September 22, 2012 – Saturday morning

Pentoga Road

I was awake way too early this morning; around 3:45. I wake up on the weekend or days that I’m off thinking how I don’t want to waste my free hours lying in bed. So, I get up, sip coffee, read the news online, and later, I write. It’s such a well-established routine that I doubt it will ever change.

I think I read somewhere that Herbert Hoover believed in getting twelve hours of sleep nightly? Simply put, that means the man was paid for and slept a solid two years of his four-year term.

When I was young, two, three, and four years old, Mom and Dad surrounded my bed with toys and books so when I awakened in the very early morning hours, I’d remain under my covers and entertain myself until the rest of the family was stirring for the day. Dad didn’t want to sing Sunday school songs at 3 AM. Seems he had no sense of humor what so ever in the wee hours of the morning.

I want to say, “Happy Birthday!” to my oldest grandson, Coleman. I missed his birthday yesterday and need to call him this morning. Grandpa forgot his own birthday a few years ago so don’t feel too bad, Coleman. The card will be in the mail. I love you, little buddy.

Speaking of the mail, it appears that the Alaska Teacher Retirement System managed to lose the check for my first three months of retirement. Running behind in processing applications, it was finally issued several weeks ago retroactive to June… and promptly lost. They cancelled the check yesterday and are reissuing another. At least September’s check and all thereafter will be electronically deposited into my checking account. 

Friday was the kick off of the Fall Women’s Retreat at Fortune Lake Lutheran Camp and it seemed to go quite well. The ladies took over registration, had their own nametags, decorations, and I served as a greeter/gopher most of the day.

Early Registration

I’m amazed how seriously some participants take their room and seating assignments. It seems there’s a bit of rivalry between congregations and some, after attending the same synod conference for (this is no joke) fifty-six years, insisted on staying in a particular room and so forth.

Since I’m the new guy, I was naïve’ of the ways of yearly senor ladies’ church gatherings. But, in the end, it turned out just fine. The chairperson knew the politics and headed off any potential problems before they reached me. Everything turned out well.

I found the beginning of the conference was a microcosm of everyday life. Some attendees were leaders, other’s followers. And just like little children on the playground at recess, a few attempted to boss the others around, telling them in which row to sit, what to do, and how to do it. At one point, I remember standing in the back of the room thinking the only difference between early elementary children and senior conference attendees is sixty, seventy, even eighty years. The social structure is almost identical.

Inside the Chapel during early registration

I thought of Grandma Reinhardt often during the day. Grandma was a leader, an arranger, and when it came to running organizations, enjoyed total control.

Grandma was the President of the Galesburg, Illinois, Women’s Club, back when it enjoyed a certain amount of local social and political clout. She did everything from chair various fundraisers to bake pies to sell at the county fair. She also was appointed to one state board or another and took great pride when her picture occasionally appeared in the local newspaper. Even in her most senior years, Grandma made the social headlines by being elected as Queen of the Valentine’s Day Ball in her senior citizens community. Grandpa was elected king, but he was a sideline spectator who happened to be married to the queen. Grandma’s eyes sparkled in the picture that appeared in the newspaper. Grandpa was merely along for the ride.

Pastor Tracy and I worked for part of Friday afternoon discussing how we might better utilize the camp software. I’ve grown fond of my thirty-something year-old boss, who very well could be my daughter, and enjoy discussing working and management strategies with her. Given enough time, I think she’ll have the office running like clockwork to where her time can best be utilized serving people, not slaving over bookkeeping procedures.

Chris hanging a banner

I thought Friday might be my last day, but Tracy said she’d like me to come in next week. Honestly, I don’t mind the half-day schedule. It allows me to meet and greet, process the mail, answer the phone, take reservations, make a few computer entries, sip some coffee, and listen to Telephone Time. I also enjoy Ruth the cook, Chris the ground and maintenance man, and Pastor Tracy a great deal. I guess I’ll hang around for another week. Why not? It’s good to be the token old guy.

Ruth, our cook

I arrived home last night grateful for the beginning of the weekend. Sargie had supper with her father at the VA Hospital and was home early enough that we enjoyed huge bowls of hot, buttered, popcorn and watched a movie.

My resident optician has to work later today and close tonight. I really want to clean the flue, but since the forecast is for rain/ice pellets/snow, I’ll probably stay off the tin roof. There’s plenty of time to get the chimney cleaned before heavy weather sets in… I hope.

A dead maple tree has fallen at the camp and was offered to me for firewood. I may hop in the Man Truck and go cut and bring it home. Failing that, I might have to read the latest trapping magazine and take a nap. I’m sure such a thing is written somewhere in the Grandpa Handbook of Life.

The sun is coming up. It’s time to greet the day.

And so are the tales from the house on Pentoga Road…