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Trying to enjoy a vacation this time of year in Minnesota is just plain hard. When it’s not raining, it’s blowing. When it’s not blowing, it’s freezing. Sometimes it’s doing all three at the same time. Once in a while you glimpse the sun and hope returns—for a second.

My husband likes to get a jump on things. Go early – get back sooner. That sort of thing. I’m not sure why, but I follow where he leads. It might be some of that farmer boy blood still runs through his veins and causes him to get up every morning at 5:30 regardless of the need to be anywhere. Spring makes him think of plowing and planting, early to bed, early to rise, and beating the birds out of those worms. That’s why he likes to go on vacation before it’s truly weather compatible. We always get there before the crowds show up. In fact, I’ve seldom seen a crowd anywhere we’ve been.

We left for the Black Hills at ten in the morning the other day. The sky was clear and blue as a Robin’s egg. The weather forecast said mid-sixties for the week, although it was mid-forties when we started out. We rode our motorcycles west. A definite chill was in the air, but we were prepared. We’d dressed warmly with coats, overpants, gloves, etc.

The wind whipped dark clouds across the face of the sun until they eventually blanketed the sky, handing low and heavy with dread. I thought bright, happy thoughts for about forty miles—until my brain froze, my fingers had a severe case of frost-bite and were unable to bend, and snot froze on the end of my nose. I signaled my husband to pull over.

We had brunch at McDonalds while we thawed out long enough to survive the return trip home. It was a short vacation, but very stimulating. Maybe next time we’ll make it to Mankato. 

I hear the weather isn’t so bad farther south. If we could just get over the state line.

If you can’t tell, this is a picture of my mom & I. Yes–matching dresses were chic and cool in 1968. And no–it wasn’t just the sun in our eyes, we always looked this happy when we wore them. J 

Mother’s Day is May 10^th, and so I am dedicating this installment to mothers everywhere. Hope you all have a wonderful day and feel the love of your children as they endeavor to display it in works of art, hugs & kisses, flowers, or breakfast in bed. If they don’t do any of those things then you probably didn’t raise them right and there’s nothing you can do at this late date. Sorry. L

Hallmark advertises a special line of cards that play a few bars of a song or that you can record on. The idea that musical or recordable cards are superior to cards with printed sentiments is expressed in the price. Yes, they are more expensive. Therefore they must be better. Which only goes to prove that writers are underpaid.

An elderly man in Germany received just such a card, placed it on his windowsill, and promptly forgot about it. During the next few days he kept hearing this annoying little serenade over and over again, at irregular intervals and at all hours, until he thought he would go crazy. He fussed and fumed about the apartment, muttering death threats against his neighbors for playing the tune relentlessly and finally decided they were doing it on purpose just to make him angry. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he called the police.

The officers came into his apartment and waited to hear the music the man said would certainly play at any moment. The breeze blew in the open window and the card fluttered in the wind. The tune played just as the man predicted. The officers solved the case and the bluster fizzled out of the old man in an instant. He was relieved to know his neighbors were not trying to drive him insane. But I’m pretty sure he took that card and burned it, recorded music and all, in spite of the exorbitant prize paid to send it to him.

So if you were contemplating a recordable card over a lovely, homemade, construction paper, cutout card, you might go with your creative side. Your mother will appreciate the time spent on her behalf and she won’t want to ring your neck for giving her something just as annoying as that battery-operated machine gun you owned as a child.

For those of you really, really tired of hearing about Obama’s first 100 magical days in office, I give you a reality check. If it sounds too good to be true…it is.

Much like the Swine Flu, which shall forever be called A/H1N1 because it was offending the pork industry, and cute little baby piglets who were completely innocent of all wrong-doing, Obama’s truthforce (CNN, MSNBC, etc) has been whitewashing the last one hundred days with a beautiful, thick, protective coating of crapola.

Never mind that he’s already “upped his pay-grade” by changing any laws that would slow the flow of abortions in this country and other countries, pushed through legislation to use fetuses for stem-cell research, had the audacity to ask that all Christian symbols be covered up when he spoke at Georgetown University (a Catholic school), shoved through the biggest spending bill of all time with more bridges-to-nowhere than anyone can count (3.4 trillion dollars worth), bowed to the Muslim king of Saudi Arabia, and blatantly snubbed Americans who differed with his opinion (the tea party protesters) as ignorant right-wing agitators, apparently unworthy of notice, all the while laughing behind his hand at his truthforce’s perverted innuendos of those same citizens.  

Funny thing is, he seems to have forgotten that almost half the people in this country didn’t vote for him. We hoped for the best, after all he used the word hope at least a million times during his campaign, but now things are just looking hopeless. Except on the nightly news, when Katie Couric smiles and gushes over how hip and cool and ultra-smooth our president is and how his wife is sooooo fashionable & they bump fists and everything! Wow! Could today’s journalists be any more professional and unbiased if they tried? I think not.

Swine flu is running rampant; snorting across our borders with amazing speed, infiltrating our states, cities, and schools, and infecting our citizens with hardcore symptoms that can often be deadly. We can pretend it’s not as bad as it is, give it a nicer sounding name, and go about life as usual, but that doesn’t make it go away.

Squashing truthful journalism as “divisive,” reclassifying Socialism as a “Stimulus package,”calling senators “obstructionists” because they don’t go meekly along for the ride to Jive-talking world, and pulling the wool over the eyes of many with a big old sheet of promises for free medical, free housing, free donuts, and a totally free ride to hell in a hand basket, is certainly 100 days of wonderful. So, get on the bus and don’t ask any questions!

Remember when you were twenty-something? For some of us it was a “few” years back and maybe our memories are a bit cloudy, but I’m sure you remember what you were focused on at the time. Whether it was having babies, finishing college, looking for the perfect mate, or starting a career, (not necessarily in that order), you were busy looking to the future.

Strangely enough, twenty-somethings these days seem to be either stuck in the past, (childhood), or stuck in the moment, not believing or caring that there may be a future.

In Florida, a young man in his twenties decided to dress up and rob a Laundromat. Wearing a mask and sword, he evidently thought he was a teenage mutant ninja turtle. Now first of all, I know for a fact that a ninja turtle would never rob a Laundromat, but perhaps he wanted to be one of those evil foot soldiers they were always fighting and defeating. And yes, he was also defeated, by a woman who called 911.

In Idaho, a twenty-three year old had to have duct-tape put over his mouth cause he wouldn’t shut up in court when the judge was trying to speak. Whether he was mentally disturbed or not is up for dispute, but when the judge had the bailiff remove the tape after sentencing, the young man challenged the judge to an arm wrestling match. I’m pretty sure the judge just looked at him with raised brows and a bored look and strode out with his black robes flapping in the wind. But the young man, on the other hand, probably thought the judge was scared of him and he was the big winner. Actually he was. He won free room and board for an indeterminate amount of time.

Now you probably think these examples are just random anomalies in a random world, but you’d be wrong. The randomness is really in finding a twenty-something who does have purpose and a plan. They are rare to be sure, like a four-leaf clover in a patch of dandelions.

Televison, the mirror to our society, portrays this generation as without purpose, and makes it look appealing. “My Boys” is a bunch of guys who sit around, drink beer, and call each other dude a lot. “Chuck” is a bunch of guys who work at an electronics store with no other purpose than to do as little as possible and avoid growing up. “The Big Bang Theory” is a bunch of guys that are very smart, sitting around talking about Star Trek and playing video games, while wishing girls liked them. I could go on but it would take a lot of words and I know how short the average attention span is these days.

I’m not saying these programs don’t have entertainment value. They’re as funny as heck. But while you’re laughing, you’re also hoping your own kids don’t become the butt of the joke. Unless they’re an actor on one of those shows and make twenty thousand an episode.

Twenty-somethings are living the purposeless life, in spite of massive past sales of Rick Warrens book, “The Purpose Driven Life.” Obviously, they were not his target audience. If they’d read it, I’m sure they would take it just as seriously as they take the Surgeon General’s statement on the Marlboros they’re smoking.

In this purposeless life males tend to live in a make-believe world where video games and cartoon characters come alive, whereas females live in a make-believe world where morals and femininity no longer matter. The two co-exist in a twisted place where there are no absolutes and life is just a game of chance. That’s why these girls have no problem sleeping with and having the children of deadbeat boyfriends with no job and no intention of getting one. Which also explains the rise in single motherhood, deadbeat dads, Playstation sales, and welfare expansion—among other things.

Thank God life is not just a game of chance and there are absolutes. And I’m hopeful that the four-leaf clovers out there will multiply and be an influence on the dandelions of this generation. But if not—at least their antics will get into the news of the weird and entertain us all.

Some of you may have read a recent article in the Pioneer Press about the bankruptcy of Muzak Holdings LLC. (Not many of you apparently, cause readership is way down) But it seems another American company has overextended itself and bit the dust. 

This is the very company that brought us those lovely tunes in elevators everywhere, just loud enough to recognize but soft enough to put crying babies to sleep or hypnotize Gandhi. I always thought they piped that music in from across the sea; the volume was so low. Now I know they did it that way on purpose.

Muzak was the first pacifier.

When elevators in multi-level buildings were new, there was still a natural tendency to take the stairs. Mostly based in fear. Folks didn’t have a lot of faith in those little boxes hung by cables. Especially when they rose up over ten stories high! That was insanity. They relied on what they knew. Legs were made for walking and they had no qualms about using them. (There was a very low rate of obesity in those days. Only spoiled rich people were fat. Of course, they hadn’t invented Jalapeño potato chips yet or realized that if there were a coupon for twenty-five cents off a bag, people would feel compelled to stock up.)

Then came the accompaniment of Muzak.

The lulling strains of Muzak calmed nervous passengers. But it goes further than that. The lower the music, the harder we have to strain to hear it, the less we think about our lives resting in the strength of a few metal cables that could snap at anytime, sending us hurtling to our deaths at the bottom of a black hole.

I have a theory that Muzak was actually invented by a secret government agency that will remain unnamed, due to its secrecy. Muzak is just a screen to hide the coded propaganda piped into elevators everywhere. I don’t know what they are telling us because it is so secret, but I think it could have something to do with why I prefer Coke over Pepsi, and Northern over Charmin.     

Muzak is also used in Dentist offices. Calming, soothing, non-invasive music that doesn’t jab us, shock us, get our adrenelin flowing, or set our body in motion. Can you imagine what would happen if we were gyrating like Elvis while the dentist drilled our teeth? Scary.

Muzak prevents accidents.

With the demise of Muzak, playlists in Malls will be wide open. It’s bad enough now. Can you imagine an elevator pumping out confrontational Rap lyrics while a parent tries to calm their crying child? It would be like the Exorcist, only the parent’s head would be spinning. Teenagers have more of an immunity to this type of music, even if they don’t normally listen to it. I think with all the movie soundtracks, Internet videos, and friendly commuters who share their music tastes through the open windows of cars, kids have grown thicker skin. I still cringe every time I hear a four-letter word screamed over a sound system, unless that word is love and then I just flinch a little. Screaming lyrics are really hard on the eardrums. Of course if they turned it way down so that we could barely hear it, it might be better.

Muzak executives say they are going to restructure and come out of this bankruptcy better than before. I for one certainly hope they do. The demise of such an American icon is beyond comprehension.

If any company has the rights to a few million stimulus dollars, Muzak does. They have pacified us, protected us, and lulled us to sleep in a standing position. I for one would be proud to have my (husband’s) hard-earned taxes pay for their restructuring and continued watch-care over the elevators of our nation. Especially the ones at Burnsville Center Mall, cause I really hate Rap music.

Addiction is an ugly word—or at least it used to be. Now it means you’re sick, as if you can catch an addiction like you do the common cold or flu. There are drug addicts and alcoholics, kleptomaniacs and compulsive liars, gamblers, wife-beaters, and vegetarians. I for one am unable to quit biting my fingernails, but that is another story.

Luckily, compulsive cheating on your taxes is no longer considered an addiction, at least not for the Chosen One’s inner sanctum of Democrat nominees. They have redefined “tax evasion,” into simple “heroism.” They were so busy flying around the world in their private jets saving the ozone layer from SUV’s, giving a helping hand to illegal aliens as they climbed over the border, and painting stripes on donkeys so zebras don’t go extinct, that they simply forgot to pay their taxes. It was an innocent mistake. Anyone could have done it. Actually—all of them have done it. But that’s no reason to exclude them from serving the nation and being an example to us all.

There is a drug often used to treat alcoholics and drug addicts. Apparently it lessons the desire to continue self-destructive behavior long enough to dry out or come down or whatever they do. Researchers decided to try it out on kleptomaniacs and it seems to have curbed their desire to steal Walmart blind. Which is definitely a good thing.

But where do we draw the line? Are we going to drug up everyone that breaks the law instead of prosecuting criminals? When a traffic cop stops some guy for speeding, will he be able to ticket him or just send him to rehab for a government-assisted program that includes drugs for curbing the need for speed?

Every compulsive behavior, habit, or addiction begins with a choice to do it the first time. How many times does it take to become an addict? The world may never know the answer to that, or—how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop.

Washington state officials have uncovered an underground addiction that until now no one knew existed. The state recently banned the use of dishwasher soaps that were not approved “green” enough. Housewives began sneaking across state lines to purchase non-green dish cleaners. Their excuse? The green soap didn’t cut grease or take off baked-on foods well enough. I think the manager of an Idaho Walmart was heard to say, “I see a lot of women from Spokane in here. I don’t want to stereotype, but dishwasher soap is disappearing from shelves faster than beer at an Irish wedding. The women of Washington have a serious problem.”

Actually, I think we have a serious problem all over the country and around the world. We all have our little addictions. Food, drugs, alcohol, adultery, lying, stealing, killing. The list goes on and on.

Society has slowly gone from black and white, good and bad, right and wrong, to shades of grey. It didn’t happen over night. The things that once shook us up and scared us straight, no longer wield the same power over us. We see through the murky eyes of a sinful world. A world that refuses to believe in a righteous God who sets the standard, but rather in their own innate sense of goodness. Which brings the bar waaaayy down so no one feels bad. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to live with ourselves. The guilt would overwhelm us, and we might come to the realization that we can’t save ourselves.

We need a Savior.

Jesus Christ comes to mind.

Some people try to package Him into a little magic pill, but Christ is no quick fix. He’s a lifetime commitment. The God of true hope and change. The Redeemer of addicts & slaves to sin.