Ivy was celebrating St. Patrick's Day in style on Thursday

March 18, 2016 - Friday

27 degrees/cloudy/calm winds

Pentoga Road

As usual, I was awake too early this morning, around 4 AM, and snuggled next to Sargie, finally decided to get up and greet the day. 

This early morning thing... I don't know if it's a gift or a curse.

I come from a long line of early morning risers. Grandpa Reinhardt, Mom's dad, was incapable of staying in bed and delighted in greeting the day early, long before sunrise, then making sure everyone else was awake. He enjoyed tickling a grandchild's nose or ear, or making a convenient noise to ensure no munchkin slept too late. 

I remember the time he had my sister in tears. Barbara Ann wasn't an early riser. The more she tried to cover her head and tuck into her blankets, the more he tickled an ear or gently pulled her hair. Barb had no sense of early morning humor.

On the other side of the family, Grandpa Pennington had an aversion to staying in bed. One of my best memories of the old man is of him sitting in the early morning dark at the dining room table in their home in northern Minnesota. A steaming cup of coffee filled his stained, white, mug with a burning cigarette dangling between his lips. Grandpa loved listening to the news on WCCO - Minneapolis, Minnesota. I felt quite grown up sitting across the table, sipping milk, and acting like I, too, was interested in world affairs. If he frowned, I frowned. If he grimaced, so did I. Early morning hours at Grandma and Grandpa's was a bonding time for us.

Dad was capable of staying in bed a bit later, but I never knew him to dawdle between the sheets later than 7 AM. 

I, on the other hand, have always been an early riser. Even as a very young child, age two or three, I was greeting the morning well before the daylight hours, singing, babbling stories to anyone who would listen, making jokes, and was known to crawl into bed between Mom and Dad seeking company.

Mom used to say that no one should be that happy so early in the morning. In an attempt to gain a couple of extra hours of sleep, Mom and Dad surrounded my bed with toys and books and told me to stay there until one of them got up. Mom says on any given early morning, they could hear me from their bedroom, warbling and talking to myself. 

Breaking the rules, I occasionally sneaked in beside my sister or if I was feeling emboldened, get into bed between Mom and Dad and poke a finger into Dad's belly button until he awakened. 

Page Two:

Thursday was Dr. Larry day. With the roads icy and slippery, I opted to walk a shorter three-mile route rather than the usual five. Once home, I ran through the shower then hopped in the car and visited my newest BFF, Dr. Larry, the chiropractor.

Larry's one of the good guys who seems more interested in healing a person rather than trapping him into a never-ending series of "adjustments."

The good doctor is young guy, about the age of my sons, who is married and has six children and I find we have a lot in common.

I crawled onto the table, lay face down, and within a few minutes, was walking out of the office. I'm not certain what kind of magic Larry performs, but I wish I'd have bitten the bullet and gone to see him several months ago. Most of my back pain is gone and honestly, I feel ten years younger. The good doctor says I'm good to go and baring any unforeseen circumstances, won't need to see him again for a goodly amount of time. It sure beats gulping pills and going under a knife.

The wet, heavy, snow that has fallen for the past three days has flocked the trees giving the impression that it's closer to Christmas rather than Easter.



I spent some time cleaning the drive by hand on Thursday afternoon. I was playing, really, but it was warm and Brutus wanted to play fetch. I alternated throwing his ball and pushing snow, both good ways to wile away the afternoon hours.



Grady had accidentally knocked Sargie's stone cross off a table on the front porch and broken it last fall. 



I spent time in the shop mixing epoxy and gluing it back together. As of now, it looks good as new.

Sargie was home early last night and we had a quiet evening enjoying leftover soup and watching television. 

She's opening the Vision Center again today. I'm going to do my usual five miles then, after a quick trip to the lumber yard for dowel rods, spend part of the day in the shop making a couple of dibble boards, one for inside seed sowing, the other for larger seeds in the garden. 



I've noticed that with less than perfect sight, my planting has become occasionally haphazard. A seed in every pre-made hole or row should help.

Yooper Brother Mark called last night and asked if we wanted to come to their house tonight for a smelt fry. You betcha!

Time to move on. I tried singing to Sargie earlier when she got up, but the girl ran into the bathroom and quickly turned on the shower. Hmm, Brutus is still asleep. Maybe I'll go tickle his ear... see what kind of early morning stuff he's made out of. Naw, I value my right arm too much. Maybe I'll just get a cup of coffee and listen to the news.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...