this incident. However, I feel heartbroken but frighteningly numb as well, not totally surprised but, concurrently, outraged and convinced that we have the tools to manage and mitigate the reality of gun violence.

Local, state, and federal legislators have the power to act. It's up to us, their constituents, to let them know we deserve, demand and expect action.

Paradise Lost

I visited Minnesota for the first time in late April 1982. Spring was early that year, and I awoke to the sound of birds chirping enthusiastically in the Highland neighborhood of St. Paul. I had to go out for a walk in this idyllic place: the air was fresh and clean, trees were already in full bloom, and I ambled safely a few blocks to Highland Village, crossed Ford Parkway and continued along Cleveland Avenue to the campus of then College of St. Catherine. A few students were on campus, but I was mostly alone with rabbits, squirrels, nesting mallards, and a few geese. I saw my first cardinal ever, singing his heart out with what is now a familiar mating call.

I thought I had arrived in paradise, nestled away in this previously unknown center of the country. A little over a year later I moved here after Bob and I were married, and every day I seemed to discover some new idyllic spot. As the years passed, I fell in love with the land, water and people of Minnesota. I could not imagine a more perfect place on earth, no matter how many lovely places I visited.

I saw the hint of a crack in my rose-colored image one noon hour around 2011 or so. I had gone for a walk in the St. Paul skyways over the noon hour when excessive heat precluded my usual outdoor noon walk. By then, many businesses had already left the downtown area and the skyway was empty.  I felt uneasy when I heard footsteps behind me, stopped when I stopped, and beginning again, getting a little closer with every step. I moved as fast as I could to get to an stairwell leading to the street below, and hoped that the door at the bottom would be unlocked. Fortunately, it was, and the person who seemed to be following me did not emerge behind me. I wondered if the experience had perhaps been the result of an overactive imagination, but from then on I avoided all but the populated skyway near my work. Around the same time, after incidents not far from home, I stopped walking after sunset on the nearby ampus of St. Thomas University.

Fast forward to the COVID year of 2020. George Floyd was murdered in Minneapolis, just across the Mississippi River from home. The world suddently became aware of Minnesota, and not in a good away. Last June, on Flag Day, the assassination and attempted assassination of two Minnesota legislators and their spouses was a stark confirmation that violence and extremism had invaded our beautiful heartland; thereby forever robbing me of my innocent belief in paradise on earth.

CT Scan and Oncology Appointment - Thoracic Surgery 05.24.24 T+458

My recovery from last year's middle lobectomy has been uneventful, and I really haven't worried much about a recurrence of cancer. However, yesterday I woke up feeling a little uneasy and wondered if my Celtic imagination wasn't warning me about a bad outcome to today's CT scan. The feeling persisted when the radiology report wasn't released in the usual ten or fifteen minutes, but I was calmed by my oncology  nurse practioner's assurance that she didn't see anything different or worrisome in the scan.

Turns out the feeling was just some kind of existential anxiety and not premonition. The radiologist's report was published about three hours after the scan and no changes or reasons for concern were flagged. Once again, I'm grateful to all the doctors, nurses, caregivers, support staff, family and friends who have stayed on this journey with me.

First of many posts in this story.

Passages. Steve Ryan : November 5,1943 - August 11, 2025.

My brother Steve died on August 11, after suffering several years of declining health. I will always be grateful for my sister-in-law June's loving care and the devotion of other friends and relatives. June's sister Phyllis, as well as our brother Allan and his wife Laurel, were among Steve's most faithful visitors. The obituary guestbook includes memories that made me smile.

Steve's funeral was on Tuesday, August 19, so I've had some time to collect my thoughts and calm my soul after my one day in Toronto. I was very touched by the comments and condolences of Steve and June's many friends and former co-workers.

After the millennium began and until my 75th birthday on the the eve of Steve's death, he and I emailed memories to each other on our birthdays. We both enjoyed doing so, and for me, the exchange was an opportunity to share an intimacy that we rarely experienced growing up, or as moved through our adult lives. Our exchanges nearly always involved snow, water or other outdoor activities from our childhood and adolescence in our hometown of Temiscaming, Quebec.

Steve was the only Ryan not born in Temiscaming. He was a WWII baby, born a month early in New Brunswick, where our dad, Harry Joseph Ryan, was still serving in the Royal Canadian Air Force after arduous wartime missions overseas. Our mother, Mary Coleraine Ryan (née Macpherson) once told me that she had never been as cold as she was in that first winter of Steve's life, isolated in a frigid house far away from Montreal, where she had lived and worked most of her life before marriage.

As a little girl, I was very envious of Steve's early years, living in Nitro, a 1940s company town built to house workers of the Cominion Industries, Ltd. munitions plant. Housing for returning WWII veterans was hard to find, and the little Ryan family lived there for some time while our dad was attending law school at McGill -- an hour's train ride away. Our grandmother, Mary (Smith) Macpherson, was "Mamma Glasses" to "Stevie", who was the grandchild she knew best. I used to love hearing he stories of Steve's pet rabbit, the cows in the nearby fields, and the time Steve caught a fish "down the hill" and our mother, a city girl, needed our dad to take the fish off the hook. The stories were, to me, evidence of an exciting and happy personal history.

One of my early memories as a very young child is of Steve heading off to St. Theresa's School on a rainy morning, wearing his dark brown leather backpack, stopping every couple of feet to rescue a worm and place it gently on the grass. Steve was known for his love of all creatures, including snakes. He once kept a small terrarium under our back porch and set out regularly on snake catching trips up the hill to the Temiscaming Golf Course. On one such adventure, I was bitten by some kind of green snake, and was sworn to secrecy about the incident, so that Steve wouldn't get into trouble for harming his little sister. He assured me that if I told, he would never take me snake catching again. Well, I didn't tell, but had no inclination to go on subsequent expeditions.

Steve taught all of us little kids to play cards: hearts, mostly, with Steve sitting in an armchair (where he could see our hands) and the three of us on the floor. We also played bridge and long games of Monopoly and Sorry, Crokinole and early versions of NHL table top hockey. Steve's love of chess was well remembered at his funeral, and I have mental images of him teaching my siblings Marilyn and Allan to play. When he first went to the University of Toronto, he would talk about playing "Eastern Europeans" in High Park. I imagined silent hours in the park with refugees and recent immigrants, with no desire or need for conversation.

At the U of T, Steve was a member of swim and ski teams. Because of him, we younger kids all ecame competent swimmers. He taught me to ski, insisting that I shouldn't be afraid of knocking down his homemade slalom poles. Sometimes the rough edges of a pole would leave a scratch on my face and I never much liked slalom for that reason . Steve worked hard at his jumping skills, and one late March afternoon,we played hooky from a crowded Good Friday liturgy to go skiing at the old Temiscaming Ski Club. My main assignment that day was to measure the length of his jumps. I got tired and bored as the afternoon wore on, but finally figured out that he wouldn't leave until he got his best jump. After I added a couple of inches, we finally left before dark and skied down the trail to our house on Elm Street.

Friends and relatives all have a Steve story, from his early life in Temiscaming, including the time he worked at the mill, then owned by Canadian International Paper. Friends from Temiscaming have sometimes stopped me in mid-sentence to ask about Steve. A friend who wrote a memorial tribute commented that he was "unique", a good word for someone with a broad and eclectic knowledgebase encompassing every subject from ancient history to sports.

My favorite recent memories of Steve are from the weddings of Allan and Laurel's daughter Chrissie to Alex (2014) and our son Chris to Melissa (2018). The gap closed on years of separation as the Ryan siblings laughed and danced and genuinely enjoyed one another's company.

After our mom died in 1997, Steve told me he hoped he would one day reunite with our parents. St. Augustine wrote that our hearts are restless until they rest in the Lord, and I believe that our union with God after death will somehow include those we have loved on earth. This is what I wish for Steve. May he rest in peace until we meet again.

Three-Quarter Century Eye-Opener

I usually write about "the turn" around my birthday -- the day when signs of fall become unmistakable and Minnesotans begin to think about planning for the long winter, now not so far in the future. This time last year I noted the shocking reality of waking up in my mid-seventies, maybe not yet "elderly", defined by some researchers as people who have a statistical 4% chance of dying within a year.  This actuarial table seems to give me less than a 3% chance of not making another year, so I guess I can stay off the "elderly" list on this, my 75th birthday.

Coincidentally, today's reading from St. Luke's Gospel  reminds us to be vigilant and "prepared". The number 75 is certainly sobering, but it is one that fills me with awe (how the hell did I get this old?) and gratitude (how did I get so lucky?).  As my friends and I hit the three-quarter century mark, I think of those who haven't made it this far. Some, like several childhood classmates, never even reached adulthood. Others died in middle age, but here I am, not too decrepit yet, happy at the desk in my newly re-arranged office, looking out at my flowers and quiet street beyond. I feel pretty good despite despite the political and social turmoil that surrounds me.  

I begin the next quarter-century determined to be prepared but live joyfully, not overly preoccupied with myself and petty concerns.Happy Birthday to me, to friends born on August 10th, and to all members of the 75th Anniversary Class of 2025.

North Shore - June 18-20, 2025

 

We packed up the new Equinox with clothes and provisions for several weeks and headed north on I35. Why not test the vehicle in one of our favorite Mnnesota destinations.

Getting Ready. As usual, I try to do too much and, after starting my day in the usual way with Duolingo Spanish and NY Times Wordle, I decided to water the trees, other flora, and planters. It was still nice and cool and 7:00 a.m., but it's still quite a job when one is in something of a hurry. We have three hoses, stationed at the front and sides of the house, so it's easy to get to all the plantings. Two of the hoses are "traditional" and quite heavy. The third (my choice) is a 50-foot "pocket" hose that allows access to all the trees planted three years ago, as well as everything at the back of the house. Still, the whole job takes me about an hour unless I cut corners, but my personality doesn't easily tolerate shortcuts or "the easy way out". Anyway, by the time I finished I was ready for a break , which wasn't forthcoming.

Stuff Everything In. Time to make sandwiches, pack snacks, and fill a cooler. Half-way through this job, I started muttering that I was "done" with this kind of preparation for two days in an area with a lot of restaurants and watering holes. A little later, I was "done" with travel to any destination.

Now, I'm the kind of person who can't leave for a couple of days with dishes in the dishwasher (can't stand the smell when I return) or trash/recycling. Moreover, it was trash day, so evberything had to go out before our departure (breaking the 4:00 p.m. rule for trash placement.

Bob was already packed, looking fresh and ready to go after his shower. He was grabbing items that might be useful for our trip as I packed up the electronics. Still the "day cooler" to go, with our beverages. I threw the rest of my rags into an overnight case. I couldn't bear to leave the house without earrings. Finally we were on our way.

Nothing Superior Except the View.Our first night at Superior Shores might have been our last. We couldn't get into our room until the promised check-in time of 4:00 p.m. The place was even dingier that it had been a year ago, and our fourth-floor suite was at the very end of a long, dark hallway. It was too hot to sit outside on one of our two balconies, both of which had a truly lovely view of Lake Superior. Breathtaking, except that the suite itself was so dated and uncomfortable, with its oversized sofa and chair, and hard wooden chairs at the table. The AC was noisy. A King bed was so unpleasant, with cheap sheets and a heavy comforter, that I really could not get any rest at all.

Fortunately, 5:00 a.m. came quickly and sunrise was truly spectacular. A doe and her fawn drinking at the little pond not far from the lake. The experience almost made up for the lack of sleep and jumpiness I felt after a weak cup of coffee. The rest of the morning was spent driving to Gooseberry Falls, where we broke the rules again and drove around the "campers only" site. Nice but just too much wilderness for me. A long ago trip to Barker Lake Lodge came to mind.By then, it was too late for breakfast but we had a delicious sausage and egg burrito at McDonald's in Two Harbors.

Pier B Doesn't Disappoint. Our room at Pier B in Duluth wasn't ready, so we spent a little time across the bridge at Park Point. When we finally checked in, we were really pleased with the familiar attractive property. Our Harbor Vies room on the 4th Floor was beautiful, though the pricey view was obscured by fog for mor of our stay. No matter. Dinner at Silo's was pretty good, although the steak bites we had as an appetizer were chewy. We split a good Caesar salad with grilled salmon. The next morning, we had breakfast there too: just great. Bob had the "northern breakfast" -- two eggs, sausage, hashbrown, and cranberry toast. My breakfast tacos were a good choice too.

With Grandma's Marathon planned for the next day, Duluth was already filling up and we decided to head home, pleased with the maiden voyage of the Equinox and feeling refreshed and happy with our mini-vacation. Our friend and neighbor Amy had put the trash and recycling  barrels back in the garage and all was well with our comfortable home.

Flag Day 2025. Assassination in Minnesota.

June 14 was a shocking, miserable day. Vance Luther Boelter is the prime suspect in the very early morning shooting of State Senator John Hoffman (DFL SD 34 - Champlin) and his wife Yvette, as well as the assassination of former State House speaker and 11-term Representative Melissa Hortman (DFL HD 34B-Brooklyn Park) and her husband Mark.

Yesterday was to be a day of protest in Minnesota, like other "No Kings" protests against the Trump administration taking place across the United States. Instead, Minnesotans were advised to stay away and.organizers canceled formal events.

I thought I would feel better today, but I don't. Instead, my heart is heavy on this dreary Father's Day morning. The suspect is still at large and the shootings dominate local and national news media. In my sadness, I've been reflecting on changes in my beloved Minnesota since I first visited in 1982. I fell in love with the state on my first walk in the Highland neighborhood of St. Paul: beautiful streets, green trees, clean air, a city full of birds and other wildlife. Many residents didn't lock their doors, even at night. I wandered through empty streets in safety, even after dark. I had the immediate feeling that I belonged in this pastoral place.

Fast forward to 1990.  I had been a US citizen for just over three years when I was hired as a "session only" staffer for the House Independent Republican Caucus. I knew little about Minnesota politics at the time, and even less about government. My session-only appointment turned into four years of insider education in the political process and understanding of the art of creating and implementing legislation. It was the beginning a 23-year career in state government. One of my favorite assignments in every job I had was a presentation to new employees entitled "How a Bill Becomes Law".

The years I spent at "the Caucus" were characterized by kindness from fellow IR staffers and representatives, and by staff and legislators I met on "the other side of the aisle". We were always crazy busy, but sometimes had long hours between meetings and floor sessions, especially at the end of the legislative session when we we spent nights at the Capitol. If we had no urgent work to do, we discussed and argued about "the issues" and bills we  were responsible for supporting. Every day was a master class in politics, government, diplomacy, and  public policy. The implications of budget "tails" -- the longer term financial impact of spending decisions made today, continue to influence my evaluation of legislation at all levels.. It was all very civil, and I once said that DFL and IR legislators were more united by shared values than divided by their differences.

Over my four years, the atmosphere at the Capitol became a little more contentious and less collegial. A fellow IR staffer criticized my attendance at an address given at the Capitol by former US Senator and  one-time presidential hopeful Eugene McCarthy. One well-known legislative leader was frequently back-stabbed by a fellow representative. Abortion became a litmus test issue for both parties in many political campaigns. Some legislators were pressured into extreme positions when they and many of their constituents would have preferred a more centrist approach. I moved on to non-partisan state service, with more job security. In 1995 Independent Republicans became "Republicans", aligning the state party more closely with other Republicans in the country and party polarization became more intensive for the next three decades.

During my career with the State of Minnesota, I developed a fierce appreciation for the beautiful land, water, resources, and people of Minnesota. However, over the decades the Twin Cities and even rural Minnesota became more like other American cities. Minnesotans witness urban violence every day, and our downtowns no longer feel safe, at any time of day. People all over the world know Minnesota for the George Floyd tragedy, and now for the violence of yesterday. The headline of today's Pioneer Press is 'Unspeakable'.

I feel depleted and heartbroken. Minnesotans are closely related to one another, by blood, friendship or mutual interest. The Minnesota State Capitol is only a few miles from our home and those suburbs of Minneapolis are a short drive away. Moreover, although I never met either Senator Hoffman or Representative Hortman, I knew them as fellow Minnesotans and dedicated public servants. 

This time of grief is an opportunity to re-examine and change the conditions that got us to this awful place. And, to state the obvious, guns do kill people.

One-Year Anniversary - Thoracic Surgery T+365

Today is the anniversary of my lobectomy. At this time one year ago, I was still waiting to be taken into surgery. It was a long day, especially for Bob and Chris who spent the entire time at the hospital with me.

My last CT scan was in February, just before we left for Florida. There was no evidence of either metastasis or recurrence, and I seem to be just fine, with no apparent residual effects of the surgery. Mostly, I don't even think about it, unless I'm asked.

This week, I've been reflecting on all the doctors, nurses, physician assistants and others who have treated me over the last 19 months. I've had the best, most compassionate care anyone could ever receive and I feel profoundly grateful. A few days ago, I sent updates and thank-yous to some of my doctors and nurse practioners and was surprised to receive almost immediate responses from two of them. Maybe we all need to hear about good outcomes from time to time.

Several of my doctors are either immigrants or the children of immigrants, and many of the wonderful hospital staff who cared for me so lovingly during my hospital stay last year were from Africa and countries around the world. The irony of a political and cultural climate that fosters anti-immigrant sentiment is not lost on me.

Memorial Day Weekend

Reprinted from FB post 05.23.25. Memorial Day Weekend: we're staying home this year, but I have many memories of cold campgrounds and northern resorts, often wearing a winter jacket. This morning I'm remembering a mid-seventies holiday weekend in Old Orchard, Maine, with roommates Jim and Glenn. We rented a car in Montreal and drove to Maine singing with the radio the entire trip. We stayed in a hotel right on the beach and I, of course, had to go swimming. The water was frigid, and by the time I was accustomed to the cold I must have been in the early stages of hypothermia. I had to wrap up in many layers of towels and blankets and I buried myself in bed while the two guys went out to party. I shiver, and smile, at the memory. I would like to say that I'm a lot smarter now, but at least once a year I find myself swimming in water that's really much too cold for all but an enthusiastic labrador retriever. Safe travels to all who all who are on the move this weekend!

Cocoa Beach 2025 - Re-Entry

 

I don't know how many times we've been to Cocoa Beach. I think our first year was 1997 or 1998, when we rented a small apartment from a friend of a friend for about $500 a week. We made almost yearly pilgrimages until about 2004, and returned periodically afterward. This is now our third consecutive year.

We've moved up in dollars spent but we still enjoy the same things: the sun, the spectacular Atlantic Ocean, a good pool, people watching, abundant Florida wildlife. My favorites are sea turtles, roseate spoonbills and the manatees who are entertaining and often elegant as they frolic in the water.

We've had a lot of fun already watching the Brevard County Beach Restoration Project. We were a little dismayed when we arrived on Friday and could barely hear one another. In the semi-darkness a little later, we saw heavy equipment working on the beach -- a lot of it. The hoise from dozens of motors and back-up warnings made me wonder if we hadn't made a mistake coming here again.The crew worked all night, and by morning a lot of progress had been made as workers and equipment made their way down the beach. As the sun rose, the gulls screeched their morning cheer to the light and I could see that our section of beach would soon be completed.

By Sunday, familiar fishermen had claimed their usual spot and the workers had constructed paths across the pipe to water's edge.

Measles

The recent outbreak of measles is frightening and so unnecessary. I am one of those people who get sick very easily, so often that I cringe when I hear someone cough in the next room.

I had measles during the last week of school a few months before my 7th birthday. I remember looking out my bedroom window on a cool June evening, watching my friends play, managing to get some of them to come and talk to me. My school prize that year was a small cedar box. I still have the box, and, almost seven decades later, it still has a faint odor of cedar, a smell that invariably transports me back to that awful time of sore eyes and throat, a bad cough, unpleasant salty taste in my mouth, and, of course, spots all over my body, giving me a hot and painful itch.

I had all what were then the usual childhood diseases. I was really sick with all of them and remember each episode in sometimes disgusting detail. I missed many weeks of school, especially in the elementary grades.

A few years ago I remember thinking how wonderful it is that children can be vaccinated against all the viruses that knocked me out all those years ago. While there may not be many deaths from measles, there are some, and infection sometimes results in lifelong disabilites, including blindness and deafness. Preventable. Yet another American tragedy.

Happy Valentine's Day 2025!

Flowers and cards. Bob's card was expensive, but he plans to change the date and use it next year. Mine, on the right, was made with card-making materials I always have on hand.

Valentine's Day is a Hallmark holiday, way too commercialized and frothy for my taste. Still, it's a mid-winter break I've enjoyed since I started making valentines as a craft-loving little girl. It was fun to exchange the sentimental, sometimes corny cards with classmates in my hometown of Temiscaming. We bought them at the drugstore, in thin packages or books of cut-outs,with little envelopes that didn't seal. My mother Mary Ryan, godmother Catherine Lynn,  neighbor Mamie Forde, Nana Mary Macpherson and Aunt Marie Macpherson all got the home-made ones, made with construction paper and decorated with bright glitter or sequins.

It's a day that always seems to take many men by surprise every year. The poor tortured schmucks wring their hands in the annual truggle to figure out the degree of friendship/love that should be expressed with some kind of card or gift. Many years ago I heard a  friend of my son say something like "Just send them flowers. Women love that sh-t!". The wisdom of that 25-year-old is something I thought of with a smile yesterday afternoon.

I had made Bob's card a few days earlier, but wasn't surprised when he suggested that I get myself some of the lovely flowers he had seen the day before at Hy-Vee, our usual market. There had been too much choice for such a daunting decision, and he figured I would have no trouble finding an acceptable bouquet. "And while you're at it, get yourself a nice card", echoing Christmas Vacation's Clark Griswold at the warehouse with Cousin Eddie, "And while you're at it, Clark, get yourself somethin' really nice".

It was a pleasant assignment. The roses were all beautiful, and I quiickly selected a dozen of pretty pink blooms with red edges. I did have a little trouble choosing a card, all of which seemed very expensive. I decided that I'd just spend the big bucks and re-purpose the lovely butterfly decoration on a future card creation. 

This morning, however, Bob looked at the price I'd paid ($12.50) and was impressed -- not in a good way. He got to work on the inside message, and took what seemed like a very long time. When he finally presented it to me, he warned me to be careful of the envelope, which had a lovely gold interior. I opened the card and read the sweet hand-written message. And then I started to laugh. He had written "February 14, 2025" on a small piece of paper taped to the inside of the card. He's saving the card, envelope, and clear plastic protective sleeve, ready for a change of date and re-use next year. I'm still laughing, and obviously that butterfly won't be mine to use anytime soon.

We're expecting snow today, so I'm excited to have a Lake Elmo Inn Event Center Valentine Box for two, for a great at-home dinner. We ordered one for New Year's Day last month, and enjoyed dinner for two or three days. The fruit makes an amazing breakfas, as delicious as the rest of the main courses, sides and dessert. Service Coordinator Amy Pearson is a super competent professional who makes the experience pleasant and troublefree from online order to pick-up. Yesterday temps were frigid but Amy was full of energy as she cheerfully packed our treats in the tailgate.

It's already a special day, mostly thanks to my in-house valentine. Bob and I often laugh so hard my sides hurt and I always look forward to the time we spend together. Happy Valentine's Day to him, and to all my family and friends. Sometimes love is all you need.

Trade Woes Threaten Wellbeing

I'm a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. I've been a student of business and politics all of my adult life, and in the 1990s wrote a number of position papers on the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), passed in 1992 and replaced by the United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement (USMCA) in 2020.

Free trade has always seemed like a good idea to me:  free trade benefits both consumers and businesses in Canada, the US and Mexico. A tariff is a tax, and it is NOT paid by the exporting country. The recent threat of retaliation by both Mexico and Canada is particularly frightening, This is a transcript of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau's brilliant speech on Saturday, February 1:

"Tonight, first, I want to speak directly to Americans, our closest friends and neighbours. 

This is a choice that, yes, will harm Canadians, but beyond that, it will have real consequences for you, the American people, as I have consistently said, tariffs again against Canada will put your jobs at risk, potentially shutting down American auto assembly plants and other manufacturing facilities, they will raise costs for you, including food at the grocery stores and gas at the pump. 

They will impede your access to an affordable supply of vital goods crucial for us, security such as nickel, potash, uranium, steel and aluminum, they will violate the free trade agreement that the President and I, along with our Mexican partner, negotiated and signed a few years ago. 

But it doesn't have to be this way, as President John F Kennedy said many years ago, geography has made us neighbours. History has made us friends. Economics has made us partners, and necessity has made us allies. 

That rang true for many decades prior to President Kennedy's time in office and in the decades since, from the beaches of Normandy to the mountains of the Korean Peninsula, from the fields of Flanders to the streets of Kandahar, we have fought and died alongside you during your darkest hours during the Iranian hostage crisis, those 444 days, we worked around the clock from our embassy to get your innocent compatriots home during the summer of 2005 when Hurricane Katrina ravaged your great city of New Orleans, or mere weeks ago, when we sent water bombers to tackle the wildfires in California and during the day, the world stood still, September 11, 2001 when we provided refuge to stranded passengers and planes, we were always there standing with you, grieving with you, the American people, together, we've built the most successful economic, military and security partnership the world has ever seen, a relationship that has been the envy of the world. 

Yes, we've had our differences in the past, but we've always found a way to get past them. As I've said before, if President Trump wants to usher in a new golden age for the United States, the better path is to partner with Canada, not to punish us. 

Canada has critical minerals, reliable and affordable energy, stable, democratic institutions, shared values and the natural resources you need. Canada has the ingredients necessary to build a booming and secure partnership for the North American economy and we stand at the ready to work together.

Let's take a moment to talk about our shared border. Our border is already safe and secure, but there's always, always more work to do. Less than one per cent of fentanyl, less than one per cent of illegal crossings into the United States come from Canada.

But hearing concerns from both Canadians and Americans, including the American President himself, we're taking action.

We launched a $1.3 billion border plan that is already showing results, because we too are devastated by the scourge that is fentanyl, a drug that has torn apart communities and caused so much pain and torment for countless families across Canada, just like in the United States, a drug that we too want to see wiped from the face of this earth, a drug whose traffickers must be punished as neighbors, we must work collaboratively to fix this. 

Unfortunately, the actions taken today by the White House split us apart instead of bringing us together.

Tonight, I am announcing Canada will be responding to the US trade action with 25 per cent tariffs against $155 billion worth of American goods.

This will include immediate tariffs on $30 billion worth of goods as of Tuesday, followed by further tariffs on $125 billion worth of American products in 21 days time to allow Canadian companies and supply chains to seek to find alternatives.

Our response will also be far reaching and include everyday items such as American beer, wine and bourbon, fruits and fruit juices, including Orange Juice, along with vegetables, perfume, clothing and shoes, it'll include major consumer products like household appliances, furniture and sports equipment and materials like lumber and plastics, along with much, much more. 

And as part of our response, we are considering with the provinces and territories, several non tariff measures, including some relating to critical minerals, energy procurement and other partnerships.

We will stand strong for Canada. We will stand strong to ensure our countries continue to be the best neighbors in the world. 

With all that said, I also want to speak directly to Canadians in this moment. I'm sure many of you are anxious, but I want you to know we are all in this together, the Canadian government, Canadian businesses, Canadian organized labor, Canadian civil society.

Canada's premiers and tens of millions of Canadians from coast to coast to coast are united. This is Team Canada at its best. 

I spoke with the President of Mexico. We committed to work together to face them down.

I have something to ask Canadians, to be in solidarity together. I ask you to be here for each other. 

Now is also the time to choose Canada. There are many ways for you to do your part. It might mean checking the labels at the supermarket and picking Canadian made products.

It might mean opting for Canadian rye over Kentucky bourbon, or foregoing Florida orange juice altogether.

It might mean changing your summer vacation plans to stay here in Canada and explore the many national provincial parks, historical sites and tourist destinations our great country has to offer. 

Support our manufacturers, our workers, entrepreneurs and artists. It might mean doing all of these things, or finding your own way to stand up for Canada in this moment, we must pull together, because we love this country. 

We pride ourselves on braving the cold during the long winter months. We don't like to beat our chests, but we're always out there waving the maple leaf loudly and proudly to celebrate an Olympic gold medal city.

Canada is home to bountiful resources, breathtaking beauty, the proud people who've come from every corner of the globe to forge a nation with a unique identity, with embracing and celebrating. 

We don't pretend to be perfect, but Canada is the best country on Earth. 

There's nowhere else that I and our 41 million strong family would rather be, and we will get through this challenge just as we've been done countless times before, together.

Thank you. Merci."

Annual Christmas Rituals

I almost surprised myself this year by fretting iver holiday card choices well before panic time. I couldn't decide on a photo, so I decided to choose the envelopes and cardstock and go from there. Sure enough, once I had the supplies I was able to select not one, but five photos, for the card. My favorite was a photo of a cheery male cardinal, painted by Bob's Uncle Les long before I ever joined the family over forty years ago.

When I finished the cards, I felt I could tackle the tree. It's an artificial fir (or maybe balsam) we bought at Menard's in an after-Christmas sale a year or two before we moved to Lake Elmo. We had to get a tree without lights because, well, that's all they had. The first two or three years, I wrestled with a very long strand of lights that I had to roll up on a large cable. It was fine the first year and OK the second, but by the thrid the roll had somehow become tangled and, after hours of work, the damn thing wouldn't liight!

By then  we were in full COVID mode and I had to take what I could get. Fortunately, LED lights had improved and gotten a lot cheaper and I eneded up with seven or eight strands of  one hundred ligths, which I stored in separate zippered cloth envelopes during the "off" season. On Thursday, I set up the tree and yesterday, with a little trepidation, I tested the light sets. All perfect, witth only a couple of non-funcctioning bulbs -- no problem because the lights are connected in parallel, not in series.

On the day after Thanksgiving) I got all of the ornaments on the tree. The most fun with the tree was during our holiday brunch on December 15. I had hidden the Christmas pickle ornament in the middle of the tree, easy to find for the little ones Tradition dictates that the first person to find the pickle gets a special gift, but I revised the rules and everyone who found it got something (bath bombs, small chocolate bars, $10 Amazon gift cards). I felt the pickle was finally getting the attention it deserved: the first ornament was given to me about a decade ago by Trudy Hennessey, and I think I must have left it in the tree and inadvertently given it away to the Goodwill when the tree was replaced. Trudy got me another pickle that I've managed to take good care of . However, I think this is the first year we've played "find the pickle" and the expected good time was had by all.

I'm going to have a good luck at all the ornaments before I put away the tree tomorrow. I know the provenance of most of them, and look forward to seeing all my favorites every year. However, I do love to put away the tree on January 2. I'll wait till after Epiphany to take down the other decorations, including a number of manger scenes, from several cultures and eras.

This has been an unusually spiritual Christmas, with time to reflect on the mystery of the Incarnation. Christus natus est. Our God is with us. 

Thanksgiving Day. November 28, 2024.

 It's a day to be thankful.

Today, I'm thinking about, and thankful for, my long ago Royal Victoria College (women's residence at McGill University) and McGill Newman Centre friend, Tina Eberle (later Tina Gerard). When I knew her in Montreal, I didn't realize the importance of the Thanksgiving holiday to American families.

In the 60s and 70s, many American students and young adults didn't go home for Thanksgiving, either because they couldn't afford to travel, or because entry level jobs and/or lack of seniority didn't give them the time. No problem for Tina! She invited fellow Americans and some others to a Thanksgiving meal that rivaled any feast I've enjoyed since those long ago November Thursdays.

I was shocked a number of years ago when I learned that the ever smiling, vibrant Tina had died. I think about her every Thanksgiving and know that her large, much loved family must remember her hospitality with great love and nostalgia. RIP Tina, until we meet again. Happy Thanksgiving to all! Embrace the ones you love.

All reactions:

24You, Marilyn Marshall, Viky Larson Turner and 21 others

Nashville , Tennessee. October 20-24, 2024.

My sister, Marilyn, and I arrived in Nashville last Sunday. I left MSP on a beautiful fall day that felt more like mid-July than late October. I had packed for summer weather in Nashville, and sure enough the early evening temperature was warm and very pleasant.

My flight arrived earlier than Marilyn's, so I spent a pleasant couple of hours at Nashville BNA, walking around a little, only a little limited by my carry-on bag and backpack. The airport was very crowded, and it wasn't easy finding the rideshare pickup point. However, our driver Joseph was persistentand he finally hooked up with us. A native of Ethiopia, he came to Nashville years ago because he had a friend here -- a story I heard several times from other transplants to this lovely city.

We were a little shell-shocked when we checked in, but not to tired to head to the 4th floor for our free cocktails. John the bartender gave us doubles, even though we hadn't yet received our drink cards from the front desk. This is a well-known weakness in the online check-in system at Embassy Suites Downtown -- paper cards still required. Like most bartenders, John is an independent type of guy and he simply told us to pick up our  cards the next day, which we did, of course.

The next morning Harry joined us at the hotel and we decided to do an overview tour of the city in the Hop-on-Hop-off trolley. We did a full loop first and Harry pointed out a number of points of interest along the way, so that we got our bearings. We refueled with beer and gumbo at Gumbo Bros and walked up the hill, over the freeway, to Harry's apartment. By then it was getting damn hot, well over 80F, and Harry's promised "short distance" seemed endless. Fortunately, I still had the energy to take a few photos of interesting sculptures along the way. When we got to Harry's place, I looked over the balcony and saw a beautiful, inviting pool. No suit, of course, so we had to pass up the opportunity. Harry drove us back to the hotel, and we opted for snacks and beverages on the 12th floor.

Tuesday was a day for the Country Music Hall of Fame, just down the street from our hotel and it seemed like a good choice. The building itself is quite lovely, with lots of space for exhibits and education. I wasn't pleasantly surprised to note that the museum is so well curated, such that the visit includes not only country music but, really, a history of American contributions to the world body of music. All eras are covered, with the transitions from each era carefully designed and executed. A well produced video brings the entire experience together.

Harry picked us up before 6 PM for the drive to the Grand Ole Opry It was rush hour, and the traffic was awful, as it often seeems to be -- as bad in this city as in any other major metropolitan area. Until then, I had seen only downtown and the famous neighborhoods on the trolley tour. I appreciated Harry's excellent driving skills along a creative shortcut past a cemetery, used car lots, a trailer park, railroad tracks, distressed housing and other structures in various states of disrepair. Fortunately, work earlier in the day on his Tesla held up well and I felt confident we would not break down in the remote space that reminded me of the hubcap theft in the original Vacation movie

We arrived in NASCAR race time and had a pleasant interlude in the lovely grounds of the Opry. The e-tickets allowed quick entry and we were amazed at the sightlines from our front-row seats. The performances (Rhonda Vincent, Karley Scott Collins, Wade Bowen, Don Schlitz, Bill Anderson, Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors, Vince Gill) were nothing short of spectacular. My favorites were Don Schlitz, whose many compositions inclue The Gambler and Vince Gill. as charming in person as his fans say he is. He was introduced to the audience by Drew Holcomb, and as the band was playing the first song Vince bent over troubleshoot his mute guitar and/or microphone. He treated the problem very casually and it was soon resolved as he worked with the sound tech. No fuss; no blame.

The next day Marilyn and I separated and I walked to the Tennessee State Capitol. It was a pleasant walk made easier as I could see the flags on the Capitol at several points along the way. While I was expecting Google Maps' promise of a mostly flat walk, various detours took me both uphill and downhill, evening out to "mostly flat", I guess. I entered the Capitol through the tunnel and was somewhat surprised at the absence of other tourists. I joined a tour and was pleased to see both the House and Senate chambers. Of course, lawmakers in the part-time January to April legislature were not in evidence, and since the House chamber was roped off, I didn't even have the opportunity of seeing the desks of the Tennessee Three.

My walk back to the hotel felt a little  more arduous. I have little sense of direction, and was dismayed to be unable to read the map on my phone in very bright sunlight. Moreover, by the time I got downtown, the people around me were so noisy that I couldn't hear directions either. From my position, I couldn't see my landmark Bridgestone Arena, home of the Nashville Predators. I asked several guys on the street how to get there, only to be met with a blank stare, except by one confident looking young guy who pointed in one (wrong) direction: "There's a bridge over there", he said unhelpfully. I decided a bartender would be my best bet, and of course, that was indeed the case.

That evening Harry joined Marilyn and me for dinner at Hand Cut in the hotel. The menu was fairly interesting but I really wasn't very hungry, so I went for a chicken club on a bun, washed down with watermelon hard seltzer. Harry and Marilyn had more substantil meals (pasta for her, coulotte steak for him, with sides of brussels sprouts and asparagus). The next morning Marilyn and I simply packed after breakfast and Ubered to the airport at 1:30 p.m.

 I was surprised to witness very little evidence of the November 5 election. No talk, campaign buttons, billboards or political posters. Many convention attendees joined a throng of tourists everywhere. What impressed me the most was the good humor and courtesy of everyone we met. Tourism generates a lot of revenue for Tennessee, and Nashville certainly attracts a lot of people from "elsewhere", including hotel clerks, customer servce staff, entertainers, and even my tour guide at the Capitol.

Nashville is a great city to visit, with lots of activities all year. We really enjoyed the weather, with cool temperatures in the morning and evening, and 80F every day. It really was a wonderful week.

End of Summer - Thoracic Surgery T+104

My right middle lobe lobectomy was on Friday, May 24. I had my 3-month appointment 104 days later on Thursday, September 5.  While I wasn't dreading the results of the CT scan, I did feel a little apprehensive, despite the fact I've felt really great over the summer and I've actually forgotten about the surgery.

The CT scan showed no recurrence of cancer and no new nodules. The only negative comment in the radiology narrative was "Enlarging prominent right hilar lymph node which is favored to be reactive. Recommend attention on follow-up". Harry Marshall told me it was still within the "range of normal" and probably nothing to worry about. So I'm considering myself "good to go".

The Turn at 74

Most friends and acquaintances know that I begin expecting "the turn" sometime after my Autust 10th birthday. This year I was somewhat preoccupied with the shocking thought that, at 74, I was now in my md-seventies. While the numbers don't lie, I choose to believe the "you're as old as you feel" fallacy -- a convenient one for me right now since I feel great and still look pretty good.

Back to the turn. I think of it as the day that marks the undeniable approaching end of summer. The first signs are often subtlle. In my hometown of Temiscaming, Québec, as soon as I was old enough to stay up beyond my childhood betime of 7 PM, I joined the other kids on Elm Street for a pic-up ball game, jump rope (we called it skipping), or play games like Rover Rover and, when dark began to fall, hide and seek. Sometime after my birthday, blackness descended quickly about half an hour before the mill whistle went off at nine, when most of us usually had to be home. I would remember that the next few weeks would have to be enjoyed because the turn had come and summer's end was near. Similar signs have marked the turn in all the places I've lived.

On Saturday, I recognized the turn when I stuck my head outside the sunroom door as the sun was rising. It was definitely jacket weather. Later on, as I walking (jacketless) through the neighborhood, I felt a bit of a cold bite in the wind, and I thought to myself that the final five-minute walk home would be frigid only a few months from now, when I would no doubt bitterly regret wearing a flimsy headband instead of a hat.

However, the turn is just a reminder that we need to enjoy summer while we have it. After a few days below "normal" (a word that really means little in Minnesota, where temps often vary widely in a matter of hours), we're headed into a warming trend. There is so much summer left and, if we're lucky, we'll have a colorful fall full of warmth and beauty. For now, "the turn" is just one of the memories of my 74th birthday.