Author: Mark Peacock

Tonight’s story broadcast on WPCA-FM was Number Eleven, Oakwood Lane, a tale about an actor whose best years and roles have passed and the once grand home he lives in alone. The large parties and celebrations and multiple wives and starlets are long gone and now his boyhood friend, a professional photographer, joins him for a weekend of memories, contemplation, martinis, manhattans and lamentations. I am very grateful to WPCA-FM for the monthly broadcast of my stories. The broadcasts are streamed online at 7:00 p.m. CST the first Tuesday of each month and are not archived. The story itself can be found in my paperback, The Second Gathering of The Break Time Stories, available from Amazon.com and your favorite bookstore, as well as in ebook format online.

A writer works from what he knows, spinning experience and what he absorbs into a tale that may or may not reflect some of the author’s life. This story melds details about a once-fabulous house in which I spent some time and a special car in which I did the same. The actor? A composite of many, many people who’ve experienced the heights and pain of Hollywood. I had the opportunity to work with some of the best of those people.

I write this as shafts of setting sunlight spotlight some of the trees that crowd the back of my yard. I need to get in there and thin out some of them, especially because a few are crowding out some red lilacs that deserve to be seen better and admired. Purple lilacs are more common; red ones, less so. For that matter, I also need to do some more wood splitting for the woodlot way in the back. Lots of rain has slowed that task but that same rain has made flowering bushes bloom abundantly, last year’s anemic rhubarb flourish majestically, and even the red flowering vine I was sure had died resurrect itself and point to entwining itself around the white picket fence nearby. We have lettuce for salads galore!

The riding mower quit suddenly enroute down the hill to the lake but I managed to tow it back up to the yard–great fun when it has no one to steer it. I can’t get the thing running again, despite new no-ethanol gas and a can of Sea Foam. That has meant using the old walk-behind mower for our two acres and at least an acre down at the beach. With heat and humidity high, it’s a workout but I’m hoping that enough of those workouts can result in losing the pot belly I’m not proud of.

Amid the work, though, Marina and I did get the pontoon out on the lake twice in the last week. We like it when things on the water are not very busy, which usually means weekdays. We had good experiences both times, especially the second outing when across the lake we were able to pull into the beach of our former cabin neighbors, Nick Anderson and his family. Nick has kept the cabin in the family and is able to get up to the lake from way down in Windom, Minnesota, where he is the County District Attorney. His two sons are able to enjoy the same lake pleasures he did as a boy. It was good to catch up. Rain is forecast for this weekend, the Fourth of July, so the boat parade may be much smaller than usual and the fireworks soggier. We shall see. Maybe there’s a story in that scenario, too.

 

 

My granddaughter, Kaija Wahlquist, married Forrest Major last Saturday. I didn’t perform the wedding but this is what I said:

I am going to preface my wedding toast to you with a bit of Grandfatherly privilege, including what I said at Bjorn and Maisey’s wedding. Kaija,I don’t know if you were listening to the golden words that poured from my tongue or if you were standing there in the wedding party scheming and plotting about how you could be the one to catch Maisey’s bouquet when she threw it off the balcony. As I remember, you did catch the bouquet. Forrest, was that the moment that you knew the jig was up, that your goose was cooked?

What I said to Bjorn and Maisey I’ll share with you and it’s something I got from Harville Hendricks and it’s this: we are somehow instinctively drawn to someone that we feel can meet our deepest real needs. Our task in a marriage is to work to meet our spouse’s real needs. In the process of working to do that, our deepest real needs get taken care of. I like that; it’s win-win and God seems to like win-win. So it makes good sense to really do the job for our partner.

The second thing I’ll say is that there are times when life kicks real hard. And life is not fair. What got Marina and me through those times is that we decided to make Jesus our Lord and then tried to live out what that commitment means. I commend that to you. Further, find a group of people, a congregation, that will help you along life’s journey, a group of people so that when life does kick hard, you know they have your back.

Finally, I encourage you not to take this gathering for granted. You are blessed by having everyone here wishing you well.  Unless there could be a disgruntled old boyfriend or girlfriend here, everyone here is here to wish you the very best and that you will have a wonderful life together and a very successful marriage. You really are blessed; not everyone is as fortunate. When Marina and I got married, we had active opposition. Some of Marina’s friends and some of my friends and some family actively worked after the fact to get us to unravel our marriage, get us to change our minds, change our decision. I was bounced out of the church I grew up in, ex-communicated because I married a divorced woman with two children. But you are greatly blessed by all of us here who wish you the best and who are rooting for you. It’s not something to take for granted.

Now wouldn’t it be wonderful if by some magic or miracle you were able to convene us again 50 years from now and you were able to say to us, “Half a century ago you came together to wish us a wonderful life together and that we would have a hugely successful marriage. And folks, you know what? That has been our story! That is what we’ve lived!” So may that BE your story! May you have an outrageously successful marriage! May God bless the two of you and may God bless your marriage!

And all the people said. . . . AMEN! Mazeltof! Prosit! Salud! Skol!

This week’s newspaper carries the news of the closing of Siren United Methodist Church. I note that because that congregation is where I began my ministry in the United Methodist denomination. It also marks the astonishing and lamentable decline of a church that was vibrant not that many years ago.

I’d served four years as pastor of Interfaith Christian Center. We’d outgrown several locations, finally ending up at the Sheet Metal Workers’ Hall in Maplewood, Minnesota.  My family and I had moved to rural Luck, Wisconsin during my fourth year at Interfaith. It was more than an hour’s commute to Maplewood on Sundays and an hour into White Bear Lake on Wednesday nights. I believe the Holy Spirit told me that it was time for me to leave Interfaith; they needed someone that was a local phone call and not at a distant commute. They disagreed, but I knew. So I resigned.

I had about two weeks to read the Sunday papers when I received a call from Dr. Ed Outlaw, pastor of the Siren United Methodist Church. Ed was a psychologist we’d seen to help deal with one of our children. He had a military reserve meeting on a Sunday and needed a fill-in. I filled in and things went well. The following Sunday Ed had a family emergency, so I was there again. The congregation then asked if I could be the “regular” substitute. And people began to talk: very quickly I had two to three invitations to fill in for each Sunday. Then Bruce Bartel, the District Superintendent, called me. He said, “I’m getting all these calls about you but I don’t know who you are. Can we meet?”

We did meet at Hardy’s in Amery and quickly I found myself appointed to serve Birchwood and Exeland United Methodist churches half-time. The same week I was appointed half-time as Community Education director for the Unity School District. Birchwood, the closer of the two congregations to my home, was an hour and twenty minutes at the fastest one could go (legally). At the introductory meeting of the two congregations, it was evident that they were not happy about my appointment. Marina and I went out to the van to pray. It seemed that the pitch to the two churches was, “Take this guy or you get no one.” I would not be validating them by living in the Exeland parsonage and, because of the distance, they figured they’d never see me. (A year later, Fred Vreeland stood up in the Annual Meeting and said they saw more of me than they’d seen of my predecessors.) God was good, however, and I served nine years–more than any previous pastor in the church’s history.

And it all began at Siren UMC. When I first stepped into the Siren pulpit, I could hear the wooden floors creak in the old sanctuary. Under pastor Steve Ward, the congregation built a new sanctuary 1 1/2 times the size of the old building and some people felt they should have built it double the size. Weekly services saw 100+ attendees and they had a large and vibrant youth group, attributed not just to the Lord but to Steve’s attractive kids that brought in their friends, but also to the youth advisors Gail Ward and Mary Yambrick. When the tornado ripped through Siren and its surrounds, Siren UMC generously headquartered clean-up volunteers and food distribution. Yet, somehow, over perhaps twenty years, things unraveled for Siren UMC. A once-vibrant witness to Jesus the Christ now will be silent.

For people who are supposed to be retired, life just goes whizzing by us. Daily life gets in the way of things we intend to do. Too much of our time lately has been spent with the medical community while we have been dealing with Marina’s heart attack and its aftermath. Marina is coming along well, especially after jettisoning some of her over-medications. So now she no longer suffers from a very uncomfortable full body rash and shortness of breath when we walk with Andy, her Seeing Eye Dog.

It is Spring, however, and things are greening up nicely. As I write this, we experienced 80 degrees today and temperatures are supposed to bounce around in the 70’s, with the upper 40’s at night all week. It’s just me, I know, but I still have the woodstove loaded in case I need some warmth in my office and the Mexican Room that are in our home’s lower walkout level. Our dock is in the lake, facilitated by Tim and Don Eck. I’ve invited Tim to share our dock because the sale of outlots with lake ownership like ours has meant there is no room for another dock. Tim bought another dock section to match ours so now he not only has a say in our shared dock but also room for his hot Malibu ski boat. (Last season he opened the hood of the boat’s engine compartment. If there was a speck of dust on that engine, I couldn’t see it.) I think our arrangement will work out well.

In the “so far, so good” department, the old batteries in the golf cart I use to bring heavy things and people who have difficulty climbing up the hill from the lake to date have reliably gotten us up the hill to home. Not bad for batteries on their last legs!

For family stuff, granddaughter Klara, whom I’ve dubbed The Queen Of The Dean’s List, graduates with the aim of working to generate audiences for some theater group in the Twin Cities. She knows and has done all aspects of theater and is skilled in technology and in using social media. Kaija, another granddaughter who lives outside Boston now, will marry Forrest Major in a Grant, Minnesota wedding barn ceremony two weeks from now. Kaija works in the fashion industry while Forrest is living his dream of working in computer animation. Forrest is a guy with a few corners to him. I discovered that when he grabbed a guitar and jammed with our son, Aaron, who’s a very good guitarist. Forrest easily held his own. They made great sounds together and I knew Forrest would fit right in to our family. Alice intends to get here for Kaija’s wedding; we have not seen Alice since Marina’s hospitalization. Grandson Erik will spend his summer on campus at St.Olaf to work with two professors on some political research and analysis. His brother, Hans, already plays an integral role in a small manufacturer in Osceola and Dresser, Wisconsin. Finally, Kaija’s wedding will see people coming from Denmark, New York, Montana, and New Ulm, Minnesota. It should be great fun.

Something that may not be great fun but full of meaning instead will be my brother’s sharing a celebration of life of his late wife, Dr. Bunny Vreeland. It will be shared later this month via Zoom.

Marina’s book, Gretel and Andy, God’s Gift; The Lives Of Two Seeing Eye Dogs, is selling on Amazon.com, as are my four paperbacks. I received a nice note from Sarah Rodomsky, the very hard working reporter for the Inter County Leader. She’d picked up my Some Mangled Fairy Tales at the Frederic St.Croix Health Clinic pharmacy and gift shop and found herself giggling and laughing as she read it in the clinic waiting room. Nice words from another professional writer carry extra meaning.

In addition to St.Croix Health’s stocking of my mangled fairy tales, Amery’s Pure & Simple also carries those books, while Amery’s Bowman Collective, Luck’s Kenneth Larson, and the Polk County Information Center all have my four short story paperbacks. I write fiction as Mark Hayes Peacock.

Tonight’s WPCA-FM story broadcast was my mangled fairy tale Jack and The Bean Sprouts, a tale that came from an informal survey I took during a Monday chat group session at Good Samaritan Care Center, where I served nine years as one of its chaplains. The poll asked which fairy tale they liked most when they were children. The winner: Jack and the Beanstalk. That HAD to become Jack and the Bean Sprouts. You can find the story in my paperback, The Second Gathering of The Break Time Stories and online in Four More Break Time Stories. Again, I thank WPCA for broadcasting my stories each month.

Marina is recuperating well after a setback since my last blog post. This trip to Regions Hospital in downtown St.Paul, Minnesota lacked the drama of her first trip there: instead of a helicopter trip, this one was made by ambulance at 3 a.m. I see her getting stronger each day and two days ago she was able to walk the length of our block and back. She walks our ramp, a covered walkway that runs the length of our house. We’ve had some heavy Spring snow lately so the covered-but-fresh-air walkway is a blessing. We credit our son, Aaron, for that improvement. While she has been busy improving, there have been many follow-up medical visits and tests and those have absorbed much of our time. I’ve found it all very tiring.

Marina has been writing more of her life story, which I will edit and try to organize. “Edit” really means that I correct spelling and straighten out the very occasional German sentence with the verb at the end. As with her book, Gretel and Andy, God’s Gift; The Lives of Two Seeing Eye Dogs, Marina has a nice way of telling the stories she wants to tell.

As always, I very much appreciate the warm welcomes I’ve been given at Taylors Falls and Wolf Creek United Methodist Churches. March saw me filling in at both congregations. It’s fun for me at both; I know the names of most all the people by now and they know me. Still, they re-invite me.

I write many of these blogs just after the monthly broadcast of my stories on WPCA-FM radio. I can talk about the story broadcast and consider how it comes off after some years in print. But last night was different. Marina had suffered a heart attack on February 28th and had been airlifted from St.Croix Falls to Regions Hospital in downtown St.Paul, Minnesota. That’s a two hour drive for us. Andy, Marina’s Seeing Eye Dog (and one of the authors of the book Gretel and Andy, God’s Gift; The Lives of Two Seeing Eye Dogs)  and I drove and “lived” at Regions for several days, bringing Marina home last night amid one of those wonderful Spring Minnesota/Wisconsin blizzards. We got in the house at 8 p.m.; the story broadcast began at 7 p.m. so I have no idea which story the station chose to broadcast. (Small voice: “They’re all good so it doesn’t matter!”)

Marina is doing well and recuperating quickly. The prognosis is good. We do have a blizzard of pills to deal with and that is something new; we have not been “pill people” and are rarely sick, so this is a new chapter. Our faith in the Lord gets us through everything.

I do have to mention my pleasure in the teamwork and gathering together of our adult children. What a pleasure to see that happen and how wonderful to experience it! Together, they provided us support, both physical and emotional, as well as putting to work investigative time and effort with very good results. They put in time at the hospital with us and had a very effective communications chain to keep everyone in the loop. Bravo, team!

On another subject, I have an initial bit of interest from St.Croix Festival Theater for me to do another story reading evening as a fund raiser for them. We shall see if anything further develops.

You may note that another church service has been added to the month of March. I’ll be doing two services each Sunday on the 16th and 23rd preceded by one 10 a.m. service on this coming Sunday, March 9th. So when people ask me, “How do you like retirement?”. . . .

This week I was able to do some catching up with Peter Kwong, who writes a regular column for the Burnett Sentinel and is a celebrity chef and restaurant consultant. I don’t get to see the Sentinel often but when Peter wrote for the Inter County Leader, his schtick was to play the ignorant immigrant with “so much to learn” about the USA. In the process of playing that out, Peter was able to show us ourselves in revealing ways and in ways we’d probably never thought about. It was brilliant. Over coffee this week at Pure & Simple (they have my “mangled” fairy tale books for sale) Peter caught me up on Chinese New Years. It is the Year of the Snake and Peter’s columns about that observance deal with the legend of the white and green snakes. It’s pretty complicated so it’s taken Peter two weekly columns of explain the whole story. I enjoyed our “catching up” and look forward to more in the near future.

Last night I read two stories at the Amery Area Public Library. Our host was Trevor Richards, who leaves soon to become the director of the library in Bruce, Wisconsin. Turnout was small–five people, including Trevor–but the response was very positive to my reading The Great Experiment and Little Red Hoodie. Those stories can be found in The First Gathering of The Break Time Stories and The Second Gathering of The Break Time Stories. LaMoine MacLaughlin was one of the attendees, which was an honor for me since LaMoine contributed a positive introduction to each of my story collections and took first prize for fiction/short stories from the Wisconsin State Arts and Letters organization and served as Amery’s first Poet Laureate to boot! Years ago LaMoine told me readings by writers never draw much of a crowd and sometimes I’ve found that to be true. In Amery, a 6 p.m. reading doesn’t draw many people, even with good PR and a history of reading stories at the Northern Lakes Center for the Arts, as a fund raiser to help resurrect the old movie theater, and after several years of having my stories broadcast each month on WPCA-FM radio. However, long ago I decided in church that even if only one person showed up that I’d give them the best shot I could and I do the same for anyone who shows up for one of my story readings. Besides, reading my stories aloud is fun–and I know the author.

Living with someone who’s hearing impaired can lead to interesting conversations. Marina and I were talking about where we might go when living where we do no longer is viable.

Me: “Wherever you go, there are always hassles.”

Marina: “Yes, I agree. Wherever you are there are always assholes.”

Um, yeah.

Tonight’s WPCA-FM story was We Gotta Help Bomber! Bomber being the small town local hero who wound up being trapped in town by his big football win against the town’s hated larger rival. There always was someone–or many people–willing to hear yet again Bomber’s story of the big game. Bomber was big hearted but his work history consisted of a series of temporary local jobs so his retirement income was limited and when the out-of-town company bought his apartment building and raised the rent, Bomber faced being homeless. His friends at the coffee shop determined to help him.

We Gotta Help Bomber! is my most recent story and can be found in the Six Short Stories paperback and online in Another Four Short Stories. I agree with St.Paul Pioneer Press book editor/critic Mary Ann Grossmann’s assessment that my characters are interesting and well developed. How could I not? Seriously though, I listen to my readings of stories critically and I’m pretty much able to step back, especially after some time, as in the case of the Bomber story, and give a story some judgment. Some stories are better read on the page than heard, mostly because the dialogue gets complicated or the talking is between too many people and some stories work well both ways. As with some of my other stories, this story ends with a bit of a surprise twist: “As I said, no one ever said Bomber was stupid.”

My in-house Grandma to her Granddaughter: “Do you mean to tell me you bought those jeans new with all those holes?” Granddaughter: “Yes!”

And so this morning I led Grandma’s fingers to the hole in my shirt sleeve with my now scrawny elbow poking through. “Do you think it’s time to toss this shirt?”

It is one of my favorite shirts, but now the collar I had turned is all frayed (again) and the sleeve cuffs I had turned have separations and the right sleeve’s elbow has that nice juicy hole. I’ve looked around and have been unable to find anything close to this shirt. It’s brown with small black squares so it can pair with just about anything. It is flannel so it’s just right for inside in Winter or the shoulder seasons. Lately, I’ve worn it while at home but I’m aware of its condition so I change shirts if I expect to be out in public. Even tossing a sweater over the shirt can’t hide the flaws anymore. I gave myself a new shirt for Christmas this year but it’s a “close but no cigar” shirt. Yes, parting is such sweet sorrow and I’m afraid this old shirt/rag will have to go. Maybe it can live on as a dusting rag? I’m reluctant to find out.