December 24, 2015

Pentoga Road

I'm sitting here this morning alongside the crackling fire, looking at the lighted Christmas tree and thinking it's time to write the annual Christmas letter. But then, what does one write when he lives his life as an open book in a daily blog? 

It occurred to me a short while ago that if anyone wants to know this past year's news, down to the day and almost the minute, all he has to do is sort back through the hundreds of entries that were uploaded. Most are repetitive. After all, how much can one write when referring to a retired man, an ugly bulldog, and a beautiful, loving, caring woman. It's all there, recorded for modern history.

So, this year, I'm going to do something different on this blessed Christmas Eve. 

Let me begin by saying that I'm not sure what I did in my previous existence to deserve this wonderful life I live. Everyday's a vacation day, often Christmas-like, and I'm most grateful to be mature enough to realize and understand that the simple act of getting out of bed each morning and appreciating one's surroundings is a gift, a blessing, a reason to smile. How lucky am I that I get to share it all daily in writing and pictures?

I'm thankful this Christmas Eve for my children. Each son is special and unique to me and though they live hundreds of miles away, I am grateful when they call, write, text, or even drop by for a visit. They have fulfilled my hopes, set many years ago, to be good, loving, husbands and fathers and work hard to make a home for their families. I'm proud of each son, Josh, Luke, Matt, and Andy, in his own way. I love you boys.

And there's the grandbabies... Abigail, Coleman, Ellie, Wyatt, Cody, Emerson, Ivy, and of course, Grady. They are wonderful miracles, each and every one, who will ensure that the Pennington and Milligan bloodlines continue on for years, decades, and centuries, long after we older generations are forgotten. From the oldest, Abigail, whom I wish would quit growing up so fast, down to Ivy, just a few days old, Merry Christmas from Grandma Sargie and me. We love you, babies, each and every one.

We're so grateful for Mom, my eighty-eight-going-on-eighty-nine-going-on-thirty year old matriarch of the family. Coming out swinging after a double by pass operation a year and a half ago, Mom took a licking, but keeps on ticking, both physically and mentally. She's set the highest standard of caring and love, an example to be copied by the four generations of direct descendants who carry her bloodline. That Mom is celebrating Christmas again with us this year is truly a reason to celebrate. Merry Christmas, Mom. We love you.

Ah, the house on Pentoga Road. Sometimes it seems to take on a life of its own. I love this small ninety-six year old house where we lay our heads at night. It's not perfect, but it's warm and cozy and most who visit comment that it simply feels like... well, home. Most of all, the red-roofed structure is a vessel that holds our love, our joys, and even an occasional sorrow. Most importantly, it's our house, our home on Pentoga Road.

To be able to sit in the early morning hours and write, to share one's thoughts through word and picture is a miracle. I've made so many friends over the years, many I don't even know who they are. There are those who live in the US and Canada, many local and in Alaska. Merry Christmas to you.

There are those who live far away. There's Fay, who lives in Australia. Then there's the person who joins me from Portugal and two or three in Russia, a third in France, one in the Ukraine, another in the UK, several in China, and other countries scattered around the globe. I don't know who you are personally, but I see that you join me daily. Thank you. You give me a reason to write, to put my thoughts on paper, to relive the previous day,  and to stay between the lines in the road of life I navigate. Merry Christmas.

I'm grateful to the Mighty Milligan's, one of the last families I know who still gather together to celebrate life. Though they might go days or weeks without seeing each other, their sense of loyalty and love runs strong and unending. I love those people. The Milligans represent the true meaning of Christmas, the birth of our savior and a family who gathers to celebrate.

I'm grateful for Brutus, the bulldog upon whom so much of my activity depends. I'll admit, there are times I'd gladly trade him in on a newer, more sleek model, (it's called a handheld, talking GPS) but Brutus and I have this relationship. I get to use his eyes and hug his big, fat, head in return for my love and companionship. He responds in like and together, we manage to navigate the hills and dales of Pentoga Road and life in general. Merry Christmas, Pup. I love you.

And lastly, there's Sargie. Her eyes drink in her surroundings, she listens without judging, and she gives and loves freely. As I wrote in the beginning, I'm not sure what I did in my previous existence to deserve this life, especially my Sargie, but I am so grateful. Merry Christmas, honey. I love you with all my heart.

Oh, one last thing... do me a favor, would you? Wish those you see in the next day or two a Merry Christmas and give them a big hug. If it offends them, you really don't want to know them anyway. 

So it is, another year has passed. From Sargie and me, we wish all of you a Merry Christmas complete with hugs and well wishes. Please, don't forget to wish Baby Jesus a happy birthday. It's what it's all about.

With Love,

Sargie and Tom

Sargie came home from work on Tuesday with pizza, lots and lots of pizza!

December 23, 2015 - Wednesday

37 degrees/rain/calm winds

Pentoga Road

Talk about lazy. If I become any more inactive, Mom and Sargie will have to flip me over to scrape off the mold. It's a rainy and dreary day, perfect for taking a nap or growing... mold.

Tuesday was a lazy-type day. After completing my morning walk, Mom and I headed to town. We spent the next hour strolling through a store or two and ended our time in the big city with two latte mochas (McDonalds of course. Nothing but class in this family.) to enjoy on our leisurely drive home.

Mom parked her body in the recliner by the wood stove and watched tv. I put Brutus on a leash and we walked another three miles while working on his skills. 

I'm perplexed. The day before yesterday, I almost had to carry him up the two steep hills that lie between the house and the Brule River. Yesterday, the puppy almost pulled me up both hills and was ready to play fetch, his reward for work well done, once we arrived home. Go figure.

Mom said she would love a cross and rose to take home, so I copied off that pattern and made it ready to transfer onto wood. 

I also found a picture of Jesus praying in Gethsemane that I'm going to attempt. I'm not sure how it will turn out, but it will be fun to try.

Mom wrapped some gifts for me and we placed those under the tree. I think I'm ready for Christmas. 

Sargie arrived home and the three of us had a great evening munching pizzas and watching movies on the Hallmark Channel. As with the night before, I bade Mom and Sargie a good night and went to bed around ten. Later, I remember Sargie telling me that the movie had a happy ending and the poor commoner from America ended up marrying the King of a foreign country and they lived happily ever after. 

I have no idea what's on the agenda for today. Since Sargie doesn't have to work and Mom is game for anything, I'll let the ladies make the big decisions. I'm going to try to sneak off to the shop, but even that's in question. Meanwhile, I'll just hang out and sip coffee.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Put a big red bow on the bulldog's belly and he'd be so camouflaged you'd never notice he's there. 

Mom and Brutus - The Love Story Continues

December 22, 2015 - Tuesday

24 degrees/cloudy/calm

Pentoga Road

I think it's safe to say that we've entered into the Christmas mode. The lights are on, the decorations up, there are wrapped packages everywhere, the Hallmark Channel is showing warm, fuzzy, and romantic, nonstop Christmas movies, ala Harlequin Romance novels, and most importantly, Mom's here. It simply doesn't get any better than this.

After completing my usual three-mile stroll and the assigned honey-do tasks Monday morning, I hopped in the car and made my way to the Iron Mountain airport to wait for Mom's arrival.

It seemed odd to go round the curve and see the ski jump hill in Iron Mountain without snow. 

Running early, I sat in the car for a few minutes and tried to picture jumpers from all over the world launching themselves off the giant slide onto nothing but grass. The thought was too sadistic even for me.

On a more positive note, the regular downhill ski trails next door were white with man made snow. No doubt, the owners are expecting a large holiday crowd.

It was easy to understand how skiers would swoosh down the mountain, but it's mighty bare under the lift going up!

I made my way to the airport. Even for Iron Mountain, it was packed.

I know it's no O'Hare International or LAX in Los Angeles, but it's our airport and had it not been built, we'd have no automobiles. Why you ask?  

Henry Ford used to fly in and out of here to visit a local Ford production facility and without Henry Ford, there might not be any cars and we'd all be on horseback or walking, so you can see it's importance. 

Okay, that's a stretch, but still, we love our airport.

If I was going to pull a Yooper heist, it would have been on Monday morning. I think every man, woman, and child, in the entire UP was inside the terminal.

 There had to have been at least forty, maybe fifty, people.

Mom's plane was on time and just like clockwork, Mom came bounding down the steps and into the terminal... and turned the wrong way, walking right into security.

I guess there's the chance that a little, elderly, almost-89 year old, great great grandma from Terre Haute, Indiana, could be the ring leader of an international terrorist's organization, to have traveled to the far north with the sole purpose of destroying one of the area's many fishing or hunting camps.

Have you seen this woman?

Thankfully, one of the TSA security agents saw Mom for what she really is, a loving mom, grandma, great grandma, and great great grandma, and escorted her to the exit and into her little boy's loving arms.

We gathered Mom's luggage and made our way to the Vision Center where we met Sargie, and from there, the three of us enjoyed lunch while catching up on the news. We left Sargie after to work on the eyeballs of America and Mom and I came on home.

Page Two - Grandma/Grandpa/Auntie Sargie/Uncle Tom Pictures

What deep thoughts Ivy is thinking now that she is home?

Isabella's writing her first Santa letter. Hmm, I wonder if she writes better than her mommy, a former college student of mine?

Page Three: Meanwhile, back on Pentoga Road...

It was a story for the ages when Brutus realized Mom had returned. I became a quickly forgotten memory as his favorite person in the world magically pulled a wrapper containing parts of a leftover hamburger bun from her pocket. The connection was complete. Grandma was back in the house.

Sargie was home early last night and we enjoyed grilled brats along with the fixin's for supper. 

The evening was spent watching holiday movies on the Hallmark Channel. Sargie and Mom were transported into the world of romantic comedy and the two were still deep into a meaningful girl-flick when I called it a night and headed upstairs. 

Sargie loved it. As she said this morning, it was almost like an old-fashioned pajama party. Oh gosh, heck, and gee whiz, I missed it and went to bed.

Okay, I'm secure enough in my masculinity to admit I enjoyed watching an earlier movie. Hey, I am that sensitive guy.

I'm not sure what time the ladies came to bed. It was late. I set my Kindle Reader to the talking-book mode and closed my eyes. That's the last thing I remember. 

Sargie opens this morning and this is her last day of work until Saturday. I'm going to go for my walk first thing then Mom and I have some errands to run in town. After that, who knows? 

Well, there's something... I'm thinking of putting my hair up in rollers and donning the big, soft, fluffy, house robe that Sargie bought me a couple of years ago. I'm going to get a big box of tissues to wipe any tears that might fall and get ready for a night of nonstop, romantic, Hallmark Channel action. If there's going to be another pajama party tonight, count me in!

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

All tired out after playing with Grandma. The bulldog fell asleep while chewing a bone.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Mom is checking the happenings on Facebook while Brutus keeps her feet toasty warm.

Grady's ready for Christmas!

December 21, 2015 - Monday
30 degrees/cloudy/calm winds
Pentoga Road

The clock just chimed on the quarter hour. It's a beautiful chime and sounds as though it should originate from the grandfather clock rather than the one on the mantle that Dad built in 1997. 

There's a strange story about that clock. Much like his son in later years, after retiring, Dad built himself a shop in a small building in back of their Florida home. My father enjoyed dabbling in about everything. In his earlier years and when I was a small child, he loved building model planes, especially those of the WWII vintage. He passed that love onto me and at one time, I probably had fifteen or twenty plastic planes hanging from the ceiling in my bedroom.

Though he tried, Dad would be the first to tell you he wasn't handy, especially when it came to mechanics, electricity, or plumbing. All three completely confounded him, but when it came to making something with his hands, Dad wasn't afraid to jump in with both feet.

He made the clock on the mantle and it is truly beautiful. When Mom asked if I wanted it years ago, shortly after Dad's death, I jumped at the opportunity. 

Mom sent the clock to Sargie while I was still in Alaska. Once we set up house, it was one of the first items to find a permanent resting place on Pentoga Road.

But would the clock work? It had been a while since it had kept time or chimed. There was only one way to find out.

For over a year, the clock kept perfect time. I wound it twice a week and we soon grew use to its chimes, every quarter hour, and the melody it played on the hour. In the early morning hours, I would lay in bed in the dark listening for the clock to chime five times, then drag myself from under the covers. It was a beautiful sound that Sargie and I both came to love.

Then suddenly it quit.

I fiddled around with it, found special oil with which to lubricate the gears, leveled and moved the clock around in an attempt to keep the pendulum swinging. Nothing worked. Efforts to find a clock repair person were unsuccessful and it was just recently that I got a name from someone who knows someone who thought he might know a person who fixes mechanical time pieces.

For two years, the clock has sat silent upon Grandma Reinhardt's hutch. Every now and then I'd flick the pendulum in an attempt to restart the thing. Each time, it ticked for a minute, maybe two, then would fall silent.

I was walking through the dining room the day before yesterday when I looked up at the clock. I'm not sure what attracted me to it that particular time. I walk past multiple times each day. 

Sitting nearby was one of Sargie's many porcelain angels. Anyone who visits Pentoga Road has, no doubt, noticed we have angels, lots and lots of angels, each looking down on us, giving their blessings to our every day life.



The angel looked at me. I looked at the angel. I looked at the clock, then again at the angel and said, "Mom's coming for Christmas. Dad made the clock and it sure would be nice if you could lend a hand in making it work again." 

And with that, I set the hands, flicked the pendulum, and walked away.

It was the hourly chime that drew my attention. I walked through the house and stood staring at the clock, waiting for the nearest quarter hour. Sure enough, it chimed and has regularly since.

There's little doubt in my mind that there are angels who watch over us, porcelain or otherwise. When one says such a thing, there are those who laugh, still others who want to recite Scripture and talk of graven images. 

Then there are those of us who simply know. I'm not sure, exactly, what it is we know, but it's a deep knowledge that we're never alone and if one believes, there's a goodness and love from One who is higher that surrounds us all the time. I think the angels are simply an extension of His love.

But I'm not here to pontificate. Believe me, I'm no preacher nor do I pretend to have any knowledge of such. I don't even like to go to church. All I know is that later on today, Mom will arrive on the noon flight to be with us for the holidays. 

Dad is already in the house. I hear him once every fifteen minutes and each hour on the hour.



Sargie had both of us picking them up and putting them down on Sunday. We cleaned, she wrapped presents, did the laundry, and we even shortened our usual Sunday drive. 

Wild turkeys in the neighbor's yard

Still, Sargie and I found time to occasionally dance to a Christmas song blaring over the stereo and once, even attempted a synchronized dance move to a song from Grease. In the end, we laughed and went about our work.

Yes, naive am I!
Playing around, singing with the Sound of Music "sing along."

I took a break during the afternoon to put Brutus through his workout. It was evident he didn't want to be leashed. By the time we were done with our two-mile stroll, he was limping and dragging along with his head down. One would have thought the poor pooch was on his last legs.

We arrived at the drive where I put him through his final commands. His ears perked up and he flew through each with enthusiasm. I praised him, petted his little bulldog head, and set him free. 

Brutus looked up at me, wagged his tail, barked three or four times, and completely forgetting to limp, ran off in search of his ball. Fool me once, shame on you... he won't be fooling me twice.



Yooper Brother Mark and I coached the Packers to victory yesterday afternoon via text messages back and forth. It was ugly, horribly ugly, but a win is a win. We've made the playoffs and now we hope to seal the conference championship in the next two weeks.

News from Andy is that they took Ivy and Mama home yesterday. Now the real work/joy/sleepless nights begin for the young family.

Sargie opens today at the Vision Center. I'm going to walk my three miles then come home and do the last minute honey-do jobs Sargie has suggested before I head out for Iron Mountain. Mom is due in on the noon flight.

From there on, anything goes. With Mom's arrival, our Christmas season will officially begin. Sargie is off from Wednesday through Friday, so there'll be no lack of talking, laughing, and loving on Pentoga Road.

Meanwhile, I'm going to grab a cup of coffee and pause long enough to wind the clock on my way back to the living room.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Santa and Mrs. Claus, aka Yooper Brother Mark and Sheri, arriving from the North Pole, via the Caspian - Gaastra Fire Truck.

December 20, 2015 - Sunday
21 degrees/party cloudy/calm winds
Pentoga Road

I'm running a day late and a dollar short this morning. It's all Sargie's fault.

I was going to get up at 5 AM, my usual time, for the day, sit quietly, contemplate, think deep thoughts, write a bit, and enjoy a good cup of coffee. I started to rise, but she turned over and made me promise I'd come back to bed. It's her day off and the girl loves to snuggle.

What's a guy to do? Occasionally, sacrifices have to be made. So, taking one for the team, I returned to bed, threw an arm over her, closed my eyes thinking how soft and great smelling her hair was, and drifted back into a deep sleep. The next thing I knew, it was 8:30. End of that story.

Saturday was a busy day. I walked my usual three miles in good time, but was surprised when I noticed our local lake wasn't yet frozen over. The wind blew so hard Friday night that even with temperatures near zero, it kept the water open.



I later hiked to one end of the lake and found ice had begun to form in one of the bays.




It's going to be awhile before ice fishing begins. Last year, we'd been fishing for six weeks by this time.



The next order of business was to clean the screen that sits atop the flue of the wood stove. Burning soft wood causes it to clog. I make the climb to do some basic maintenance two or three times each winter.



Amazingly, the tripled layer stainless steel pipe stays quite clean, but oh, that screen.

 

It was a bit slippery on the metal roof. There was just enough snow to make the footing hazardous. I ended up walking on the ridges to keep from slipping.

There are some places and times where Brutus just can't help. This was one of them.

I chugged into town and took pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus. 

The Clauses are driven around the community in a fire truck, announcing to all that they have arrived and ready for the good little girls and boys to gather at the fire station. Parades of munchkins with parents in tow arrive soon after. It reminds me of a living Norman Rockwell painting. 

Small town America is still alive and well in the UP.

Yooper Brother Mark and Sheri are probably the best Santas I've seen in a long time. Mark uses a deep Ho Ho Ho and with a white beard, he looks like Santa.



The perfect Mrs. Claus, Sheri stays at Santa's side, helping with the little ones, always ready to hand out bags of goodies.





I left the Santafest and made my way to the hardware store to purchase some new sanding drums for the Dremel. Everyone's friend, Pegge, was definitely in the Christmas spirit.



I rode over to Iron Mountain yesterday afternoon with Mark and Sheri so I could ride back with Sargie last night. We shopped a bit and it turned out perfect as Sargie had a grocery list. I purchased what we needed while she finished working. We had a nice trip home together.

Last night was spent watching a movie and relaxing. The rest is history.

Mom arrives on the noon flight in Iron Mountain Monday. Sargie has proclaimed that today will be cleaning/wrapping/laundry day on Pentoga Road; well, until 3:30 when the Packers/Raiders game begins.

So with in mind, I'd better finish and get busy running the vacuum sweeper. 

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Ivy
 Andy said she's sleeping well and there's nothing wrong with her appetite.

December 19, 2015 - Saturday 
6 degrees/cloudy/windy
Pentoga Road

I awakened this morning to the sound of the oil furnace running, something that seldom happens. I'm fairly good about waking in the wee hours of the morning and feeding the wood stove, but that wasn't the case last night. 

The heating system I use is fairly efficient. The primary source is the wood stove. It's burns 24/7 pretty much all winter long. The electric fireplace occasionally kicks on during the night when the fire gets low in the wood stove. Though it's electric, it's very efficient, generally costing less than a dollar a day, and that's if it's running overtime. 
Located in the dining room at the foot of the stairs, the fireplace keeps the cold at bay and the big furnace from running. 

Should the wood stove and electric fireplace fail to keep the house at 55 degrees, the furnace takes over. It's a 1970's model and sucks the heating oil, but does a nice job of warming our small home. We only utilize it on very cold nights or when we're away for any period of time. The oil tank was last filled three years ago and the gauge is still registering at the halfway mark. We're doing something right.

Speaking of heating, the wood stove is burping smoke each time I open the door. That means the screen at the very top is becoming clogged. It's not a horrible ordeal to clean that thing, especially since the roof is only eight or ten feet off the ground and the roof is barely slanted. Cleaning it will be one of today's projects.

Speaking of projects, they were few and far between yesterday. We saw a high of 14 degrees and with a thirty mile an hour wind, it was too cold to play outside. I walked my three miles then found myself on the couch covered with a blanket, sipping hot coffee, and researching small barn plans online.

Brutus and I later migrated to the shop where I worked on a flower carving, one that features several zinnias. Mostly, I spent the time sharpening my carving chisels and knives. They were dull, really dull, and felt like they'd been used to chip concrete in the past. 

Speaking of Brutus... his training continues. I'm finding the more I demand, the better he becomes. We might sneak into town today or tomorrow and work on his street/curb skills. I should drive over to Iron Mountain to work with him. They have an actual Main Street where there are people. Someday, maybe. Not today. (Sorry 'bout that... just thinking out loud.)

I worked up a load of wood from the first pile that's in back of the wood shed. It's beginning to shrink, but worry not, both outside sheds are full and there's still last summer's mountain of wood under cover. 

Sargie opened and closed on Friday. It was a ten hour day for her. She closes again tonight, but thankfully, is off Sunday. I've got a load of sheets to wash later, but definitely won't be hanging them outside to dry. I need to run the vacuum over the floors and swipe the tops of the furniture in the living room. Otherwise, I'll take my walk this morning, give Brutus a workout later, and no doubt, end up in the shop. Yooper Brother Mark and Sheri are making their annual appearances as Mr. and Mrs. Santa at the Caspian Fire Hall this afternoon, so I may sneak into town and see if I can sit on Mrs. Santa's knee and give her my wish list. Mr. Santa is much too ugly and scares me.

Failing that, there's always that pesky after-lunch grandpa nap that's almost a necessity this time of the year.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Welcome to the world, Ivy Pennington

December 18, 2015 - Friday

15 degrees/clear/breezy

Pentoga Road

Congratulations to Andy and Jessica on the birth of their daughter, Ivy. Weighing 6 lbs 9 oz, my newest granddaughter was born via cesarian section early Thursday afternoon. Andy said both Mama and baby are doing just fine.

When I wasn't texting or talking with Andy, Thursday was spent doing the usual. I completed my three-mile walk, then tackled this week's laundry. Sargie had put a load in before she left for work, so I continued where she left off. 

I started the heat and was in the shop by late morning. I've been working on a Christmas wall hanging that is one of the most difficult projects I've yet completed.



It required drilling very small holes in any place that needed cutting, fitting the blade through each hole, cutting, removing it, and repeating the process.

One of the most difficult things was using a very small blade. Three were broken before I was completely finished. 



Andy and I texted throughout the afternoon and he sent more pictures as the day went along.

We had a video conference late in the afternoon from the hospital room. I could almost reach out and touch our newest baby girl and wish I could have.

The last I talked with my youngest son, he was heading home from the hospital, going to take a shower, and bound for bed since he got no sleep Wednesday night.

Sargie was home fairly early Thursday night even though she had an appointment with Melinda, her beautician, after work.

My first attempt at detail work. Enlarging the picture, I now see a couple of places I missed.

 Sargie closes tonight so it will be a late one for her. I'm planning to take my walk then move out to the shop. No doubt, Brutus and I will do a training session later in the afternoon.

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

So are the tales of Pentoga Road...