“Coming to America”

On By scottpetersenIn Coming to America1 Comment

Axel Larsen was my dad’s mother’s brother. He was born in Denmark on December 12, 1880. Around the year 1905, Axel decided he wanted to come to America. So he packed a couple of suitcases, bid his family adieu and headed on down to the docks of Copenhagen. What happened next is conjecture. But based on my father’s recollection, Axel declared that he wanted to go to “America” and was directed to ships parked in the harbor. America.

Axel boarded a ship and took off. For America. It was a five to six day crossing at that time. And then there was land off in the distance. I suspect Axel was excited, emotional, scared – and dealing with a constellation of emotions as the land drew closer. Soon the ship began moving down a narrowing corridor of water until at last the ship docked. In America. . . .

As Axel gathered his things and debarked the ship – he noticed that people were speaking Spanish. And soon it became apparent that the ship – and he – had landed in South America. Indeed the ship had docked in Buenos Aires – the capital of Argentina. I have no clue as to why – or how – this happened other than a major error on communication of destination.

We know that Axel did not have enough money at the time to immediately set sail for North America. So he got a job – working as a gaucho in a nearby area. He stayed in Argentina until he saved enough to sail – North. . . .

Axel ended up in Chicago and married Anna – who I wrote about on October 15, 2022 (“3 Star Hennessy”). From my earliest days, to me they were Grandma and Grandpa Larsen. Grandpa Larsen passed away in 1969. One regret I have is that I never asked any questions about his special time in South America. The recollections recounted here are based on memories shared by my father. I wish he’d kept a diary. . . . .

Dark Side of the Moon

On By scottpetersenIn Dark Side of the Moon1 Comment

[A repeat from July 19, 2018] One of the most poignant song lyrics comes from Pink Floyd’s classic album “The Dark Side of the Moon.”  Pink Floyd’s “Time” offers the quintessential lament over the irretrievable passage of time:
“Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way. . . . .
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.                            No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.”  See http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJQnzmH6jgc  

The subtle message.  What will I accomplish today?  Will it be of value?  Time wasted?  Have I missed the starting gun?  We all share similar questions about life.   And its unstoppable passing.  We are on this earth for a reason.  We want to have a positive impact.  Live up to our potential.  Provide value.  Make a contribution.  Yet every day, the sun goes down.  The past is prologue.  And the new dawn begins the first day of the rest of your – and my – life.  And so it is.     

Goethe’s challenges us in a couplet from Faust’s “Prelude at the Theatre” (which has hung for years in my office):   “Whatever you can do, or dream you can. . . . . begin it.  Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”   

Burning Leaves

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(An Autumn repeat – 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 . . . . .

My Workbench

On By scottpetersenIn My Workbench, The Rolling WorkbenchLeave a comment

[A repeat from December 7, 2017] I have a workbench in the basement.   I never use it but I’ve got one.  Complete with a vice, two drawers full of tools and two toolboxes sitting on top.  Then there’s a little drawer thingee full of nails and screws.  If I am called on to change a light bulb or hang a picture, I even have a tool belt and a hardhat to wear (you can never be too careful).   We handymen are semper paratis (see post of June 1, 2012).

However tools don’t do much good sitting in the basement gathering dust on my workbench. Soooooo, I keep a lot of stuff in the back of my two cars.  My cars are “rolling workbenches.”  You never know when tools might come in handy.   I have a fire axe, an E.T. (“entrenching tool“), a crowbar, an air pump (I mean what good does that do sitting in the garage?) and a Heinz 57 assortment of hammers, screwdrivers and wrenches in each car. And I have the obligatory jumper cables and a couple of road flares.  I could probably build a house with the stuff in my trunk.  Over the years, these things have been selectively (and once urgently) useful (“gosh Scott, I’m sure glad you have that quarter inch hex wrench with the double bend . . .” ).  For the most part, my rolling workbenches rarely sees the light of day.    But the tools are there.  If I need them in the house.  Or on the road . . . . .

Lucretius

On By scottpetersenIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

[A repeat from 10/31/2015, and a follow up to my last post on “First Aid”]  I was walking to the train station with a retired friend. He mentioned that he is taking a course on Lucretius – the Roman poet and philosopher (99 B.C.-55 B.C.).   His previous course was on Cicero and the one before that on some unpronounceable Roman chap.  My friend went on talking about Lucretius and his publications on the nature of the universe and Epicureanism.  Sounded pretty neat.  I asked what he was taking next semester and he was not sure.  Maybe something on analytics or Euripides.  It was then I stuck my chin out. . . . .

I asked my friend if he had ever had a course on first aid.  He looked at me – “no.”  I asked if he’d ever taken a Heimlich Maneuver, CPR or AED course.  I got the same answer.  He asked me if I had done so and I recounted briefly the year-long course work I took to become a Civil Defense emergency medical responder at Augustana College and my AED review (see June 12, 2014).   I said that over the years, knowledge of first aid has come in handy.  And on a few occasions very handy.

It’s great taking courses on Lucretius and Cicero though my personal bent might involve guitar lessons, drum lessons, bird study or a tutorial on doing card magic.  But lemme say this — acquiring knowledge on the subject of first aid (including AED, Heimlich, CPR) may someday prove to be more valuable than reading De Rerum Natura or Iphigenia at Aulis.  You never know when some fast-moving southbound emergency will raise its ugly head.  And there is no one but you . . . . . . 

First Aid

On By scottpetersenIn First aidLeave a comment

The most useful course I took in high school was a year long tutorial on typing (see August 8, 2018). Being able to type (50 wpm) has come in verrrry handy throughout my career. The most valuable course I took in college was a year-long (two semester) course in first aid.  We started with the American Red Cross beginner course, moved on to the intermediate course, then moved up to advanced.  We concluded the second semester with the Civil Defense Emergency Responder course – an intense immersion – which included clear instruction on a wide variety of serious emergency medical situations.  When I signed up for the course I thought “I’m an Eagle Scout.  This will be a snap.”  Yeah right. It wasn’t. 

Knowledge of first aid can be of great value — and may come in handy. Sometimes very handy.  The first response to any emergency is to call “911” or call medical professional.   But when that’s not possible or help is delayed, knowledge of CPR or the Heimlich Maneuver – or the basics of what to do when confronted with serious bleeding or trauma – could make all the difference in the world. All it takes is that one day – that one moment in time – when everything is going south. Fast. And there is no one but you. . . .

Call a Toe Truck!

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[A repeat from October 3, 2013] You want to know what hurts like you know what? Break a toe.

A few weeks ago, I broke the little toe on my right foot. I walked into an iron stool that Donna has in our bathroom that (AHEM) had not been put back where it belonged. The pain was excruciating. And of course leave it to our schedule to be leaving for Park City, Utah, the next day. Yes – I played golf and went hiking. All with a toe – and later all of my toes – turning the color of spoiled blueberries.   I Googled “broken toe” and learned that there’s not much you can do other than keep them taped together, keep them elevated and put ice on them.  If the bone is sticking through the skin, then a visit to your doctor may be in order.  A broken big toe can be serious as it’s needed for balance.  The others are just there — keeping the others company.    

After three weeks of hobbling around, I did opt to go to the doc who said the bones in my little toe were smooshed.  He confirmed that there’s not much to do other than keep my toes taped together.  That’s a bit of a challenge since my little toe and the one next to it don’t get along all that well . . . . .

My Favorite Day

On By scottpetersenIn My Favorite Day, Winter SolsticeLeave a comment

I had breakfast at Lou Mitchell’s with a client some years ago.   It was winter.  Freezing.  Snowing.   Out of the blue, he looked across the table and asked “Scott – what’s your favorite day in the year?”  Hmmmmmm. . . . . I had to think about it – but not for long.  “Thanksgiving” I said “because I leave work early on Wednesday, Thursday is a family day and I eat until I keel over, I get Friday off – and I still have the weekend to recover.”  My friend nodded solemnly and was silent.  Chewing his English muffin. I looked at him. “Sooooooo Chris” I asked “what is your favorite day?”  He responded immediately “December 22d.” 

Now I am not the brightest light in the box but I do have a handle on the major holidays – and even a few minor ones.  December 22d did not ring a bell.  “Why, pray tell, do you like December 22d?”  I asked.  “Because” Chris said “that is the winter solstice.  When the days start getting longer.”  (See  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winter_solstice ). Ahhhhhh. . . .  

The winter solstice nearly always occurs on December 21 or 22 in the Northern Hemisphere and June 20 or 21 in the Southern Hemisphere.  The sun is at its lowest maximum daily elevation from the Earth. And from that moment, the days begin to lengthen.   There are many festivals and celebrations that surround the winter solstice.  For many of us, the dog days of winter are still ahead. And the days continue to get shorter. I really like Thanksgiving. But December 22d is moving up the charts. . . . .

3 Star Hennessy

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[A repeat from July 18, 2020] My father’s parents were both gone before I was born.  And my mother’s father died when I was 3 years old.  While I have some old photos, I have only one memory of him — sitting on the floor with me as I played with toy cars.  Fortunately, I got to know my mom’s mother – Ruth.   A sweet lady who would save stamps and coins for my collections.  

My dad had an aunt and uncle from Denmark – Anna and Axel Larsen – who had no children. From an early age, for me they were “Grandma” and “Grandpa” Larsen.   They were happy with these monikers.   Grandpa Larsen passed away when I was I was in college and Grandma Larsen went into the Danish “Old People’s Home.” She was about 85. 

One day – while in law school – I went to visit her.  We talked and as I was leaving she asked if the next time I came to visit – if I would bring her a little 3 Star Hennessy cognac.    I said “sure” and left.   I got in the car and thought . . .  and then drove to a liquor store where I bought a half pint of 3 Star Hennessy.  And drove back to the Home.  Now – I couldn’t tell which made her happier – my return visit or the half pint of 3 Star.  Either way, I resolved to pay a visit whenever I could.   And I did.  And each time brought a pint bottle of 3 Star Hennessy.    

When Grandma Larsen passed, I’m sure she licked her lips.  And smiled. . . . .

The Mantel

On By scottpetersenIn Bar Harbor, The MantelLeave a comment

When we moved into our home on Cambridge Lane in Wilmette, the place was pretty much in order. Except for the fireplace – that had bare bricks and swabs of concrete. We were pretty busy at the time (new jobs and a baby) so this eyesore was ignored. Until. . . .

Donna and I flew out to New York to visit her family and then take a drive up north. We went to Ogunquit, Maine and stayed at a motel near the beach. We dined on lobster. More lobster. Oh – and we also had lobster. And that was just breakfast. . . . . And we motored around to see the sights.

There was an antique shop a 6 iron away so we went in and immediately spied a beautiful, wood fireplace mantel. Ornate. Carved. The owner of the shop said it had come from a Victorian mansion in Bar Harbor – that had been torn down. It looked like it might fit our space so I called my father who hustled over to our house to take measurements. And it was perfect. We bought it for sixty bucks and carried the monster back to the motel. And we started thinking about – how the heck do we get it home? We tied it to the roof of our rental car and drove back to Donna’s family home in Rye, NY. And I got on the phone with American Airlines. “I have a mantel piece that I bought. Can I check it through on our flight to Chicago?” The answer was “yes.” Three times. And I scribbled the names of those who had given the thumbs up.

A few days later, we arrived at LaGuardia – suitcases and the mantel wrapped in a blanket. It was about five feet square and a foot deep. I lugged it up to the check in counter and was told – “absolutely not. Your item exceeds the size limit.” I trotted out the names of those who had said “no problem.” And I wouldn’t budge. Finally the exasperated clerk directed me to talk to Mister Puccio who was “over there” (pointing to a chap busily attending to customers). I nudged in – excused myself and said that the lady “back there” wanted his approval for me to put a mantel piece on the plane. He looked up – waved a “go ahead” to the woman I’d been talking to. And she relented – on the grounds that I carry it down to the plane. True. I did. Baggage handlers helped position it in the hold of the plane. We took off and the mantel was first off the plane at O’Hare. And promptly affixed to our fireplace. Bada boom!