Uncle Son...

No one would think that I and my cousin, Rick Tischler, are related. He is well over 6 feet tall and lanky while I am (generously) 5'6" and, as I like to say, stocky. He is a couple of years older than me and while we saw each other often while growing up - particularly at out grandparents' home - we were not extremely close. I was closer to a couple of other cousins who were my age and also attended St. Bernard's (grade school and high school). Rick grew up in Moundsview - the suburbs.

I only found out later that he ended up in the same field as me - government contracting. That's quite a coincidence when you think about it sine it is such a specialty. The same as if we had both become proctologists. When he and his wife moved back to Minnesota from Iowa several years ago we started getting together occasionally for lunch, and we also both attended functions of the local chapter of the National Contract Management Association.

More recently we have both been working on our family genealogy, and we correspond by email almost daily.

Rick's father - and my uncle - Ray (aka Son), passed away unexpectedly on Friday. He was raking leaves and they suspect that he had a clot in the artery in his neck and passed very quickly. Our grandmother also died from the same cause type of stroke.

My dad passed away in March, although he had been frail for some time and when he took his final turn for the worse, I was able to travel from Prague to his bedside before he passed. I was thinking about the two very dissimilar ways that these two brothers - my dad and Rick's dad - passed. Ray passed very quickly, at 83, without any suffering. He was active until the very end. My dad, while I don't think he suffered, has been in declining health since suffering a stroke several years ago (a stroke that occurred on the same day as the funeral of a 52 year old former son-in-law, Frank, who had been married to my sister, Chris, who passed away from cancer in 1994).

For the last few years every time I visited my parents I would kiss my dad on the forehead when I left and told him I loved him. I had hoped that we could move to Prague for three years and get back to Minnesota with things no worse than when we left. Sadly, that didn't happen.

It's Sunday night, Kathy and Noah are in bed, and I am having a couple of beers (the big .5 litre bottles, not those wimpy 12 ounce dealies) so I am feeling philosophical and a bit morose. It is the natural order of things that parents mostly pass on before their children, but no matter how long and active a life they have lived it is still very, very painful for those of us left behind.

We will all end up taking the same journey as Al and Son, of course, so it's best if we act around our loved ones as if we could go at any time - because we can.

I offer my sincere condolences to my aunt, Audrey, of course Rick, and his sister Deb and the rest of their family.

Golfing in Minnesota...

Well, I was able to golf 45 holes during my visit home to Minnesota. First, I golfed with my friends from grade school, Hank, Joe and Orr, last Saturday in Siren, Wisconsin (very close to Hank's cabin). I shot horribly - a 114. I don't think I have had that high a score in quite some time. My excuses, though, are legion. I was using borrowed clubs, it was my first time golfing in almost a year, it was a course I was not very familiar with, and the temperature was about 98 degrees.

I golfed 9 holes with Jerry up near Pelican Rapids, and I used an extra set of clubs that he has. They were Fat Shafts - the same as my clubs - so I shot better. Not great, but certainly better than the first round. We didn't keep score since it was just nice to get out and walk around in the cool air (low 60s). Noah walked along (you can still do that in rural Minnesota!) and we let him hit a few balls off the tee and putt a few on the greens. He did pretty well considering he hasn't played before and he was using right handed clubs when he is left handed.

The last round was yesterday at River Oaks in Cottage Grove. The weather was again good, despite a few short showers on the last four holes. This time I used my nephew's clubs. I played better - a 95, or 19 strokes better than last Saturday - but I still have a long way to go. My round was typified by what I did on the 18th hole. It's a relatively long - 481 yards - par 5, dogleg left, uphill all the way. My drive was very good - long and on the right side of the fairway. I decided to hit a 3-wood off the deck and really connected well with it. Because the hole was uphill I didn't see the result of my shot until we all got up by the green. My second shot was on the green, about 20 feet short of the hole. So I was putting for eagle! I only have two eagles in almost forty years of golfing, so legitimate eagle attempts are not very common. Anyway, my eagle putt was the correct length but four feet to the right. My birdie putt missed right and I tapped in for par. Now par isn't a bad result for me, but an eagle would have been a lot better. Maybe when we get back I can play more often and improve my game.




Here is the motley group I played with at River Oaks. On the left is Lowell, who I met around 1984. He is an all-purpose friend who over the years I have golfed and played cards with. He is retired from the Government. In the middle is my brother-in-law, Dan. He married my oldest sister in 1968, but he was hanging around the house long before then. So I have known him for probably 43 years or so. On the right is Hank. I met Hank around the fourth grade, which would have been in about 1968, so I have known him for almost 40 years. No matter how long we go without seeing each other (and sometimes it's for a year or more because I have lived in Saudi Arabia and Ohio throughout the years) we can always egt together and it seems like old times.

The three of them represent over 100 years of friendship for me. Needless to say, I had a lot of fun with these guys and I can't wait until we get the opportunity to do it again.

The third set of grandparents...

We spent a couple of days up in Fergus Falls visiting Jerry and Donna. I have known them for 23 years now, and we don't see each other as often as I would like, but we are able to get together once a year or so. Jerry is former FBI and is an avid golfer (like me) who had a pretty severe battle with cancer several years ago but managed to pull through and now looks as healthy as a horse. Donna is former IRS and does crossword puzzles and Sudoku (like me).

They are the parents of my first wife, Debbie, who passed away from Cystic Fibrosis back in 1990. I like to think of them as Noah's third set of grandparents. When Noah was younger he didn't understand the concept of grandparents so he didn't know that most kids had only two sets (if they were lucky). Noah calls them "papa" and "grandma" like he does Kathy's parents and my mom, and they treat him just like a grandson (i.e. being overly generous), so in the end it is a perfect situation. The time with them is always too short, but it is always good to get to Fergus Falls for a visit.

A late 9th or an early 10th birthday party...

We are heading up to northern Minnesota for a couple of days to the parents of my first wife (those of you who know me understand that sentence, those who don't will have to wait and I will explain at some later time), so posting will probably go dormant again. And you get a second post today.

Since Noah had his 9th birthday in Prague in February, my mom wanted to do something here in Minnesota with the family while we are home this summer. So Noah got another birthday party even though his birthday was five months ago.

Of course, he loved the attention and all of the gifts. Since it is now about five months until Christmas he has things spread out nicely to keep the gifts coming all year long.

A little song, a little dance...

As part of catching up on what has happened lately I have to mention that my dad passed away on March 14th. He had had a severe stroke in June 2004 (a few hours after the funeral of Frank Kraemer, who was the husband of my sister, Chris, who died in 1994) and was not expected to make it. But he did make it. And although the stroke weakened him physically (he was no longer able to drive, which affected him greatly) he remained mentally strong. He also changed emotionally. While it always seemed difficult for him to express his emotions (he had very emotionally reserved Germanic parents) after the stroke he was much, much better about it. Maybe it was because he needed people, especially my mother, to do things for him that he used to be able to do himself; maybe he decided that after facing death he would purposely be nicer (I am thinking of the song "Live Like You Were Dying"). Or maybe the stroke actually physically changed his brain that caused some of the emotional change. I don't know, but it was very touching to see my normally reserved dad telling my mom over and over again how much he loved her. To be truthful, within a few months after the stroke some of that old veneer had returned, but it was too late since by then we all knew what a softy he was. In the end, the last three years after the stroke were a blessing of untold proportions.

When it came, the end came quickly (something I'm sure he appreciated). At first his hospital stay was expected to be brief. Once things turned for the worse and it became only a matter of keeping him comfortable, I worried that I might not make it back from Prague in time. Moving here involved weighing the benefits of the experience with the negative consequences of being so far away from family. My biggest concern with living in Europe was exactly what happened - having something happen to one of our parents. In the end, though, I made it back and was able to spend a few hours with him before he passed. Others say that he was holding on until I got back, and I would like to think that is true, since it demonstrates concretely the power of love and at least implies some kind of control over death (albeit fleeting).

My father was a very good man. He raised and provided for six kids and was married to the same woman for 58 years. It is an honor to be his son and I will miss him very much. If your parents are still alive, why not stop by for a visit (if you live near them) or call them on the phone. You won't regret it.