Sophie's Story

   Of all the ailments that seem to occur mostly in the winter, laryngitis is the one I dislike the most. There are all kinds of remedies for stuffed sinuses, coughs and fevers. All of these symptoms are the body's way of removing  foreign invaders so they can't do any more mischief. They will eventually go away on their own even though it doesn't feel like it.    Laryngitis is a whole different thing. It can't be treated. You can suck on all the cough drops in the world, gargle with a sea of salt water, peroxide and other things and in the end maybe be able to speak barely above a whisper. The only thing that truly helps when you lose your voice is to not use it. Unless you are a hermit, it isn't real practical. The only real choice you have is to use your voice as little as possible and hope that eventually it resolves.   If I'm going to lose my voice, it's never on my day off. That would be too easy. My last bout of laryngitis happened on Friday. Fri

   I was doing a little surfing on the Internet on Monday when I noticed a headline stating that January 21st is the most depressing day of the year.   I sat at my desk with a look of amazement on my face. You've got to be kidding. The year is only three weeks old and already some imaginary someones have decreed that Monday is the most depressing day out of the 365 that we have. I think this has gone too far.   It's bad enough that we are being told what the colour of the year is going to be, (emerald) what styles will be popular this spring (don't people decide what's popular?) and what toys our children will want. Now someone or some group wants to dictate mental health issues?    Why 21 January? I could understand if you are dissatisfied with the result of the last presidential election. I could understand if you are someone from the south who has been forced to relocate to the north. I can understand that Mondays may be more depressing than other days, especia

   I have always heard that if you can't think of a coversation starter, talk about the weather. Since I am once again in one of my periodic, "I don't know what to write about" spells, I thought I'd see if it also works for columns.   You would think that living  in Minnesota I would write about the weather more as it tends to change a lot. I think the last time I wrote about the weather was a few years back when I explained to a friend who was in Florida at the time that I was not jealous of him.   I'd better issue a disclaimer here. I happen to like the cold weather in Minnesota. It is much easier to warm up when you are cold, than to cool off if you are hot. I think being raised a German Lutheran has something to do with it to as well. Going about in bad weather is a way to demonstrate stubbornness and a willingness to take on adversity. "Snow birds" or people who travel south for the winter are looked on with suspicion.   It's supposed

   A college friend of mine and I made a bet of the outcome of the last Packers-Vikings football game. Normally I don't gamble, but I couldn't resist (or chose not to resist). He is as much a die hard Vikings fan as I am a die hard Packer fan. I must admit I admire him for that as the Vikings are a difficult team to stay loyal to lately.    We decided after a flurry of emails on game day, that the loser would send the winner some sort of ethnic item. As a precaution since my friend is of Norwegian background, I specifically banned him from sending lutefisk.    After the game was over and the Pack had gained another victory, I decided that I was going to indulge myself and do something I seldom do. I was going to rub it in. To me it is considered bad form to do this. It's bad enough when you teams loses without some jerk jumping around about it.   I'm much more classy than that. Anytime a Viking fan insists that their team can beat the Pack at will, I wait until Gr

   C and I reached a milestone yesterday. It wasn't a huge one. I'm not sure most couples even remember or of celebrate it. Ten years ago yesterday,I met C for the first time.    It was an unseasonably warm January day. It was also my day off. I decided to drive across the river. I liked to walk around the town down by the river and look at some of the shops there. There was an ad in one of the shops for a coffee shop on the edge of the downtown business area. Part of it was inside a complex of caves that were there. It looked interesting.   I went inside and ordered a latte with Irish cream. It was the standard drink I would order whenever I went to a new place. It's hard to screw up. I chatted a little with the tall,dark haired guy that made my drink. I sat down at a table with a book to enjoy it. It was pretty good. I liked the place and made a mental note to come back whenever I was in town.    The following Sunday, my mother was visiting. We had gone to the Conser

   I stared morosely at the pile of Christmas cards on my desk. It happened again. I got all kinds of cards from friends of ours and I failed to respond to a single one. Not one person who was kind enough to send me a Christmas greeting received one from me. I had only mailed out one card. That was to the veterinarian that takes care of Scamp and Colby. Pathetic. Completely pathetic.   It's not like I had any kind of good excuse. No crisis happened. I wasn't beamed up by aliens. I was just busy. I was working.     I had good intentions. I had plenty of cards. I had even found some humorous ones that I wanted to send. The problem is that you can't put a stamp on good intentions and mail them. Intentions are nice, but without action they mean nothing.    My refusal to work on anything relating to Christmas before Thanksgiving is to blame. I had plenty of time in October and November to work on those cards and get them ready. The four weeks between Thanksgiving and Christ

   Lissa and Kevin came to spend Christmas with us. Lissa's mother and I go back a very long way. I have known Lissa all her life.   The last time I saw her she was 16 years old. She and her mother had come to visit C and me. I was impressed with her. She liked to write,she seemed to be doing well in school and it looked like she was going to have a great future.   Then she ran away from home. She went to live with her father, a man she had never met. When she realised that wasn't going to work out, she moved to St Louis to work and maybe go to school. Then she moved to Nevada. While she was going through all these moves, she stayed in touch. I felt bad for her. I had hoped that she would graduate from high school and go to college. I wanted her to continue to write and to maybe for once in her life have a little normality.   Two years ago she called us. She and Kevin had just been married at a drive though wedding chapel. I was furious. She was only 18 years old. Much too