The following is from a journal writing I made in the mid 1990's after graduating from college but was reminescing about my cross country career. There wasn't an exact date, but I would guess 1996. The date of my first race was August, 1985.
I was going into my Freshman year in high school and I had decided to hang up my football cleats in 8th grade and move onto the wonderful world of cross country running. I had a lot of my current friends running already and they encouraged me to join their ranks. Mark Bauer, Jeff Johnson, Scott Johnson and Peter Caffrey. They were all there amongst others, and we had fun. The practices intesified leading up to the first meet and I remember that meet vividly. It was the Lincoln Invitational , held at Tuthill Park in Sioux Falls.
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The above care instructions were written by my mom, Mary Susan Simko, for anyone taking care of their cat, Tommy John. This is 100% real and legitimate and NOT ironic. Mom didn't have a sense of humor when it came to Tommy John
The following was a writing that I stumbled upon in a bunch of old journal writings. I kept true to actual writing best I could, although I did have to edit some spellings and a few grammatical errors. Most of these old journal writings were written on my old typewriter and in one quick sitting. Kind of like how I write my other entries except for those old ones, they just went into a folder and were never "broadcast". Well... maybe now I can actually share them. Enjoy!
It was the first day of track practice. Basketball was done and we were about to begin the rigorous training "out on the road"... instead of "in the gym". Out running had become my happy place. I wouldn't have guessed it a few years before that, but by my junior and senior year, I loved to get out and run. Before cable tv and video game or internet, the onset of snow could only mean one thing in terms of entertainment: sledding. There are three particularly vivid places that I remember sledding more than one time and with large groups of people: The Pasture, Bunker Hill & Clay Cliff. Don't look on the map, they aren't there. They are places that we referred to using our OWN references.
Christmas shopping in the 70's was a much simple process than it is now. I know I'm not breaking any new ground with that revelation. Besides the obvious technologies that everybody now has that weren't even a DREAM back in our day, there is the actual process of shopping for the gifts. I don't remember when "Black Friday" crept into our vocabulary. I know we never had a
The cool November air continued it's decline as the light transitioned from a golden yellow into a sort of darker pinkish gray. I was standing alone at the freshly set gravestone of my father, Robert E. Nelson in the Lutheran cemetery of my hometown, Garretson, SD. The grass was slowly giving up the battle to stay green, although the remarkably warmer autumn has been so unusual for the area that flowers were blooming again in many gardens and some people that had put away their lawn mowers and brought out their snowblowers were frustrated when, after a warm spell and some gentle rain, they had to dig their mowers out again and give the lawn another bit of their attention.
"Rosemåling, or rosemaling is the name of a traditional form of decorative folk art that originated in the rural valleys of Norway. Rosemåling is a style of Norwegian decorative painting on wood that uses stylized flower ornamentation, scrollwork, lining and geometric elements, often in flowing patterns. Landscape and architectural elements are also common. Many other decorative painting techniques were used such as glazing, spattering, marbelizing, manipulating the paint with the fingers or other objects." - Wikipedia, Dec. 1, 2016
My mom had a time when she was a rosemaling fool! She was painting all the time. She'd practice, practice, practice and practice. I remember the smell of the oil paint... it was really my first exposure to those art supplies. Her steady hand and beautiful floral patterns mezmerized me and I longed to be able to do it too. I remember taking matters into my own hands at one point at the clearly early age of about 5 and made my attempt at rosemaling with a felt marker, as evidence above. I just wanted to share this as I was thinking about her today and I stumbled across my drawing and thought it was pretty funny. I had a date night with my daughter the other night. We went to RENT. It was her first time seeing it and my second time. (I don't include all the times that I've watched the movie or the dvd of the Broadway show.... "IN PERSON" is all that counts when keeping score.
My first time seeing it was in New York a few years ago. I unfortunately missed seeing it when it was in it's big run on Broadway, but luckily for me, An Off-Broadway production of it had just opened and I wasn't going to miss the opportunity. Today is Louisa May Alcott's birthday. She is the author of "Little Women". In my heart, I believe that Louisa May Alcott was my Grandma Gert's favorite author. She very well may have been, but likely it was just a younger phase my grandma was in. She did own an old copy of the book that I still have in my possession. And Grandma did perform in the play while going to St.Olaf. She played the part of Jo. A fitting part, I always felt. Gram Gert to me was always the quintessential feminist....a tomboy that knew what she wanted and she would do whatever she needed to do to get there. She told me about what it was like to grow up in the 1920's as a teenager and into the 1930's as a young adult. She explained the social changes that were happening for women and how fashions took leaps toward a much more expressive demonstration. She told me about how most people smoked in a social atmosphere... it was just the thing that most people did. She had majored in music at St. Olaf and minored in art. Her pastel cubism pieces were very good. They hung all over her house right up until the day we sold the house after she had passed away. Her visualizations of music onto canvas are things that I still dream about to this day. Warped and arching keyboards... music notes flying in and out of the the plane... she did bright color pieces and also some black and whites. I loved every one of them.. I came into existence long after Gert had gone through this phase and even the next couple phases of her life... I came in when Gert was shrinking physically but still held her post resolutely at the Johnson Drug counter. I have no idea how long she held that post in total, but I would venture to say it was the majority of her life. I could copy/paste her history here that my dad had written for the Garretson History book. That would give you the facts and dates about when she got married and had her boys, Bob (dad) and Rolly (uncle). But that would only give you a sketch of who Gertrude Johnson Nelson was. Gertrude was kind and warm soul that even with her frail frame, would give big hugs. I remember being scared more than once that I was going to break her. She had a great laugh and a wonderful sense of humor. She taught for a time, but never told me about it. She played at church, but that was before my time too. Come to think of it, I only saw her actually play piano a handful of times. I'd like to think that when we all left the house and she was done cleaning up the dishes, she'd hang that apron on the hook in the kitchen and walk into the next room and sit on that dark piano bench and play some ragtime piece from her youth. I'm guessing that that never happened as I think she was afflicted with bad arthritis and had a hard time moving her hands around too much. But she was a fixture at Johnson Drug. She could handle that register like nobody else. She was the friendly face that greeted everybody that walked through the door and she could be the cold stare at the kids thinking about swiping a piece of candy or a comic book. If she didn't know who you were, she'd figure out who you did know quickly. If you needed a hand explaining where to go, she was an encyclopedia and navigation system of the area. She knew who lived in every house... and she knew who HAD lived in those house for about 2 generations before the current resident as well. When she and I were talking about going to college, back then vs my time, and how I always needed to find a ride up to school because I didn't own a car yet, she comforted me in the fact that neither did she. "But you just took the train or a bus, right?".... oh no.... she hitchhiked. Times were most certainly different. But she knew what she needed to do to get places and she did it. (Plus, I think she always travelled with others) Gert was larger that life, most certainly. First impressions of a "little old lady" were soon rendered incorrect when she told you about her courtship with Emmett Nelson from Viborg, SD... and how their life at the end end of his professional baseball career was anything but your regular tale of midwest seclusion. She was a traveller at heart and had seen more than I ever knew about or will ever know about. While I was at a very young age, she was training me to work the counter at the drug store. She showed me how to count out change to people; slowly and calling out the amounts so they knew what they were getting and that it was correct. She also taught me how to politely and properly answer the telephone. "You need to let them know who they called and who you are"... and after watching me hold the microphone end of the phone under my chin (which I'm sure resulted in just a muffled "wha wha wha wha" sound), she grabbed the phone as I was using it and lifted the mouthpiece up in front of my mouth. "Speak clearly!" ... forcefully enough to get my attention, but also important enough that I remember the lesson to this day. When I've worked multiple retail jobs and even in the corporate world, I've been complimented on my politeness and phone answering ability. You can thank Grandma Gert. She taught me everything I needed to know. She was an amazing little woman. She was Garretson High School's first Homecoming Queen in the year 1928. I was fortunate to be voted Homecoming King 60 years later in 1988. She had gone to school in a much different time... in a much different world. The town was much the same, but so much had changed in her lifetime. I remember we had her give a speech at the homecoming coronation as a 60 year alumni and to mark the anniversary of the 60th year of the homecoming court. She was so diminutive by 1989 that her head barely reached above the podium and they had to force the microphone on the silver flexible shaft down close enough for her to be heard. I believe her speech came before I was crowned king, and that I don't remember a single word of it, but I remembering being so proud to be this little woman's grandson. This "world traveller" (in my eyes) who then returned to the community and has been such a big part of it for so long. Being an active church member, teacher, and pillar of the business community. Not to mention putting up with her 2 boys and their antics...and all the other little boys for so long that came into the store and tried swipe something. She knew what she wanted to do and she figured out how to get there.... Right there at home in Garretson. With the onset of winter, these cold wet rains turning to snow trigger a lot of old familiar feelings. Feelings that I have felt annually at this time of year since I can remember. It's the feeling that another summer is gone and we have no more warm summer days to look forward to. It's a feeling of inevitable confinement and surrender to an oncoming cabin fever. It always kickstarts feelings of remembering the place I grew up during those longest of summer days: The Garretson Swimming Pool.
Summers at the pool in Garretson were the closest thing we had to a built in summer camp. I would wager a large amount that between the ages of 10 and 17, I spent at least 78% of my free time at that pool or hanging out near it. |
AuthorI'm just a creative guy that's looking to throw all this spaghetti onto the wall and hope something sticks. Archives
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