More than just Survival

The second week of January is alway pretty quiet in this part of the country. Everyone is solidly back in the daily grind after the holiday season.Version 3

The bulk and the brunt of winter are still ahead, which can be a daunting thought.  A small percentage of  Minnesotans actually enjoy going outdoors in the bitter January air. We all like to brag about being hearty souls, but honestly, most of us merely survive the winter — relatively few embrace it.                                 .
If you venture out in single-digit “high” temps, you might see a runner on Minnehaha Parkway, a cross-country skier on Hiawatha Golf Course, and increasingly over the past few years, grown, intelligent-looking men and women riding bicycles with big fat tires on the snow and ice.



These guys are riding ON the creek.

Seemingly every time I shovel the front sidewalk, the ever-chipper neighbor walking her dog with its little boots comes by and says something about what a nice day it is. Not to be argumentative, I find my self mumbling a semi-agreement. It works for a moment, long enough anyway to remember the bigger picture, that life really is pretty darn good right now.  One day, I even found myself thinking (for a split second), “I’m thankful I can still shovel snow”.


One of us is better at the embracing- thing than the other.

Being retired brings other, more predictable, moments of gratefulness.  We had a mild snow storm earlier this week and a voice on the radio said the usual, “There have been hundreds of accidents on Twin Cities roads already this morning. If you don’t have to go anywhere today, stay home”.  I did, and I liked it a lot.

I’ve managed to keep my photo-a-day resolution going for two weeks.  According to a survey by a site called, 68.4% of those who make a new year’s resolution keep it going for the first two weeks.  I thought that percentage would be lower, but I’ll take it.  I’m already ahead of 31.6% of the resolution-makers!

With my back still stinging from that self-pat, here is one photo from each day of week two. You’ll that see I did manage to get my butt outside a few times. And OK. . . .yes, it was a good thing.

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(1/8/17) We dropped in to see my friend Graydon Royce do his a radio show / podcast called “The New Frontier Lutheran Radio Hour” (More about this in the coming days.)

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(1/9/17) Svea

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(1/10/17) Karen doing all the work, as usual. (Hey, SOMEBODY has to take the picture.)

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(1/11/17) Catching some rays at Minnehaha Creek

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(1/12/17) 4:40 PM – Stained glass (made by Karen) holds onto the last sunlight of the day.

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(1/13/17) Walking on water . . . a stroll across Lake Nokomis at sundown.


(1/14/17) The rocks in Minnehaha Creek somehow remember their summer colors.

A photo a day keeps the cold weather away. (No it doesn’t.)


A week ago, I made resolution to revive this blog and post observations from time to time. So far, my most profound thought is that it’s been very cold here in the Twin Cities.  Of course, I’m not surprised by this, nor am I freaked out by it.  It hasn’t even been an especially bad cold snap for January in Minnesota.  But a couple of days this week when I decided to go out for a walk, even at the “warmest” part of the day it was downright uncomfortable. The sun just mocks you when it’s 7 degrees and windy at 1:00 in the afternoon. I’ve lived here all my life.  I’m “used to it”.  I don’t want to move to Florida or Arizona or California.  But this morning, I find myself tempted to throw my golf clubs in the car and just start driving south.  I know nothing is more boring to read than a Minnesota native complaining about cold weather in January, but I’m not really writing this for you, I’m writing it for me. Thanks, I’m done now.



My second New Years resolution was to bring back another idea that I’ve tried a couple of times before — to shoot and post one photo each day.  One thing I learned the first time I did this is that I need to keep in mind the reason for doing it. That is, to help me remember one thing from each day by saving a visual representation.  Photos-of-the-day don’t have to be works of art, but they do spur a memory of something or someone. It’s actually a pretty cool assignment, because I’m always searching for a photo.  Occasionally I have a pretty good idea ahead of time, like last night’s picture of friends I knew we’d be visiting.  Other times something just catches my eye, like Thursday’s picture of the little snowman lights hanging in front of the stained glass window that Karen made. Sometimes I take a different route while driving, hoping I’ll notice something interesting, like the wild turkeys near the old Veterans Home on Monday. Other times, I’m motivated to get out of the house just to go get a photo, like on Friday, when I braved the cold to walk to Minnehaha Creek and saw big sheets of ice tilting up out of the water.

This projects reminds me to notice interesting and the beautiful things that are all around in our every day lives.  And . . . it reminds be to be thankful for good friends, family, and neighbors.

Here are my 7 photos for the first week of 2017.


(Sunday, 1/1/17)  What a great way to start the year!  Otto and Svea — the two best kids ever.


(1/2/17) Here are those turkeys I told you about.  They didn’t seem the least bit afraid of me.

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(1/3/17)  One of the best things about our new neighborhood is Hakan Sezer and his coffee shop called “Sovereign Grounds”.  Originally from Turkey, Hakan has been roasting beans and serving up excellent coffee and food at 48th and Chicago in Minneapolis for 22 years.  Plus, he has a playroom full of toys for my grandkids!  Hakan is a a neighborhood treasure.


(1/4/17) January in the kitchen


(1/5/17) These started appearing around our neighborhood a few months ago. I like them and I want one.

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(1/6/17) Minnehaha Creek near the 12th Ave bridge in Minneapolis.


(1/7/17) Our good friends Craig and Judy Jensen had us over for a nice evening.

A gift from Pastor Patrick

I haven’t written a blog post in nearly four years. I have reasons and excuses for the that, but the only audience that cares about them is me, so I’ll spare you. Today is the only day I can do anything about.

Over the past few months, I’d been thinking about trying to write again.  I considered starting a new blog or maybe changing the name of it. Then yesterday,  (New Years Eve) while scrolling mindlessly through my Facebook feed, a post by a man I’ve only met a few times, Pastor Patrick Cabello Hansel of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Minneapolis caught my eye.  What I know of Patrick is that he is a humble, gentle, generous guy, with a deep spirit and a fire in his heart to make the world a better place. He’s an author,  a community leader, a social justice and human rights activist, an artist and promoter of the arts, and the co-pastor (along with his wife, Luisa) of a vibrant, multicultural, multilingual, urban congregation.


Pastor Patrick Cabello Hansel – St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, Minneapolis

But last night, it was his quiet, elegant poem that grabbed me, and reminded me why, about seven years ago, I named my blog “Trying to Pay Attention”.

I haven’t made many New Year’s resolutions in the past, but Patrick’s poem feels like a (big) nudge for me to restart something that I used to enjoy — and the timing of it makes it impossible for me to ignore.  I’m not going to make the mistake of setting arbitrary goals for posting things that I will undoubtedly either stress about or give up on, but I am going to give this blog thing another shot.

So here’s Pastor Patrick’s poem. In it, this line repeats, “I try to pay attention”.  I take it as a reminder for me to start trying harder — to pay attention to myself and to the world around me.

Thank you for this gift, Patrick.  Many of us are entering 2017 with feelings of dismay, apprehension and trepidation. Let’s hope the new year will be a happy one. We all know it’s going to be a memorable one. Let’s all light a candle each day . . . and try to pay attention.

My last poem written in 2016 (unless something pops into my head before midnight!)

– Pastor Patrick Cabello Hansel

On winter mornings
I light a candle
I carry my tea
To the old chair
I sit
I breathe
I try to pay attention
Sometimes I fall asleep
Sometimes the light flickers
And something raw and ugly
Arises from my soul
I try to pay attention
And hear its voice
I sit
I wonder
I breathe the loneliness
And glory we were born into
I await the rising
The first day
The last day
The day that is to come

Happy (first) Mothers Day to a wonderful daughter

Last year on this day, little Svea was preparing for her exit into the world. Emily was beautifully round and ready. The rest of us were excited and so happy about was ahead.

Svea made quite an entrance on the evening of June 2. She’s brightened the world for everyone who has met her, just as her mom did 3 decades ago.




Emily has become the world’s best mom — before, during and after Svea was born. (Kyle, you’re the best dad, but this isn’t your day) She has followed in the footsteps of her own mom and has done everything the right way, the smart way and the loving way. I won’t say I’m amazed, because I knew she would be like this, but I’m thrilled and honored that she’s my daughter.

Happy first Mom’s day, Emily. I love you.

On Boston and a couple of old shirts

A week ago today, without even thinking, I put on an old grey sweatshirt I’ve had since 1996 but have probably not worn for several years. It wasn’t until after hearing about the horror in Boston last Monday that I thought about the shirt I’d worn the night before. It was an inexpensive sweatshirt with the word “BOSTON” printed on it that I’d bought it as a souvenir of my trip to run the Boston Marathon 17 years ago. I got a chill when I realized I hadn’t even remembered that it was marathon weekend until I heard about the bombings the next afternoon.

Yesterday I wore a Twin Cities Marathon shirt to the health club, as I often do. A woman walking by me said, “good to see you guys wearing your shirts”. I looked around and two other people near me had marathon shirts on, too — but they were from other races. I wondered why a stranger would say she was glad to see the shirts. As I watched some of the endless reports about the tragedy on the TV screens while running on the treadmill, it dawned on me that she might have been referring to our shirts as a sign of support for the people at the Boston race.

As I chugged away on the treadmill — 17 years older, 20 pounds heavier and a LOT slower — memories of my big race day flooded back to me. I thought about the bus ride to the little town of Hopkinton, part of the enormous field of runners (almost 40,000) who ran that year to commemorate the 100th anniversary of this unique and historic event. I remembered the exhilaration of the start and the energy created by the river of thousands of runners flowing through the countryside and small towns on the first part of the course. I could picture the huge billboards with old black and white photos from the early races. But most of all, I remember the people, the spectators, all along the course. They were there to cheer on the runners, to be sure, but really they were there to cheer for the community — to cheer for themselves and for each other. There were bands, there were Patriots Day parties, there were kids up in trees, there were people wearing (and painted in) red, white and blue all along the way. All were cheerful, all were proud and all were glad to be part of this American spectacle.

I think an urban marathon is a community event in ways that no other sporting event can match. It’s about so much more than just the athletes. Think about it — you can walk up to the course at any point and (free of charge) literally touch everyone from a world-class runner down to a plodding 6-hour jogger. The race cuts right through neighborhoods and downtown streets — no need to drive to a suburban stadium or buy an expensive ticket at a downtown arena.

Over the past week, the people of Boston have shown what they’re made of. They’ve shown the rest of us how to handle unthinkable tragedy — just like New Town has recently, just like New York City did in 2001, just like Oklahoma City before that, and just like other communities who have suffered severe trauma. None of us know for sure how we will react when and if it’s our turn, but this week we can take strength from watching and listening to the people of Boston. Because they are strong and resilient — even defiant — we believe that we can be, too.

The bombers chose a big event, an important event, an event with easy access, to spread their particular brand of terror. What they didn’t realize is that they chose an event in a city that will not shrink in fear and ultimately will be stronger, not weaker because of their actions. My deepest sympathy to those directly affected last Monday and my thanks to the people of Boston for what you’ve taught us.

I’m wearing my BOSTON sweatshirt as I type this and I’m going to be wearing it a lot for a while. It’s an honor to have had the chance to be a miniscule part of the history of this great event and great city.


twenty three on the twenty third

Thank you to my family.
Thank you to my friends — then and now.
Thank you to Anne S.
Thank you to the Thursday evening meeting at First Universalist.
Thank you to whatever and whomever helped me to give up the fight and finally get better.

May we all gain the wisdom to know the difference between what we change and what we accept.

This is not a day for congratulations for something accomplished, but a day to be grateful for what I’ve received.

Here’s to one more day.

I need a little Svea in my life

SveaI haven’t written a blog post in a year now. No excuses, but it’s time to start doing this again.

Svea June Cedermark, my first grandchild, arrived on the planet Earth 7 months and 19 days ago. I want you to meet her.

Everyone thinks they have the cutest grandchild in the world, but come ON, people, is there really any doubt here?

Emily and Kyle with Svea on the first day of her life

Emily and Kyle with Svea on the first day of her life

I don’t have the words to adequately describe the kind of joy she brings to everyone around her.


I don’t think any grandparent every gets to see their little ones as much as they wish they could, so I can’t complain. But I love every minute with her and can’t wait to see her again in a few days.


IMG_0724Svea is beauty.
Svea is love.
Svea is hope.

When my days seem dark, I look through my photos of her on my computer and her light illuminates my face with happiness.

Thank you, my little Sweetie, for shining your light. I hope some day I can repay you.

See you soon.