If this blog was a song, it wouldn’t rhyme

It was quite a weather weekend in the Midwest.  South Dakota got off light, as the touchdown near Hugo caused a lot more havoc, and sadly one death.  Once again, if you ever catch me saying “I’ve never seen a tornado in person” with a wistful look in my eye, smack me.

Speaking of smacks, Brookings gets kudos for the week’s unique collision.  The last line of the story gets an extra kudo.

I found a new reason to visit Huron.  Actually, now I have a reason to visit Huron, as I’ve actually only been there once that I can remember, and that’s where I ate.

I hope this gal isn’t running for anything, because I don’t see South Dakotans supporting this idea.

I’d like to add another blog to my list of must clicks.  A friend of mine is an award winning writer for the P&D, and if you like to follow South Dakota sports I’d recommend you check it out.

Over the weekend Kate and I made the trip to visit my mom and step-dad in Veblen.  I was hoping to do a video blog during the trip.  Heck, we even brought two different cameras to do it on and a fresh memory card.  Sadly, due to weather and me having an emotional fit the video never happened.  Sometimes when I’m home I get some powerful waves of sadness from a lot of places.  That condition was exacerbated by visiting my grandparents’ and father’s graves.  My emotions about my father are…complicated.  For most of my grade school, junior high, high school and college life I didn’t really think much about it.  Sometime around the release of Saving Private Ryan and opening up emotionally to someone about heavy matters for the first time, things changed.  Now if I think about it for very long I’m a total wreck.  My dad’s desk is out in my mom’s garage, and I was looking through a few old things that remained.  I found an old ledger and some bank stuff, which wasn’t affecting me.  Then I saw the calendar on the door.  It was for 1979, and that calendar remained taped to that door all these years.  Most of the desk was frozen in that moment, and so was part of me.  It was all I could do not to cry in front of my parents before we left.  I thought time had healed that wound, but now time seems to only be making it worse.  Worse because of all the cracks and peeling paint on my parent’s house.  Worse because my step-dad is 87 and someday I’ll lose another father.  Worse because my mom is 75 and I know someday I’ll be a wreck for weeks or months when she passes.  Worse because every time I go to Veblen I wonder how many more trips I’ll make to the town I grew up in, because once my parents are gone I’ll have no reason to return, and no place to stay if I do.  Worse because I’ve got my own son on the way, and someday he might have to deal with all these feelings, and I don’t wish them on anyone.  I miss my old brain, the one that didn’t think about these things. 

I was going to write some lame smart-ass comment to close this out, but it didn’t seem to fit.  Too often I give the glib response.  I don’t have it in me tonight.  Maybe next time.