Musings

Mother’s Day, 2025 — short ode to a difficult mom

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My mother was a piece of work — brilliant, born in the wrong time, emotionally wounded, and kind. My dad stayed out of the way and supported us with his solid, unwavering presence. But my mother, with her invasive curiosity, almost pathological capacity for empathy, and demand for excellence, even while passing on her sense of inadequacy and deficiency, shaped the outlines of my character. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to color inside those lines. I miss her greatly.

I don’t care who you are or what your feelings about your mother are, your umbilical link to her still remains. If she’s still alive, reach out. If she has passed, shed a quiet tear for all the things you left unsaid. This is her day. You wouldn’t be here without her.

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My dear departed Fred and the LONE DOG ROAD road trip across Minnesota

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It all had to begin someplace, this life of journeying, wandering, and poking my nose down unknown roads.

Well, here is one starting point — my first Minnesota road trip.   Don’t know the year — looks like early to mid-sixties (saddle shoes?).  The car is “Fred,” named after a friend who wrapped his car around a tree and thus wrapped up his life at the same time.  Fred was a ’47 Chev, purchased jointly with my friend, Steven, because neither of us alone had the requisite $20 that the guy was asking for the car.  However, we drove a hard bargain (we couldn’t come up with the full amount) and became Fred’s proud owners for $19.43, which has become the eternal benchmark for my whining about the current price of jeans, hamburgers, and anything else.

But I digress.

Fred had certain limitations and did not live a long life.  His inaugural run was from Minneapolis to Duluth which took us seven hours because Fred couldn’t go over 35 miles per hour.  Something about a leaking head gasket — an automotive malady about which I knew nothing at the time but would learn more about than I ever wanted to know in my subsequent years as the owner of a string of cheap cars.

But Fred endured and made it back.  However, his second trip to Rochester, a mere 80 miles, did not go as well.  Fred gave up the ghost somewhere in the farmlands of southern Minnesota and was sold or given to a gas station owner.  As far as I know, Fred could still be roaming the hills of that countryside today.

My current ride cost more than a legion of Freds and will surely take me successfully on the upcoming LONE DOG ROAD tour through the same roads that Fred and a number of his automotive successors so happily traveled in the intervening years.

Look at the map on my website, mark your nearest location, and come on by.  I’m looking forward to the cornfields and the wheatfields and the lakes and the forests and the ribbons of asphalt and gravel that make up our wonderful northern state.  Once hooked by the road, it never gets out of your system.

So, here’s looking at you, Fred.  You started a journey that has not yet stopped.  And, truth be told, 35 miles per hour is just fine with me.

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