Month: October 2025

Nobody’s getting younger

On By scottpetersenIn Exercise, Workout categories1 Comment

I went to my primary care physician for the annual “wellness check.” Everything seems to be okay. I weigh what I did in college (true) but I’m also 2 inches shorter. I blame gravity. Anyway – he looked at me and asked if I exercise. I told him I go to a nearby gym 4 or 5 times a week. And I play golf. He smiled and said (his words) “you’re investing in your future.”

Most mornings I go to our local fitness center between 8:00 and 9:00 a.m. (when I’m not golfing or have other stuff on my plate). My normal protocol varies – 40 minutes on the NuStep or the cross country ski thingee; then an elliptical; some weights; stretching; and a few times around the walking track. I sometimes ramp up the treadmill to 15 degrees and then walk backwards at 1.1 mph (you could sell seats for that). As I reported on March 25, 2017, I have four different workout regimens. I’m usually in the 75 minute range.

What’s interesting is that over the last few years – the “crew” that shows up on these early mornings is pretty much the same. It’s the same guys and gals who toe the line to work out. The guys have melded well such that earlier this year, a dozen of us had lunch at a local restaurant whose exec is also part of the group. And earlier this week, we did the same thing. Our brotherhood is known as “The Lunch Bunch.”

Nobody’s getting younger. But exercise and social interaction provide a strong RX for health. And a group like ours provides inspiration – to show up. . . . .

The Doyle Family

On By scottpetersenIn Doyle familyLeave a comment

[A repeat from December 5, 2013] Do you know someone with the last name “Doyle”?  They may think they’re Irish.  But. . . .

In my post of December 16, 2011, I spoke of the Viking era (790 A.D. – 1066 A.D.).  And I mentioned that the Vikings who raided – and remained behind in Ireland (usually because they had met a young lady) — were given the name “Doyle” which is from the Celtic Ó Dubhghaill, which means “son of the dark (or evil) foreigner.”  This is the name that indigenous Celts called Danish Vikings who started settling in Ireland and Scotland beginning in the 9th Century. 

Researchers in Ireland have distinguished two separate groups among the Viking raiders in Ireland.  The Lochlainn were the Norwegians who were described as “fair.”  The Danair were Danes who were described as “dark” because they wore chain-mail armor.  Beginning in 830 A.D., the Norwegians began sporadic raiding of the British Isles.  In 852 A.D., the Danish Vikings took control of Dublin and founded the Danish Kingdom of Dublin which continued for 300 years until the coming of the Anglo-Normans.  As might be expected over the course of occupation, the Vikings were absorbed into the social, religious and political life of Ireland.  They adopted the language and customs.  And they intermarried.  And it was those Danish Vikings who remained behind when their brethren left who were given the name “Ó Dubhghaill” or “Dubh-Ghaill.”  Or “Doyle” for those who want the translation.  The names McDowall, McDowell, McDuggal, Dowell, and McDougal all have a relationship to the Dubh-Ghaill – Doyle – family.  So you know someone named “Doyle”. . . . ? 

Sudoku

On By scottpetersenIn SudokuLeave a comment

[A real old one from May 16, 2013] The right side of my brain (the creative side) is full of spinning wheels, sparkles, audio and video stimulation and fast-moving light shifts. The left side of my brain (the analytical side) is a wilderness. It is like stepping into an empty auditorium at midnight. Without seats.  Drafty.  Full of cobwebs.  When it comes to math, I have the IQ of a pretzel (my apologies for insulting the pretzel community).  In high school, Miss Delp gave me a charity “D” in algebra because I constantly showed up for help after school (“duhhh how much is two plus three again?”).     My brain today is much the same as it did when I was in high school though on most days counting to 20 doesn’t require removal of my socks and shoes.  I see that as a “major improvement.”   

I was introduced to Sudoku by my brother-in-law who can whiz through the highest level, 30 row mind-benders in minutes.  With his eyes closed.  One hand behind his back. So I tried a level one. And finally I started to get them right. If I succeed, I give a silent fist pump (“Yeahhhhhhh”).   Every once in awhile, I will succeed on a level 2 (cue the “Hallelujah” chorus).  And once – a miraculous level 3. . . .      

I like to think that doing Sudoku is keeping the grey matter from shriveling.  And it’s starting to fill that empty auditorium with folding chairs.  And the vague hum of activity. 

My Grandfathers

On By scottpetersenIn My grandfathersLeave a comment

[New] I am a grandfather. And I love it! Hopefully my granddaughters will have good memories down the line – of “Popi.” But sadly I have no memory of my grandfathers.

My father’s parents were born in Denmark and both died before I was born (1947). My father’s dad (Olaf Kristian Petersen) in 1930 and my dad’s mother (Ellen Marie Larsen) in 1945. And my mother’s father died when I was two. So I never knew him either. I have a special old photo of him holding me. And that’s it. My Grandma Ruth Munson though was a staple in my life – helping generously to feed my stamp and coin collections.

Donna and I are going through things we have accumulated. No plans to move but we’re thinking about that next “chapter.” And I came across the wedding rings of my father’s parents – Olaf and Ellen. They are inscribed “EML to OKP” and “OKP to EML” and both have the date of marriage – “May 16, 1910.” The two rings are 18 carat gold. It occurred to me that I could sell them and put the money into college funds for my granddaughters. And yet. . . .

We had dinner with some friends and I posed the question of “what to do” with such special family things. The group unanimously felt that we should keep them. Carefully mark them and put them away. For someone down the line to decide. I came home – and took off my wedding ring. And put on Olaf’s ring. It fit perfectly. I then put Ellen’s ring on my little finger. I said a prayer. Removed them and carefully marked the box with the rings – and put them away. . . .

The Rear View Mirror

On By scottpetersenIn All past is prologue, The Rear View MirrorLeave a comment

[A new one] The last time I saw my great friend Ox was after I dropped him off at O’Hare Field for his flight back to Dallas. As I drove away, I saw him in the rear view mirror. He stood there – waving. I honked the horn and drove on. A few months later, he died. My last view of Ox was in the rear view mirror. . . .

It is interesting how the universe of our lives is forever recorded in the rear view mirror. My 10 year old birthday party. The junior prom. Off to college. Meeting Donna. Marriage. Our daughter. Granddaughters. It’s all in the rear view mirror – as is yesterday. And each one of us has a rear view mirror – chock full of life that has gone by.

I’ve read that some folks are overly focused on the past – instead of the future. To dwell on past mistakes or failure – and being held back by a belief that the past dictates the future. Then too, reliving achievements and success can lead to complacency – and a reluctance to try new things.

Probably the best counsel we can receive is to acknowledge the past without letting it get in the way. Our past story does not necessarily determine the future. Best to be grateful for each new day. And live to make a difference. Life is like a painting. It’s never finished until that last bit of paint is applied. Mistakes can be covered – and and the good enhanced. Seeking to make life a masterpiece.

It’s okay to look at the rear view mirror – but it’s best to look out the windshield. Today is a brand new day . . . .

Burning Leaves

On By scottpetersenIn Burning leavesLeave a comment

(A fall classic – first posted on September 11, 2016)

For millennia, folks have been burning garbage and “stuff” with relative impunity.  The smoke was often choking.  And sometimes toxic.  Now – thankfully – there are limitations on such activity.  

But. . . . as a kid, I remember my father – and other men in the neighborhood – raking leaves in the fall.  And ushering them out to the street – at the curb – and lighting them up.  Saturdays and Sundays in October were the optimal days for raking, gathering and burning leaves.  And the distinct smell of burning leaves was overpowering.  And – from my recollection – not so unpleasant.  Everyone burned their leaves.  I mean what were families supposed to do with them?  My dad would stand – smoking his pipe – and talking with the other men.  As the leaves burned. . . . .   

I tend to think it would be nice if for a few hours in the fall, everyone could spoon some dead leaves out to the street.  And burn them.  Like the “good old days” (did I really say that?).    I don’t need a “bad for the environment” speech.  Or “think of what it does to your lungs.”  Or “aren’t there regulations?”  Just think about sharing an indelible olfactory moment of an autumn afternoon long ago . . . . .

A Bad Influence

On By scottpetersenIn Martin Guitar, Scott & the Bookends, Steve Miller BandLeave a comment

[An oldie from July 12, 2015] On Friday night, Donna and I went to see the Steve Miller Band at Ravinia.  Oh my socks and shoes.  What a show!  Steve Miller was born in Milwaukee in 1943 and he still warbles like he did in his 1970’s classics.  And he plays a rock solid lead guitar.  Everything I ever dreamed of.

Steve’s family moved to Dallas when he was 7 years old.  He got his big start in music at the age of 12 – when he put a 3 piece band together and started doing gigs.  Wearing a suit and sunglasses.  On Friday nights, his mother would have to drive him to his gig.  And then pick him up.  In 1965, Steve moved from Texas to Chicago to play the Blues.  And he did.  Big time.  But a year or two later, he headed to San Francisco where he formed his iconic band.  And the rest as they say – is history.    

In my post of April 20, 2012 (“Martin O-18“), I suggested that I might well have had a different career path if I had stayed in my group (two girls and me).  It has crossed my mind to get the group back together. While Steve Miller was wowing the crowd with a high decibel version of “Fly Like an Eagle,” I leaned over to Donna and said “He is a very bad influence on me.”  I gave her a toothy smile.   Blinked a few times.  Sensing at once what I was referring to, she turned slowly – and gave me “that look” – and said “don’t quit the day job, Elvis.”  Sigh. . . . . 

Listen to the Crickets. . . . .

On By scottpetersenIn Listen to the Crickets, Slow down and listen to the cricketsLeave a comment

[An oldie from June 26, 2016] My daughter was driving my 4 year old granddaughter Eve – to camp earlier this week. The windows were down.  As they approached a train crossing gate, Eve yelled to Lauren “SLOW DOWN!” Lauren turned and dutifully slowed down.  And stopped the car by the crossing gate.  And looked back at Eve.

Eve said “listen mommy . . . . listen to the crickets.” And through the open windows came a heavenly choir of chirping crickets – or “hot bugs” as I used to call them – singing in the trees.  And Eve said “listen” to the chorus of birds singing.  Lauren said she had really not paid attention.  It took a 4 year old to appreciate this music of nature. 

When I heard this story, my eyes got a bit misty.  I know we are often told to stop and smell the flowers but I’ve never really thought of stopping to listen to the crickets.   There are five traditionally-recognized methods of perception:  taste; touch; smell; sight; and sound.  Five senses.

I love the smell of a campfire.  The taste of spaghetti carbonara. The sight of a golf ball (my golf ball) heading toward the green. And the feel of hot sand under my feet.  But I sometimes forget about slowing down to truly enjoy the gift of our world’s auditory offerings.  Like listening to crickets.

Strom

On By scottpetersenIn Augustana College, Strom Thurmond3 Comments

1968 was a big year for politics. The Presidential election pitted former Vice President Richard Nixon against incumbent VP Hubert Humphrey. Former Alabama Governor George Wallace ran as an independent. My school – Augustana College – hosted a mock political convention in April 1968. A couple political heavyweights were invited – including South Carolina Senator Strom Thurmond (who had run for President as an independent in 1948).

The school borrowed a limo and I was tasked to be Strom’s chauffer since I had a driver’s license. On Friday – at the appointed hour for pickup – I drove to the Rock Island Airport and waited – by the back of the car. Holding the door open. Strom burst out of the gate – said “Hi Son” – and promptly hopped in the front seat. Next to me. “Heck I’m not sittin’ back there.” And he never did during his entire visit. As I started up the car, he immediately began asking me. About me. . . . .

That evening, the faculty hosted a dinner at the President’s home. I drove up to the curb – he opened the door and stepped out. The President and a few others walked down to the car. Strom pointed at me and said something like “good kid. I’d like him to join us for dinner.” And I was invited in – sitting at a large setting – having dinner with Strom. And a bunch of faculty. My mouth sealed shut. . . . .

After dinner, I went to his lodging to drop him off but he asked me to take a walk. It was dark – but we walked. Strom talking and asking about my classes and plans. Suddenly Strom fell face forward onto the ground. I gasped. And immediately he began doing pushups. Scout’s Honor. And he suggested I pump out a few. So I did. Strom – former 82d Airborne major general – wanted to “stay in shape.”

Early on Sunday morning, Strom asked me to drive him to the Confederate Cemetery on the Rock Island Arsenal Island where 1,964 soldiers – former prisoners of war from the Civil War – are buried. The air was cool and the ground wet with dew. Strom – wearing a suit – knelt on the ground. Hands clasped. He prayed for a good five minutes. Alone. No press. No one saw him. But me. When he got up, the knees of his pants were soaked. And we drove off to the airport. A couple weeks later, a letter from Strom arrived. Thanking me for being a “very able chauffeur” and inviting me to visit him in Washington.

Wherever one might be on Strom’s politics, in my opinion the man was the real deal in terms of his character. I wish more of America’s politicians had character . . . . .