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“Happiness is a warm puppy”. Charles Schulz.     “Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” is written into the Constitution of the United States of America.

In the February 27, 2006, issue of The New Yorker there was an article on pursuing happiness. It turns out that by nature we have been hardwired to emphasize the negative. Survival depended on being wary. The curious and unwary could be eaten by bears or tigers. “Call no man happy until he is dead” was a popular Greek saying. According to many psychologists, once we are out of poverty, the most important determinant of happiness is our “set point”, our natural level of happiness, which is largely a matter of genetics.

Of course, we have no control over our set point. Those of you who have more than one child know that children do seem to be wired differently. Same parents, same conditions and yet siblings can be so different. However, we can control our attitude. “As a Man Thinketh” by James Allen made quite the impact on me. We also can decide how much volunteer work we are willing to do.

Ready for the secret to happiness? Here it is: “Happiness is equal to your set point S, plus your life conditions C, plus a bit of volunteer work, V.  Happiness = S + C + V”.

If you want a copy of the article, let me know.

“Happiness is hard to put into words. It’s also harder to source, much more mysterious than anger or sorrow, which come to me promptly, whenever I summon them, and remain long after I’ve begged them to leave.” David Sedaris

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Many years ago, my dad went to work as a dishwasher at Little Sisters of the Poor in St. Paul. His boss was a woman named Maxine. They became real good friends. Her family also referred to him as Grandpa Bill. Maxine and Dad never lived together, but they ended up living a few floors apart in the same high-rise apartment building next to St. Paul Ramsey Hospital on University Avenue. When Maxine died, I attended the funeral, and Dad surprised me by asking me to sing “The Lord’s Prayer” and “Amazing Grace” during the service. There was no piano, so I had to sing “a Capella”. It was ok.

One of the pieces of furniture that Dad brought with him when he moved into my house in Upsala was a corner unit with glass shelves and a curved glass door that had belonged to Maxine. Her family had given it to him. After Dad passed in 2005, I set out to clean his room.

One of the items in the corner cabinet was a small green egg with silver decorations and a seam abound the middle. I was curious to see what treasure was inside, but when I pried it open, expecting to find a Russian doll, what came out were ashes! “OH MY GOD! IT WAS MAXINE!”. I spilled a little in my haste to put it back together and I quickly put it back into the curio.

A few years later my daughter bought the house from me. Every summer Kerry and her mother would have a garage sale. It happened again to Marcia while she was helping my daughter gather items for the garage sale.  After that I decided to dig a hole next to my dad’s grave at Gethsemane Church in Upsala and bury the “egg” before there was nothing left of Maxine. 

“Tell me, what else should I have done?  Doesn’t everything die at last and too soon?  Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” 

From The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

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I consider myself in recovery. I quit drinking ‘Old Grand Dad’ in 1976. I am also a “recovering entrepreneur”. I couldn’t work for the man; I had to be the man.

Lastly, I am also a “recovering jerk”. It is the last one that is the hardest to deal with. I have been known to grow very impatient with lines. Lottery ticket sales drive me nuts. I love the self-serve gas pumps with swipe card capability. To help me deal with these defects of character, I have adopted a morning reading ritual.

This one I stole from Dear Abby. It is usually published in the local newspaper every New Years Day.

JUST FOR TODAY: I will live through this day only. I will not brood about yesterday or obsess about tomorrow. I will not set far-reaching goals or try to overcome all my problems at once. I know that I can do something for 24 hours that would overwhelm me if I had to keep it up for a lifetime.
JUST FOR TODAY: I will be happy. I will not dwell on thoughts that depress me. If my mind fills with clouds, I will chase them away and fill it with sunshine.
JUST FOR TODAY: I will accept what is. I will face reality. I will correct those things I can correct and accept those I cannot.
JUST FOR TODAY: I will improve my mind. I will read something that requires effort, thought and concentration. I will not be a mental loafer.
JUST FOR TODAY: I will make a conscious effort to be agreeable. I will be kind and courteous to those who cross my path, and I’ll not speak ill of others. I will improve my appearance, speak softly, and not interrupt when someone else is talking.
JUST FOR TODAY, I will refrain from improving anybody but myself.
JUST FOR TODAY: I will do something positive to improve my health. If I’m a smoker, I’ll quit. If I am over-weight, I will eat healthfully, if only just for today. And not only that, but I will also get off the couch and take a brisk walk, even if it’s only around the block.
JUST FOR TODAY: I will gather the courage to do what is right and take responsibility for my own actions.

“Great results cannot be achieved at once, we must be satisfied in life as walk, step by step.”  Samuel Smiles

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Comments Off on January 2, 2026

This true store was first told by Gary Gilson.  Gary is a Twin Cities writing coach who at one time taught journalism at Colorado College.  He can be reached at www.writebetterwithgary.com  

“I knew a New Yorker named Phil who worked in Manhattan’s Diamond District, along 47^th Street between 5^th and 6^th Avenues. He traveled to and from work by subway from his home in the Bronx every weekday for years. 

One day, in the week before Christmas, Phil entered the subway car on his way home and, as a veteran rider, immediately sensed something was off: only one passenger in the car, a drunken, disheveled man, ranting and cursing and flailing his arms against the world. 

Phil felt tension in the air.  Then he noticed a group of passengers huddled at one end of the car, cringing in fear.  Phil went right over to the man, sat down, put his arm around the man’s shoulders, and began to sing “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…”

The man slowly calmed down, and soon he was singing along with Phil, “where the treetops glisten, and children listen…”

And then, just as slowly, the passengers at the end of the car started drifting toward Phil and the man, gathered around them and joined in singing, “with every Christmas card I write..”

And they all kept belting out holiday songs as the train barreled northward toward the Bronx.

These people had never known each other before, and now they were singing, laughing, and hugging, if only for this brief moment in time.  They were so connected that some riders chose to stay on the train past their stops.

The troubled man brightened; he seemed to be feeling part of something larger than himself. And all it took was an arm around the shoulders, a familiar song, a gathering of humanity and, above all, a man named Phil.”   

Thank you to Gary Gilson for allowing me to share this Christmas story.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

“The real messages of hope in our generation are not those to be bounced from the moon, but those to be reflected from one human heart to another.  Kenneth S Wills  

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Comments Off on December 26, 2025

Six days until Christmas. I have my shopping done and now I simply must pace myself on the cookies and candy.

Children love Christmas, as well they should. As with most families, some years, Christmas gifts were easy to come by and some years the budget would not allow for much. The Christmas of 1956 was a memorable one for me. My mother had to move from our home in St. Louis Park due to Dad’s inability to handle booze. Ma’s mother, Grandma Laura Ramlo, drove her 1952 Chevy from Upsala to 1620 Colorado Avenue South in St. Louis Park, put Dad in the back seat and drove him to the VA Hospital in south Minneapolis. She told them, “He is a veteran, he is a drunk and he is your problem, not mine”.  Then she took us all back to Upsala to live in the apartment above Ramlo Grocery in Upsala.

I am not sure what the reason was for our ending up living in an apartment in Little Falls in December. It had something to do with getting financial aid. That Christmas, Santa brought us six big Tonka Toy 18-wheel trucks. There was a cattle truck, an oil tanker, a freight truck and three more. This was a perfect gift for a family with five boys. I was 13 years old and brother Bill was 10. We played with them non-stop. I am not sure what my sister Kathie got from Santa that year.

For many years I had the impression that they were from some sort of social agency that served the poor. It turned out that “Santa” was Dewey Johnson, a classmate of my mother’s from Upsala High School class of ’37. Dewey’s cousin was one of the founders of Tonka Toys. Dewey had already passed on before I learned the “rest of the story”, so I never did have a chance to thank him.

Perhaps you know of a family that has come upon hard times, and they could use a “Secret Santa” this year.  

“We are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas time”.

Laura Ingalls Wilder    

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Comments Off on December 19, 2025

My first-born granddaughter, Kaylin Marie, started drawing pictures when she was very young.  In 2002 Kaylin decided to draw a picture of a Christmas tree for her grandmother Marcia.  Somehow, the Christmas tree became an angel blowing a horn. I was amazed that a seven-year-old could make the Angel’s cheek look like it was puffed out, blowing the horn. I borrowed the drawing from Marcia and used it to make my first Angel Christmas card.   Every year after that I would ask Kaylin to draw an angel to use for my Christmas Angel card.  (2002 photo attached).

Five years later Kaylin started with a photo of her younger sister Christen and my son’s daughter Anna as a basis for the angel card.  She added some wings and halos and that was the Angel Card 2007. 

Shortly after this, Kaylin decided to retire. The next year Christen drew her first angel.  She was only five years old. Christen has drawn the Christmas Angels ever since then.  The comparison of her very first angel and the one that she drew in 2024 is amazing.  I am looking forward to the 2025 version. 

Thank you, Kaylin, and Christen.  Oh, and Marcia too.      

The St. Cloud Symphony Orchestra will be performing their Children’s Holiday Concert this Sunday afternoon at 1.  The Festival of Frolic and Reflection concert will be performed at 3:30 pm.  All the Symphony Orchestra concerts are performed in Ritsche Auditorium at St. Cloud State University. Tickets are available at www.stcloudsymphony.com or at the door.   

Also, The George Maurer Group annual Christmas Show is at The Paramount Theater this coming Monday at 7:30. Tickets are available at www.paramountarts.org   “Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets

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Comments Off on December 12, 2025

It looks like the ice on the pond is not going to be very safe for a while.  Do not go out there unless you are with a buddy and be sure to check the ice often.  When I was a youth in Upsala, we used to drag race our cars across the ice on Cedar Lake west of Upsala. To my knowledge, no one ever went through the ice. We got away with a lot of stupid things as kids.  One winter we made a game of standing on the hood from an old DeSoto, using it as a giant snowboard as we were towed in the ditch behind a car.  Dumb and dumber.

After a heavy snow we would party by driving into the Burtrum Hills with our old cars,  just to try and get stuck.  These were not SUVs; we had a 1954 and a 1952 Chevy. We simply packed a lot of boys in the cars with snow shovels in the trunk and went for it.  My sister Kathie and one of my classmates both ended up in casts after a toboggan run down a steep hill in the Burtrum Hills.

Try to not let your young children read these Friday notes.

Great River Chorale is presenting “On This Silent Night”, tonight at Church of Saint Joseph in downtown St. Joseph at 7:30.  Sunday’s performance is at 4pm in Bethlehem Lutheran Church in St. Cloud.  Tickets can be purchased at www.greatriverchorale.org  or at the door.  I hope to see you there.

“It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare; it is because we do not dare that things are difficult.”   Seneca

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Comments Off on December 5, 2025

My mother’s mother, Laura Ramlo, and her husband Bert, owned a grocery store in Upsala, Minnesota. Most of us called her Grandma Ramlo instead of Grandma Laura and some just called her Gram. They lived behind the store in small quarters. The bedroom didn’t even have doors. There were entrances from both the dining room and the living room with heavy drapes hanging from poles. They heated the living space with a fuel oil burner that was in the dining room, and it had to be filled often. The store was heated with a wood burning stove. The wood and the fuel oil were stored in the attached warehouse. That was convenient.

Gram was famous for her Thanksgiving dinners which were more like a feast. Owning a grocery store made it easy for her to offer all three: turkey, beef, and pork. Grandpa Bert would complain about her “raiding the stock” but not too hard. My job was to fill the crystal water glasses with water from the cistern pump in the kitchen. The kids would sit at card tables in the living room. We would always sing the “doxology” and express our thanks for the goodness in our lives and the food on the table. Every year, Gram would offer her apologies for the food, even though it was awesome. “I don’t know why I keep doing this, I just can’t cook anymore.” Not true Gram.

I trust that you had a wonderful Thanksgiving feast yesterday.  My family gathered at my son Erik and his wife Jena’s house in Wadena.  Erik soaks the turkey in salt brine and this year he added apple and cinnamon to the brine.  We could taste it.  

“If more if us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” J.R.R. Tolkien author of The Hobbit.

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Comments Off on November 28, 2025

In 1998 Dad moved from his high-rise apartment in downtown St. Paul to my house in Upsala. He had been a city fellow for most of his adult life, but he was raised in Upsala. I was working in Minneapolis as a sales manager with the Xerox agency Albinson and I was gone most of the week. It wasn’t much of an inconvenience to have him there. His passion was cooking; however, I told him in no uncertain terms that I hated the smell of fried foods, and I did not eat leftovers.

In July of 1999 Albinson and Xerox parted their ways and they no longer needed a sales manager. I spent the summer painting old buildings and garages in the Upsala area and started working for Minnesota Public Radio in October of that year. If I did not leave a Post-it-note on the counter in the morning that said, “NO SUPPER”, there would be a home cooked meal on the table when I arrived home. The food was awesome. The baked potatoes were done in a very special way. He boiled them for 10 minutes first and then baked them for one hour at 400 degrees.

As Dad struggled with old age and cancer, sometimes the quality of the supper was not up to his usual standards. Also, many times the smell of burnt food or worse, burnt plastic, from the tea pot handle, would greet me as I came in the back door. He liked to take naps, and he burned three tea pots, with plastic handles, in the last six months. It got so that the only time I did not leave out the Post-it-note, “NO SUPPER”, was on Fridays.

On Friday November 18, 2004, I came home, and he greeted me with, “I must go to the hospital, but you can eat first. Your supper is in the oven”.  I responded, “No way, we will go now!”  I put on the oven mitts and grabbed the baked potatoes and the dish of meatballs from the oven and shoved them in the frig and we drove to the VA in Minneapolis.

That was Dad’s “Last supper”, he never did come home. That weekend I ate my first “leftover meatball supper”. It was a very tasty meal.

“There is something in every one of you that waits and listens for the sound of the genuine in yourself.”  Howard Thurman

PS: The Chamber Music Society of St. Cloud is presenting “Pro Musica Minnesota”.  This Sunday afternoon at 4 in Stephen B Humphrey theater,  with a program of Ravel, Boulanger, and Brahms. Tickets at Chamber Music S  T cloud dot org.

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Comments Off on November 21, 2025

I was an army brat. Dad served in the Navy during the second world war and later he joined the Army. In 1950 he was a Sergeant in the 5th Army, stationed in Vienna, Austria. We lived on the second floor of a very nice apartment building at 41 Gregor Mendel Strasse. There were two marble faced fireplaces and a baby grand piano along with a crystal chandelier in the dining room. I ran with a group of other army brats. I was nine years old and the oldest in the group. 

One day in February we were hanging out in front of the large estate located across from our apartment. One of the kids stuck his hand through the chain linked fence and a dog took his mitten. I bravely offered to go through the gate and recover the mitten. I still remember starting my walk across the large yard toward the two “Boxers”. They greeted me by jumping up and knocking me to the ground. They proceeded to chew on my arms and legs until an Austrian man who we referred to as the “fireman”, (he took care of the furnace in our apartment building) came in and pulled the dogs off me.

I walked home nearly naked. My mother fainted when she opened the door. I spent about 6 weeks in the Army hospital. It took me a while to get over my fear of dogs. The occupant of the estate on the corner was a Colonel in the U.S. Army, and his wife gave me a new winter coat. 

In April of 2019 I returned to Vienna, and I was able to take a cab ride to 41 Gregor Mendel Strasse.  I told the cab driver to wait for me, and I approached the front door. A resident was getting into his car, and he asked me if I needed help. I shared with him that I had lived there as an Army brat in the fifties and was hoping to see our apartment. He told me to push the button for Benedict, the owner of the building.  Someone buzzed me in, and I walked up to the second floor.  The lobby looked very familiar.  The elevator was new.  The faucet which provided water for the flower garden was still there.  Marcus let me in. He was a live-in boyfriend of the owner, Verena Benedict.  He let me in, but he would not allow me to take pictures. It was an amazing experience.

Lesson learned this week: “Any sentence that starts with, “Don’t you”,  “Didn’t you…”  , “Shouldn’t you….”,  or “Couldn’t you…”   implies that the person that you are addressing is “deficient”.   GMO

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Comments Off on November 14, 2025