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| Fifty feet of memories
I’ve written about illness in my family and my friends, the death of my father and yet this column touches on the most sensitive subject for me because in reality it combines it all. I’m the youngest of the Foreman boys and by the time I came around my parents were well established with a house, a vehicle or two, snow machines, a motorcycle but most important to me was our camp. The building itself wasn’t huge, two bedrooms with a sometimes working bath and then a combined kitchen and living room. The lot was 100X50 with the 50 being the lake front. As a child I loved it and hated it at the same time. I hated it because it kept me out of town for the majority of the summer which meant no summer sports which I might have been good at. I loved our camp for many more reasons. I have a picture of my dad and me sitting on a swing that hung between two trees. I vaguely remember my uncle Jr’s 25 wedding anniversary party; which meant they felt the peace I felt. My birthday is in July so a lot of my parties were there, even the one after my father died where the gift I remember was a colorful towel given to me by another summer resident kid. My grandmother loved our camp. She would swim and float so gracefully that to me she was an angel looking up at the sky. Our little rowboat with the leak was great for keeping the fish alive. Our motor boat towed us along the water while our floating raft gave us something to dive off of. The smell of the pine needles and the chattering of the squirrels are all memories that to this day bring a smile and a lump in my throat at the same time. As a teen the guys would play poker and tell stories around the fire at night. I even lived there once for a few months until it got too cold to swim in the morning.
Financially all good things come to an end I guess. The dock was consistently getting destroyed by the winter ice, the boat sank at the dock and the rowboat rotted out. The camp had no foundation, no well and needed this and that. The decision to sell was the hardest financial choice ever made. I prayed about it and cried about it but at the time wasn’t prepared to work a second or third job to keep it. To this day I count it as the biggest mistake I’ve even made, I didn’t man up and save the fruit of my father’s labor, the peace for my grandmother and just the quiet that we all loved. So now it’s memories for me, stories I won’t tell to my own kids because I don’t want to be asked why it’s gone. I try to provide summer activities like swimming, kayaking and fishing; all in an attempt to build memories because good ones don’t just happen. I’m a helper, (for lack of a better word), with the hopes of being a true humanitarian so financially I doubt I’ll ever be able to buy recreational property. I do hope to buy a camper a little newer then my 72’ pop-up but for now that will do. Endless emotional rambling won’t bring back the camp, my memories are forever and it’s up to me to make more for myself and my family. I do know one thing for sure, if given the chance again to sell that fifty feet of paradise, I wouldn’t. Every year I stop there, walk to the shore, shed a tear and vow that someday…… brian@briankeithforeman.com
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| My Hero, My Friend
Everyone has a hero, or at least someone who influenced them in a positive way. Sometimes our hero’s are people we don’t know like athletes, actors, and sometimes even politicians. If we’re lucky our hero is someone we know; I’m one of the lucky.
We live life thinking about missed opportunities, the “what ifs” and the “if only” or selfishly “what’s in it for me?” Recently I ran into an old friend who just by his presence reminded me that life can ignore the “ifs and buts” and can be cruel. James suffers from Picks disease, or Frontotemporal Dementia, which is quickly robbing him of his future and sadly erasing his past. In this life when something is unknown to us we are frightened of it. Often we are so frightened of the unknown that we avoid it, not helping and just practicing self preservation. Before my friend James dies and he will die from this monster, I wanted to write about what I’ve learned from him in my thirty-seven years on this planet.
In my photo’s I have one of our kindergarten class, I being the smallest with my mop of blonde hair and I swear it’s true, James being the cutest. James being a farm kid meant that he liked school more then most because it was easier then the farm. In my pre-teen years I helped with hay, so I can say that even in that short time I knew farming wasn’t for me. James although quiet and somewhat shy, was always ahead in maturity. I don’t know if it was the responsibilities of the farm or just a gift. Specifically there are a few moments that left a permanent mark on my life.
In sixth grade James and his family traveled to Texas to view President Johnson’s library. While they were taking in the sites in comes President Carter. To most sixth graders this is not a big deal, to James it was the biggest. While telling the story to our class he shed tears of pride of having seen the leader of the free world. Some kids laughed, some sat without interest, I shed a tear knowing that anything that made James cry must have been a big deal.
One of the most foolish things I ever did came the next year, seventh grade. As James was getting off the bus one slushy morning; I nailed him upside the head with a well packed slush ball, hard as a rock and twice as dangerous. I ran off laughing not thinking I did anything wrong, after all it was winter. James met me in the hall and picked me up and slammed me into the lockers. First this was recognition from me that man is this kid strong and second, oh boy what’s he going to do? He said through gritted teeth, “Don’t you ever embarrass me again.” It wasn’t, “that hurt”, or “could’ve taken and eye out”, it was don’t embarrass me. Respect is all I would ever have for James from that point on.
In high school the focus for most was fashion from parachute pants for guys and big hair for the ladies. For James it was a button down shirt and just an overall clean appearance. Weekends meant parties for me, and so did at long last our graduation. At our graduation blast James showed up with a Pepsi in one hand and a handshake and pat on the back for all and most importantly to share in our celebration. I don’t recall him ever being at any other parties. There are pictures of that day, us fools with our beer and James with his Pepsi; if anyone has one with James down on one knee in the center of the group, please send one my way.
James went on to be very successful in his education, career and as a leader in his community. Even when faced with adversity whether it being judged for being too young in his elected position or for his portrayal in the news media; James always handled it with class. That is before the Picks kicked in. Look back, you’ll know it’s true.
I’m as guilty as anyone who when we heard he had a terminal illness I shied away from any contact, shameful. The stories spoke of him not remembering things, needing help with self-control and just not being the man we all knew. When I saw him the other day I was lost on what to say or do. As always it was James with the class, he said, “Hi Brian”, I said “Hi Jimmy”, and then I went home and cried.
Too often we write off people because they are not what they once were. I’m ashamed of myself for not being a friend. In what ever time James has left I will be a friend to the man who gained my respect by showing me my lack of respect for him. With Pepsi in hand I guarantee you will see me soon my hero, my friend.
| | Grandma's Addiction
My grandmother Lahti would sit each morning with a cup of tea in one hand and a dunker of some sort or the other in the other hand. She did this every day, sometimes many times a day. Was this an addiction to caffeine or just a habit; most likely a little bit of both.
Caffeine is everywhere and in a lot of different things. About 85-95% of Americans consume some caffeine in one form or another, daily. The benefit we associate with caffeine in our coffee or tea is the eye-opening jolt it gives us that drags us out of the last remnants of sleep. The problem is that after the boost wears off, you become tired again. So what do you do? You drink more.
My caffeine of choice is Diet Coke, even on the coldest winter day. Lately, I’ve added tea into the mix; I’ve never acquired the taste for coffee. To compare the three: cola has 50mg of caffeine per 12 ounce can; coffee 100mg per six ounce cup (try finding a 6 ounce cup at the gas station); and tea is 70mg per six ounce cup, a little more realistic cup size for tea. Another common place for caffeine to present itself is in chocolate bars, which Grandma liked to break off squares of Hershey Bars and dip them in peanut butter. I never heard her claim that she needed her tea or candy bar but many do to stave off the side effects of withdrawal.
When you’re a regular user, which half of all Americans are, you’re using about 300mg a day. The most common immediate withdrawal is the crash of energy that hits you. This is when most people, including me, will drink more. This, in turn, keeps your body on a roller coaster of ups and downs; not a good thing. The most dubious withdrawal is the head thumping headache. This happens when you haven’t had your “normal” amount of caffeine and simply drinking something doesn’t always help. This is the main reason why those who try to quit fail.
At least once a year I quit. I suffer through the headaches and when I’m clear, I do sleep better, wake easier and in general feel better. The problem I run into is the lack of caffeine-free drinks in restaurants. I won’t order milk, it’s always warm and everything else is too sweet from lemonade to punch. So my reprieve from caffeine is short lived with the longest absence being five months, but during that time I can see the benefits of not having it in your system.
As with anything chemical, if you want to quit, consult your doctor first. As for me I’ll keep sipping my tea and chugging my Diet Coke and once in a great while I’ll buy a Hershey Bar and dip a square in some peanut butter and smile.
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