As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.
This is a private letter to the Viking so I know you will not read it.
I always think of the Viking in terms of favorite characters in movies and Shakespeare. The Viking is the man in Beowolf who stands upon the shore, as a fire blazes in the background, looking across icy waves, as young maids lament, children shiver, young men draw blankets over them and he says,
Það er lífið. Vissir þú búist við fyrirvara í garði?
It is life. What did you expect, reservations in Eden?
We can each recite, "These are the times which try men's souls", but that is quoting some insufferable whiner. All times are tough and our parents toughed it out, like our grandparents did, like generations of us did, because there is a grit down deep in us that will not give up. It is not in atomic events that we reach down or asteroids, but we reach down in the mundane that destroys the song of others, and we reach down and we get up and move. We put on a smile when others are forlorn. We have the word of encouragement when others have lost hope. We bear the burden which others fail at.
We hope for good things and good things are a fiction in the way the world defines them. Our good things are baby girls and the rest is mystery of the things of the burden. We know very well the positive things we pretend at are a lie, but then so did all of our ancestors and it is how we survived by God's Grace. We are here. We are carried in the way by Christ and we are educated that our rest comes not in the world, but like our Spiritual Family, it resides in a place where Christ says to lay up treasure.
I remember the Met. I was a child then, but I sat on a summer day behind the first base. The Rangers were playing and were worse than the Twins. I have no idea who won, but I do remember my sister backing up on the interstate as she missed the turn of at the directions of my Uncle as Minnesota was different then, and I remember rye bread, sauerkraut and corned beef, and hotdogs and sauerkraut. The rest did not matter for a birthday girl, but it was a very long way to drive to a baseball game for a hotdog.
Like all things in life, my sister who I detest was taking me to a major league game, the only one I have ever been, and my other sister came along, and when my Uncle heard, he invited himself along and his friend, that would be Bun, the farm we go and collect apples off of his tree with the deer. My birthday and it was others who wanted to be there as I went for the experience.
I remember Jack Morris. The walrus with four pitches. Fast ball, curve, slider and the notorious fork ball, which won the Twins the world series, as much as Kirby jumping up and catching that home run from the Braves and Harper and Hrbeck combining for that double out, and that Gagne bluffing with Knobloch to confuse the Atlanta runner.
I played 3rd base as I loved that place most of all. I have never hit a homerun in my life out of the park, but I could hit the ball to get on base. My dad never taught me about sports as he had more important things to do, so I muddled along with a torn shoulder from throwing dirt clods as I did not know better, and I listened to it crackle and felt it get hot often, for fifteen years until it healed. Now why would I go to a doctor as what purpose do they have.
No game will ever replace the Twins in game 6 or 7 in their last world series. From what I have seen, the modern Vikings will never replace Bud Grant's losers, who were the winners in the NFL, because most of that team in the Hall of Fame. Four losses in a Super Bowl now is better than four rings in the modern era, because those Vikings were playing a real game, without gloves, heaters or rewards. They were there because there was no other place to be than playing for Bud Grant.
I would like life to be good. I would that people I know were the Viking instead of here and gone. I appreciate the Viking having a crapper weak and still taking the time to come over and kick me to see if I am still alive or froze to death. It is nice to know there is 1 leper who is around when the other 9 have gotten what they want and are gone. Those are the people who are real. They don't put up monuments to them, but others always take credit for the thousands of them who do the job that needs doing.
It is time to dream now, to go lie to myself about things, put one more foot forward and pretend that tomorrow is good, and not just a place were a few Baby Girl good things will appear to make it all worthwhile.
As I type this, I just caught a glimpse of an old plate Mom has in her corner hutch, and I swear we just got two like it in the thrift store for 20 cents, as TL said they were gold plated. Always a golden lining in every day just waiting. That one waited around two weeks.
Gæti þú heldur að dagar þínir séu betri en þeir eru.
Megi morgunin þín vera betri en í dag.
Því að þú ert ekki einn, því að við erum Víkingurinn.
May you think your days are better than they are.
May your tomorrows be better than your today.
For you are not alone, for we are the Viking.
agtG
