It does me good with this late spring to be out distributing catalogs in the hopes that promotion will make up for the lateness of the spring. Today I stopped at 57 places and got rid of 900-some catalogs. I was rebuffed only four times, which is really remarkable considering I am basically a door-to-door solicitor. Even so, I don't take rejection kindly and it was all I could to not to plan the demise of those who said sent me away by saying, no, nobody here is interested in your gardening catalog.
I arranged to be in Detroit Lakes for the noon hour, which allowed me my most guilty pleasure: A trip through the Kentucky Fried Chicken Buffet. A neighbor came and joined me for a good talk about crop prices, sub-soil moisture and the Twins.
In and out, in and out all day in a raw wind. Tonight, my neck is sore. Must be getting old. I feel drafts.
The highlight of the whole day was when I stopped at a nursing home to put a stack of catalogs in the staff lounge. Out in the hall keeping watch were three lively ladies who were full of vinegar. One clearly had Alzheimer's. She was telling me to behave! I said, yes I will behave! to which she added, emphatically, "You have great strength!"
I throughly enjoyed the originality of the thought. How many times does a complete stranger tell you that you have great strength?
Take what you can get.
In sad news, a local boy made good, Stephen Gabrielsen, passed away this week. Although my father and his siblings grew up here in the old neighborhood with "Gabe," I only met him once, at my Uncle Bob's funeral. Gabe and Bob were classmates. Gabe generously agreed to drive up from the Cities to Lake Park, MN to make the music at Uncle Bob's funeral really, really something. Chill inducing. In particular, he used the organ to create a version of "A Mighty Fortress" like none I ever hope to hear again this side of the grave. (Or, in my case, the flower bed where my ashes will be spread). Then Gabe moved over to the piano and led the congregation in a version of "Jesus Loves Me." Uncle Bob couldn't sing or play a lick, but he would have been proud as punch to know that his childhood buddy Gabe made the music at his funeral grand.