It's been a few days, but they have been tumultuous ones. For one thing, the people have spoken, in the Nov. 2 election. It's refreshing to know that people can recognize when the train has left the tracks, so to speak.
Unfortunately, only a part of that is the people in office. The news media continues to be a huge head-shaker, and I can only hope that the next generation of journalism will wrestle back integrity lost by the current group of pretenders. It's not an impossibility, but it will be an uphill climb. It will take a concerted effort to remove incompetent "reporters" and others who have done seemingly irreparable damage to the Fourth Estate, and who have lost the faith of perhaps, oh, 150 million readers or so. This will probably stand as the most "shoot myself in the foot" moment in history!!
Rescuing media is not the issue. Repairing the media is the issue. My wonderful daughter Tonya, who is a student at the University of Minnesota, called a few days ago to report that her journalism courses at the "U" are wonderful. I believe her, because I carefully mentored her on what to expect. If certain "catch phrases" or other biases were found, I told her, report them to me. But she lauds her professors, saying they are professional, aware of the bias (not alleged) issues that are ruining the journalism profession. It has to be an uphill battle for professors who undertake this mission, in the face of a populous which is turning away from "mainstream" reporting of any type. I give them credit and would like to talk with them sometime. In the meantime, I am hoping my daughter and others like her can be the wonderful flowers who will save us from the wretched work a few incompetents have perpetuated.
Okay, enough about that. I could go on all day.
Once that issue is corrected, the country must go to work to correct (and protect) its election process. No more ballots found in car trunks in Minnesota. No more allegations of improprieties anywhere, whether they be in small-town America or in Las Vegas. If this country loses faith in its election process, then we're really in trouble. Specifically, Minnesota must get it together!!! Isn't that Minnesota nice?
I have enjoyed getting involved in Facebook, something 58-year-olds like me never envisioned would happen. I have reconnected with a couple friends, like Anne in the Twin Cities. At this age, especially men don't cultivate friendships like they used to. We kind of shuffle around with our wives, mumbling once in awhile (I should probably speak for myself). But talking to someone you haven't seen in 35 years is pretty special and I have appreciated visiting with Anne every now and then. We have to understand that life changes a lot in 40 years and people have new interests. I should say I have struck out on several other attempts to contact old friends from college, high school or Army, leading me to believe that the old saying, "You can't go back" is true. Can I help it if I'm a nostalgic person? I like to remember those old times, like the time my mom and dad were tenting in the back yard on a hot summer night. Who should appear in the wee hours of this night than a few of my State Highway Department co-workers, who were busy spreading mustard on my old woodie station wagon when dad burst out of the tent, yelling at them. He raced down the alley after them in his underwear as they tore off in their car.
We --- my dad as well as my co-workers --- laughed about that for years.
We had some enjoyable experiences "flipping the loop" in Huron, S.D., where we grew up. On one rainy night, my friend Mike and I had just passed Zesto when my windshield wipers stuck. He used his fist to punch the inside of the windshield, hoping to jar the wipers loose. A few hours later, I had to explain how the windshield had been shattered. Mike wasn't along when Verdayne and I did our "loop-flipping" into the early morning hours on a snowy night (imagine the gas we wasted!!??). We finally ran out of gas in his "Blue Goose" and we had to walk at least a mile in freezing temperatures and snow. We made it to my house, where we ate warm soup and tried to figure out how to get the blood back into Verdayne's nose. I won't even go into the night we tore the car door off by accidentally hooking it on a telephone pole. "Hope your dad isn't too made," we all blurted out to Verdayne as we left him to explain to his father how THAT had happened.
Life was good. It has me chuckling all over again.
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