To my Hallmark Addicts

Posted on by kwundrow

Blame it on COVID isolation or a stressful election waiting game or just plain lack of any serious drive to be meaningful, but I needed a break in my writing. Hopefully you will humor me with your editorial comments after reading this attempt to deal with my funk. I will tell you that writing this piece has definitely lifted my spirits, if even just for a while. But first, you need the set-up to this effort.

My wife and for that matter, her brother Robb, are addicted to the Hallmark Channel and especially to its movie marathons at this time of year. For those of you who have never sat through a Hallmark movie, you have my praise for your persistence but also my pity for what you are missing. While my wife can be moved to tears by the movie, I am humored by the predictability of its plot and characters and tend to get pretty sarcastic during the showing. While watching one the other night with Deb, I bragged that I could write an episode myself. How hard could it be? All it needs is a widower, a too cute kid, colorful townsfolks, a big city women with a slick city boyfriend, a lodge being sold, torn down or foreclosed on and by all means, a dog. Conveniently bring them all accidentally together, stir in some seasonal hijinks and décor and then heat the whole story slowly over a cozy fireplace and you have a Hallmark movie. You might even get an Emmy.

The gauntlet was thrown down by Deb and my co-conspirator and Hallmark critic, Shannon, and I was ready to take on the task. What follows is my first draft. Deb is still laughing upstairs. Hopefully you will be too…………..

Hallmark Presents

A screen play:    Ken Wundrow, Wannabe Hallmark Critic

Editing:                Shannon Briese, Wannabe Hallmark Legal Council

Setting: 

Hill Valley, Idaho  A picturesque village located in Trout Valley, surrounded by majestic, Oh my God the Beauty, mountainside and split through the center of town by the Whopper Trout River. People come here for the trout but stay for the lovely year-round craft and bizarre fair. Town motto: If you can’t get it here, you aren’t trying. (The viewer will be left wondering exactly what it is they were hoping to get.)

Characters:        

Joe Hopelesch   Widowed father of Iotta and owner of the soon to be foreclosed Last Chance Motel. Joe is trying desperately to get customers and raise the money needed to restore the motel to its original glory. He just needs $1,000,000 or a Hallmark miracle.

 Iotta Hopelesch   Twelve-year old precocious daughter of Joe. She has made it her mission to find a mate for her dad and will stop at next to nothing in her quest. Most remarkable features, those adorable brown eyes she can roll at will, and does, and that cute little dimple on her freckled cheek.

Chastity Luking   Big city lawyer for firm advising bank that is foreclosing on The Last Chance Motel. Chastity is working a boyfriend but is seemingly desperate and totally lost outside of the city.

Travelar   Joe and Iotta’s lovable beagle and the watchdog for The Last Chance Motel.

 Bert and Bertha Hopelesch   Joe’s parents who currently manage The Last Chance Motel. A lovable pair often caught rough housing in the vacant motel rooms and the original founders of the motel, dating back to the first days of Hill Valley.

Ethel Farmsby   Mayor of Hill Valley and proprietor of the one and only pharmacy, Ethel’s Potions, where one can get anything you need including all the latest town gossip.

George Farmsby   Husband of Ethel and manager of the bank branch being forced to foreclose on The Last Chance Motel by its corporate headquarters, BBA (Big Bank of America) a cruel and greedy National Chain. George would quit but Ethel demands that he works to keep him out of the pharmacy where years ago he mixed up a prescription and Ethel is still dealing with the coverup.

Colorful Townsfolk   No particular function other than to stroll by the motel aimlessly chatting about saving the old gal. They will create a Save the Motel craft sale and depending on when this airs will be carving pumpkins, selling Christmas trees, organizing the town Easter egg hunt, or selling incredibly lame fireworks and organizing the Hill Valley Firecracker Senior Prom.

Plot Synopsis:

Scene 1 opens with Chastity arguing with her boss about being too busy to travel to some podunk town in the middle of nowhere. She has a Christmas Fund Raiser coming up with her boyfriend, Howard Slick, at the swankiest place in LA and suspects this is the night he pops the question and it better be “will you marry me”. She is about to hit the big three oh and the clock is ticking on his chances. The boss, tells her as soon as the date is over she’s on the next bus to Hill Valley because there’s only one road into town, no airport, no train tracks and one bridge that washes out once a week. (Why the motel can’t find customers when they are trapped there for days on end will remain a Hallmark secret)

Scene 2 finds Chastity broken down on the road into Hill Valley with snow starting to fall. She would have known about the fast-developing blizzard but her boss got her the cheapest rental he could find and it had no radio. Just as she was about to wrap a plastic bread wrapper she found under the front seat over her Gucci boots and hike into town, Joe and Iotta come riding by in The Last Chance Motel pickup. Suggesting she’d never survive the walk to Hill Valley in those fancy boots, he offers her a seat in the bed of the pickup where she belligerently takes her seat on a bale of hay. As they drive toward town, Iotta is heard to say, “what up Dad, she might be a keeper and I ought to have a mom.”

Scene 3 finds Joe, Iotta and Chastity at the pharmacy where Ethel is offering Chastity sturdier boots and a Alpaca coat that she had made for the continuous craft bizarre. Chastity wants to know where she can find the owner of The Last Chance Motel so she can get the papers signed and back on her way. She has obviously not bothered to read the sign on the pick-up’s door. In an awkward moment, Joe identifies himself as one in the same. Iotta chuckles and is heard to say “Even so, dad.” At that moment, Bert and Bertha come waltzing in, literally as there is waltz music being played in the street by a traveling accordion player. Bert announces that it’s now a blizzard and that the bridge is out and the road is closed. Taking a look at Chastity, Bertha says “you’re going to need a room, missy.” Chasity replies “well yeah!’

Scene 4 and Chastity has been informed that the only other place to stay, a B&B owned by one of those colorful townsfolk, is booked up for the weekend. When she is concluding her meeting with George from the bank, a very unproductive meeting at best, she asks if there is any other place to stay. “Well, Miss Luking, there’s the motel.” You know, the one you’re foreclosing on.” Chastity, after obvious embarrassment, heads out of the bank, she is hit by a gust of snow and still wearing her Gucci boots, goes down hard, just then Joe, Iotta and Travelar happen by. Travelar, eager to be helpful, leaps onto Chastity and begins licking her snow-covered face. Joe, pulls Travelar back and offers his hand to Chastity. As he pulls her to her feet, their eyes lock and for a moment she sees what she was really here to get. With the waltz music still playing in the background, muffled through the wailing blizzard wind, Iotta is heard to whisper, “sorry mom, but its been a long time and me and Travelar are sick of taking care of old Joe.”

I leave it to you, my fellow Hallmarkers, to finish the script. I expect no less than a tear jerker, Hallmark miracle ending.

Summer’s Gone

Posted on by kwundrow

It would be a gross misstatement to say that this was a typical summer. As I write this blog, we are in the process of wrapping up our last week of cottage time. My wife shares the cottage they inherited from their parents with her two brothers and that means her time share amounts to five weeks every summer. In a normal year we might, at most, use parts of two or three weeks and then embark on more distant trips to all those places we dreamed our retirement would take us. Not so in the summer of COVID-19. All big travel trips had to be put on hold and with many of our local haunts closed or limited, the cottage proved to be the our only get away and this year saw us at the cottage for all of my wife’s five weeks.

I will be the first to say it, thank God for the cottage. We spent hours reading, hiking, kayaking, biking riding and if you are a regular reader, you know there was a lot of time spent watching my grandchildren fish, which by the way, is pure joy. There were evening campfires complete with the typical word games, stories and s’mores. There was the simple pleasure of spotting the lake’s two loons, the eagles as they soared above and the deer that would quietly visit our cottage as we sat stone still observing them. My grandchildren and I even invented several games, Road Golf being their most popular. With Road Golf, we took it so far as to write up the rules and then refine them as the game demanded. Note to my readers, send me a request via email and I’ll send you a copy of the rules. Equipment is minimal, a good rock and a pair of old shoes.

The five weeks spread out across three months flew by and here we are, a few days away from Labor Day and the traditional marking of summer’s end. The cottage will be closed up for the season as soon as my brother-in-laws’ final two weeks are logged. And then it will sit, silently enduring the long winter months and heavy snows of northern Wisconsin. But spring will eventually arrive and the cycle of family visits will start anew. The question will be, how will 2021 compare to 2020? Let’s hope more like the old normal we are all longing for now.

But it is what it is. We all traveled afar, far less. We visited our family and friends less in person and far more virtually. We reinvented our traditions, our birthdays, graduations and family celebrations. We read more and socialized less, we ate in way more than we used to eat out. Like it or not, COVID has changed us. Some of those changes may become permanent while others will have been just for now, just for the pandemic. Summer is not really gone, it actually has another month left according to the calendar. In this year, it might feel like it never existed, especially if we only look at what we didn’t get to do. But, if we can reflect on what we did do, especially those things that were different, well then it might have actually been a great summer.

Patience will see us through this. Paying attention to personal habits and keeping each other safe will make it pass quicker. Summer is ending, but it was never gone. And it will come again. Here’s hoping it will be COVID free next time around and that some of our new traditions and activities will survive the test of time and be part of it.

Happy Labor Day

And there it was…….the Comet Appeared

Posted on by kwundrow

They say a comet is an omen. In ancient times, because of the ‘disturbance’ it caused in the night sky, the omen it suggested was considered to be bad. Comets were thought to be sent by the gods as warnings and were associated with the death of kings and famous people or ironically, plagues. I wish to believe that this new comet in the night sky, named Neowise, is maybe just the opposite. I choose to think it is a sign of the eventual end to this Covid plague and the hope for a vaccine.

Yesterday gave us one of those rare nights, that if you are fortunate enough to be away from the light pollution of the larger cities, you get to witness the millions of stars painting their spectacular light show across the canvas of the night sky. Last night, I was one of those fortunate few. My grandchildren and I are vacationing with my wife and daughter in the northern woods of Wisconsin, far from the city lights. I was excited, since having tried for multiple nights to view the comet back home in Madison, I had yet to spot it in the nighttime sky. This was going to be my best chance.

We have a cottage located in the southeast corner of our lake. With a heavy tree line, we were concerned that we would not be able to see low enough to the horizon where Neowise would be located. The time grew later and the sky grew darker. We ventured down to our pier where we found a crystal-clear sky and no moon. Perfect viewing weather. As we looked to the northwest, we easily spotted the Big Dipper. Our Google search told us that on this night we would locate the comet straight below the lowest star of the Big Dipper, halfway between that bottom star and the horizon. As we peered into the dark sky, we saw our view seemingly blocked by a large stand of trees. But then, as we moved our gaze downward, we saw through an opening in the branches what looked like a smudge of white against the backdrop of the dark sky. Grabbing the binoculars, my daughter exclaimed breathlessly, that she could see it. I and my grandson anxiously awaited our turn. When she finally relinquished the binoculars and our turns came, the comet did not disappoint. We stared in awe at the majesty of Neowise.

The head of the comet, clearly visible through the binoculars, appeared as a soft, fuzzy object and there, spread out in this huge fan shaped cloud of white, was its tail. The comet was so distinctly different and so much larger than anything else in the sky, that it simply grabbed your attention and made it impossible to look away. No wonder that those ancients were so awed and at the same time fearful of a comet’s appearance. We explained to my grandson Jackson what a unique experience viewing this comet afforded him. It would be another forty-two years before another comet, Halley’s, would be back in our skies. I didn’t tell him, but I sincerely doubt that I will be around to see that event.

I have been fortunate to have viewed three comets before this latest one and, more than likely, my last. I saw Comet Kohoutek in 1973, Halley’s comet in 1986, and Hale-Bopp in 1997. Though there are generally comets somewhere in our night skies at any time, most are not visible with the naked eye or do not display much of their tail. The tail is often pointed away from us or is simply too small to see. The three comets I mentioned were visible and at least expected to put on a show. Truthfully, until my viewing last night, they were unimpressive with my meager viewing equipment. That is why last night’s viewing of Neowise has so inspired me. Knowing that I have no known great comets to look forward to, seeing Neowise in all its glory was so important.

Unlike the ancients, I am choosing this comet to be a good omen. I believe that 2020 is destined to go down as the year of the plague and that it will be one we all want to forget. Let’s for a moment believe that the appearance of the comet is telling us of better days ahead. Let’s knowing that we have a forty-two year wait, not waste any of our days and years ahead. If Covid taught us anything, it is to realize the importance of the people around us, of our dependence on each other and of our need to take care of not only ourselves, but of humanity in general. Neowise can be a beacon showing us our way forward and an inspiration to keep going. Just as the comet unwaveringly follows its path, so we need to find our path, the path of caring for the things that matter.

Take some time, grab a pair of binoculars, get away from the confusion of the urban lights and go find the comet. Stare at it. Revel in its majesty. View it against the backdrop of a starry ski and realize how vast the universe is and how very fortunate we all are to have this space, this earth, this planet …… each other. Maybe we can each be our own comet, lighting up our little space and together, we can light up the world. Just as the comet dazzles the night sky, so too can we dazzle the world, our world.

Go be a comet!

Who Doesn’t Love a Great Fish Story

Posted on by kwundrow

I need to start this blog with a disclaimer or two. First, as a grandparent I have every right, wait, duty to brag about my grandkids. Second, this blog is going to include fish stories. My disclaimer is to accurately describe my abilities as a fisherman. They don’t exist, at least not in reality. I am an impatient fisherman and one the fish don’t fear. I can cast with the best of them. I can bait a hook. I just don’t catch anything and it may be due to my impatience. No worm, cast by me, has ever stayed in the water long enough to have ever experienced drowning. That’s if worms actually drown. As soon as I have cast my line, I am reeling it in with the speed of a gazelle fleeing a hungry lion. Even if the fish wanted to try the bait, they couldn’t move fast enough to catch it. I have repeatedly been boated back to shore by the master fisherman who was going to teach me the art of fishing, usually because they do not cater to my pacing in their boat.

That said, my six-year-old grandson, Jackson, decided it was time I teach him to fish. Reluctantly, given my history, I agreed to try but warned him, that for the most part he was going to be on his own. I explained the art of the cast, decided we would buy a dozen night crawlers and some leeches and marched down to our dock. At this point, Jackson decided I could do the baiting and he would reel in the fish. I loved his optimism. If only he knew the skill set of his teacher. Enter Jackson’s three-year-old sister, Adela. She claimed to have no desire to catch fish, but oh how she loved the worms. Within minutes, she was providing me with the next worm while gently stroking and cooing to another as her pet. Lest you think this a fluke and that when we switched bait to leeches, she would be long gone, oh how wrong you are. Leeches fascinated her even more. She wanted to know if we could save one for her to take home as a pet. Mom was an immediate and stern NO!

But let’s get back to the fisherman. With hook baited, the cast was made and almost immediately, a bite. Being sure that he would simply feed the worm to this adventurous fish, I simply said that he needed to give the line a jerk. Fish number one. Nothing to mount on the cottage walls, but he caught it and got it to the dock. Surely beginners luck. Cast number two and three came up empty and I figured he would be retiring soon. And then the surprise. Jackson, though a focused Lego builder, has never shown a great amount of patience, must have got one of his Opa’s genes. For the next half hour, he was undeterred. Cast after cast and several missed catches, Jackson continued to fish with an intensity that was border line scaring me. It dawned on me that if he ever caught a big one, we were going to need to buy a boat and hire a professional fishing guide to satisfy his lust for the sport. And then it happened, Jackson, on his own, somehow developed what the great fisherman describe as ‘the feel’. He caught three or four fish in rapid succession, each one larger than the last. Where he had been catching 4- and 5-inch crappies, he suddenly caught several 6 – 8 inch rock bass. Now he wanted the big stuff. And so, I started him fishing out on the ridge, a fairly long cast beyond the confines of the dock, but he was sure the big ones were just swimming about out there waiting for Jackson to catch them.

Within two casts, he had a 10-inch small mouth bass. Two more casts and a 12-inch bass found his deftly placed hook. It was at this point that I selfishly decided it might be Adela’s choice of bait and my somehow expert mounting of that bait on the hook that was bringing this unbridled success. By this time, out of worms and fishing for the ‘big ones’, we had switched to leeches. As Jackson’s mom, Aunt Kat, and I were relaxing in the boat tied up to the dock, Jackson said he was good to handle things himself. We were clearly distracted when Jackson calmly declares that he’s caught another one that he thinks is a bass and might be a bit bigger. As we turn to look, he is reeling in, with pole bent over, a largemouth bass that is measuring in at an easy 14 inches. Mom was so shocked that she took a 30 second video of his prize without turning on the video. Jackson just offered to catch another. And he did, several more times.

In the course of two days of fishing from the dock, the score sat at Dad, 1, Opa, 0, Aunt Kat, 1, and Jackson 20! No contest. I warned you that Opas have the inherent privilege of being overly proud of their grandchildren. Now you in fact may be a fisherman reading this blog and thinking none of these fish were anything to crow about, but let’s put things in perspective. He’s SIX!, he has potentially the worst fisherman ever as his instructor and he’s coming from a family that not only doesn’t fish; they don’t even eat fish! I would say he has overcome the odds.

I am impressed to say the least and proud enough to pop the buttons on my fishing vest if I had one. And that 6-inch crappie mounted on the wall of the cottage will forever serve as testament to the day Jackson became a fisherman…….. No, I didn’t really mount the fish, but it would have been a great story.

What’s in the Title

Posted on by kwundrow

Tomorrow is Father’s Day and millions of dads will be honored by their children. I will hopefully be one of those receiving at least a few accolades. Before you think me boastful, my daughters will also remind me of my nerdyness and my insufferable habit of telling corny jokes. But, that is in part what dads do. It is expected of them. I for one, am committed to not letting them down.

But let’s look at the true picture. Fathers become fathers via the birth of their children, but not all fathers become dads. A father becomes a dad the day he takes responsibility for the child he now must rear. A dad is the man who weeps with his child when he or she is in pain. A dad is the man, who stands strong when his child needs support. He is their defender and champion. A dad is the person who tells their mother not to worry because their daughter is strong enough to care for herself but secretly worries each time she goes out. He is the protector, the fixer and the knight in shining armor. A dad knows his children are watching him even if he thinks they aren’t looking. In short, he tries to be perfect even though he knows that at times he will stumble.

A father is the easy job. He doesn’t need to be patient. He doesn’t need to be perfect. He just earns the title by a simple act. But a dad is a dad by virtue of all the hard stuff. All the sleepless nights worrying about his daughter on her first, second, third and every date she ever goes on. He teaches his son respect and the meaning of the word no. A dad holds onto their bike and promises not to let go as they learn to ride, and then turns over the keys to his child as a new driver and forgives the moment they scratch the car. A dad must anticipate their needs, react with support and be there every step of the way. A dad celebrates his children’s success and then humbly credits them with their effort. He will wish to be center stage, all the while knowing the stage belongs to his child.

Tomorrow, if he is still alive, hug your dad. Tell him you noticed each time he was there. Thank him for caring, for sharing and for above all, his undying admiration of you. Forgive him his imperfections and honor him for his efforts. And above all, tell him he matters and then show him he is loved.

Happy Dad’s Day…..job well done.