One of the annual spectacles up in the Pacific Northwest is available by heading north in April to see the amazing display of colors at one of the several tulip farms.

I mean, it’s just crazy beautiful. Such that, as breath-taking as the photos may be, they pale in comparison to what you’ll actually see with you own two eyes.

I’ve probably made the trek up that way a couple dozen times in my life. But if you’re a first-timer or it’s just been a while since you were last up in Mount Vernon, I thought I’d offer a quick collection of “how to” tips that’ll save you a ton of money.

TIP #1–Never Go on a Weekend

That’s a no-brainer for anyone who’s ever visited during Tulip season. So, what did I do? Yes, a couple of Saturdays ago, I got a 7am start which put me at the main Mount Vernon exit around 8:30. Even though the farms don’t open until 9am, there was still a line of cars backed up on the freeway–not because of the volume of traffic, but because the traffic light at the bottom of the exit was short-cycling. However, if you wait until any later in the day, you’ll find all three exits to Mount Vernon backed up on the freeway.

TIP #2–Pack Your Patience

Regardless of your best-laid plans, you’re going to be waiting. In traffic, or at the tulip farm to take a turn to grab a photo, or the gift shop or one of the food booths.

TIP #3–Wear Comfortable Shoes

You’ll be walking. And standing. And then, walking again. And if it rained within a couple of days of your visit, there will be mud. The day I was there, by the time I got to Roozengarde Farm, they were already rerouting people to park in their overflow lot. It’s free to park, but we were at least a football field away from the actual tulip fields.

TIP #4–Bring Your Own Food & Drink

During the non-tulip season, it would only take 15 minutes or so to get to a farm once you left the freeway. If you wait too long into the day, that could easily become two hours. Then, once you’ve arrived, if you wanted a hot dog or something to drink, the line could be 100 people deep.

TIP #5–Focus On The Flowers

I’ve done both types of visits. The “saunter around” style, where you’re in no hurry and you eat up a couple of hours; or, then there’s my personal favorite, the “ninja style”, where you keep moving, snap those photos as quickly as possible and one hour later, you’ve achieved your objective, and you get the heck out of Dodge. If it’s your first time or you just don’t get there that often, fine, take your time. But the bottom line truly is–we’re all just looking for photographic proof that we were there.

TIP #6–Choose A Sunny Day

The flowers are impressive no matter what the weather and we can’t always control what goes on. But if you check the forecast and you see some sunny, mid-week days coming up, pick one of those and you’ll send me a thank you tulip bouquet.

TIP #7–Check Your Tires Before You Leave

Oh, there won’t be any special challenges to your tires. But I had a right rear tire with a slow leak that I had to keep refilling. I knew I eventually had to do something about it. So, on that fateful Tulip Saturday, I did get up there before the tulip farm opened, and there just so happened to be a Les Schwab tire store on the way. So, I thought I would stop by and ask if they could take a look at the tire. They found a nail in it, didn’t have any matching tires and highly recommended replacing all four since they were originals on a 4-year-old car. Add siping and an alignment they also recommended and the next thing you know, my tulip pre-game show cost me $871.

I was thinking, “Heck, for that kind of money, I could have flown to Holland and seen the tulips there!” But I checked airfares and the lowest flight I could find to the Netherlands was $958, which would make roundtrip $1716. I had only spent $871, so I saved $845! Plus, I didn’t have to pay for hotels or food, so when you break it down like that, it was quite a deal.

Yes, it was windy. But my hair got that way when I found out how much the tires cost!

And that’s how you save a lot of money to see the tulips.

Tim Hunter

The gesture is described several ways. “Random Acts of Kindness” or maybe, “Paying it Forward.”

In any case, I was in a really good mood on this sun-drenched Saturday morning, looking forward to driving up to the tulip fields in Mount Vernon. On the way, I stopped by my nearest Starbucks drive-thru and was getting a serious dose of caffeine for the long drive.

I was one car away from placing my order and couldn’t help but notice that the driver in front of me had one of those personalized license plates that told the world he was a serious Washington State University alum, or “Coug”, as they’re known around these parts.

For some reason, I thought to myself, “I should buy this guy’s drink!” So, when it was my turn to order, the barista greeted me with the usual, “Good morning, what can I get started for you?” I responded with, “Before I order, I’d like to buy the guy’s drink in the car in front of me. I’m a University of Washington Husky and you can tell him that I’m just doing it in pursuit of world peace.”

She laughed and said, “Sure, I can do that.”

I ordered my Grande Americano, no room, and watched as the guy pulled up to the window for his order. I saw the barista explaining the situation, there was a pause, and then the guy waved his arm in the air, to say thanks!

It felt great! It would be an act of kindness that he would tell others about, how a Husky bought him a drink at Starbucks just because he was a Coug.

I watched as the barista handed him his drink. And then another drink. And a bag that I found out later from the receipt on my app that contained a pastry and an oatmeal.

It was a bit more than I had planned to spend on the gesture. But, then again, it was a reminder to us all that world peace will not come cheap.

Tim Hunter

I’m spending a week down in Southern California, hanging with mom in the house I grew up in.

It seems like most of the people I know don’t have that opportunity, but here I am, in the only home I ever knew growing up. A modest rambler in a new housing tract they were building in Torrance, California, in the early 1950s. Back when mid-century was new!  Early pictures can be found in our photo books showing oil pumping platforms in the background.

I remember playing trucks with the neighborhood kids, digging in the dirt, finding dried clumps of oil, and thinking, “We’re rich!” Just like the Clampetts!

There was a drive-through dairy store back in those early days, with a bunch of fenced cows on site producing milk. We’d go there and buy a couple of cartons of milk and return to our home, which to me at that age, seemed like a mansion.

Another nearby destination we frequented a lot was the Del Amo Mall. Oh, yeah, this was a cool place to go, that had all kinds of stores including what they call “anchor stores”, like J.C. Penney and even a Sears, “where America shops.”

J.C. Penney played a role in our lives because that’s where mom went to work back when women working outside the home was starting to catch on. Being a one-car family, I remember dad piling up the kids so that we could pick her up when she got off at 9:30pm.

But Sears, Roebuck and Company is what I’d like to put the spotlight on this week.

It was where we went for practically everything. Back in the day, you’d walk in the door and regardless of what time of day it was, the wafting aroma of popcorn greeted you and it was just too irresistible to turn down. After all, it was FREE! (at least, at first)

Sears was our destination for Back to School shopping because, of course, they had those “tough skin” jeans with the extra layer on the knee for kids who tended to tear holes in them. Funny how half a century later, people are embarrassed being seen in jeans that aren’t torn to shreds.

That same Del Amo parking lot was also where I rode my bike to back in 1966, because we heard some politicians were visiting there. They took turns speaking on the back of a flatbed truck with not more than 50 people watching. One was a guy named Valentine running for congress, the other, an actor hoping to be governor. Yep, I actually saw Ronald Reagan give a campaign speech on the back of a flatbed truck, although I don’t remember much about it.

While I mowed lawns to make money in my early teens, my first real job was at Sears. Because of my involvement at high school, I was invited to join their “Teen Fashion Board”, which meant they had my photo posted at the store and a couple of times, I’d have to model “back to school” fashions at a show. It also allowed me to get a couple of hours here and there, as a “floater.” I worked in all the various departments, which gave me countless opportunities to say to customers, “I don’t know. Let me see if I can find someone who does.”

My favorite department was tools, otherwise known as Division 9. After all, Sears was the home of Craftsman tools, the ones with the lifetime guarantee. I remember one guy bringing in a ratchet he had bought back in 1947 that broke and we gladly gave him a new one. Eventually, I became a regular in tools and was there when Sears introduced their new-fangled computerized cash registers. I got so good on those, I could input everything that needed to go in and then would have to wait for the machine to catch up.

The other day, I drove past the mall to go to the nearest grocery store and I just had to stop in and take a look at that place where I had spent so much time as I grew up. Of course, Sears went out of business years ago and those buildings have just sat there, deteriorating.

This was the auto store, where you’d come for new tires or have a mechanic look at your car if your dad wasn’t as mechanically-minded as mine was.

Then there’s the garden center, where I’d occasionally find myself working as a floater. I’d come in, not knowing which department I’d be assigned to, and then would find myself in nice clothes loading bags of steer manure into a car.

Maybe if I had continued living down here in Southern California, I would have eventually become numb to driving by what was once “THE place to be” and seeing it so run down. I couldn’t help but notice the parking lot looked like the set of “The Walking Dead” after the zombies had taken over.

Then again, those good old days I’m talking about are fifty-plus years ago, so I guess the mall’s dilapidated condition shouldn’t really surprise me. But man, when that place was in its prime, the parking lot was packed, the mall stores were bustling and when you set foot inside Sears, the smell of popcorn just made you feel alive!

I think I’ll go microwave some more memories.

Tim Hunter

I usually post something in my little corner of the Internet on Mondays, but this week was a high holy day for yours truly and a bit on the busy side.

There are several passion projects that I look forward to taking on every year. Around Christmas, I put together a collection of holiday tunes and comedy bits in something I call HO HO BROTHER. I started doing them in 2000, so that means this year, I’ll be assembling HO HO BROTHER 24. It started out as a CD that I gave to family and a few friends. But of course, these days it’s a digital file you can download or just stream from my website. 70-non-stop minutes of Christmas cheer. One of those songs I always include is a parody song I produce with local singer Alana Baxter. My God, we’ve done 11 of them and to be completely transparent, with Alana taking a job in Japan for a couple of years, we actually recorded the 2024 song while she was in town last December. I haven’t produced it yet but will starting putting it together once November hits. Here’s the complete collection of Alana’s songs, if you’d like to get into the holiday spirit now.

The other passion project I hope to continue as long as I keep breathing is my National Gullible Day newscast, which I put together for its debut on April 1st every year. The 2024 edition was my 9th annual attempt at giving you something I hope cracks you up. Ask me which one is my favorite and I couldn’t answer. Each one is a time capsule of that particular year and features different friends at various stages of their life. Some of the people in those videos are no longer with us.

Much like my HO HO BROTHER holiday collection, I begin rounding up material–topics, photos, videos, etc.–for the following year’s edition as soon as the current one hits the Internet. I’ve already stashed five things for next year. That folder builds up and then, when March rolls around and I have to get serious about being silly again, I start going through resources, write scripts and hit up friends to get involved.

Just in the off chance you missed any of it this year, let’s start with the promo I put together for the 2024 show.

And now, you’re just a click away from experiencing this year’s musterpiece. And I meant that.

Something new this year–a fancy new website, which allows you to view all of the previous years with a click.

It’s how I have fun.

Once again, I fired up the greenscreen, shot my parts with my iPhone and then started putting things together. It’s just something I truly love doing, so I simply had to do it!

One more time.

Tim Hunter

I have already ranted about 2024 and what a tough year it’s been so far. Maybe that was like poking the bear. You can read the lowlights here.

This past week brought news that two more of my long-time friends had moved on to the great beyond.

The first I heard about was Ted Garlatz, Jr., or “Teddy” as I knew him back in my KOMO radio days. His dad, Ted Garlatz, was the “fly guy”, the in-plane traffic reporter for KOMO Country when I first started working as Larry Nelson’s producer. Over time, his son Teddy, would occasionally fill in when Ted wanted a day off and then, after his dad had a stroke in 1983, “Junior” became the full-time traffic reporter.

We were never close but we did stay in touch loosely over the years through Facebook. Then, last year, as we approached the holiday season, pictures of him in a hospital gown began showing up in his feed. Being younger than me, I just assumed he had some getting-older health problems, as we all encounter. But the pictures just kept coming. It was that awkward, “Well, I could ask what’s going on, but maybe I missed an earlier post.”  So, I didn’t ask.

Then, on January 17th, his son posted this on his Facebook page:

How can my college days possibly be 50 years ago?

I remember back when I was growing up, the whole concept of World War II felt like it was a part of ancient history. The Big Band music we often heard in my parents’ home–heck, that was from way back in the 1940’s! Every now and then, Dad would share tales from his time serving during World War II as a Navy Seabee in New Guinea. Somehow, I developed this strange fascination about how a crazed madman could get an entire country to follow him down such a destructive path.

I was growing up as a child of the 1960s, which meant that World War II–which to me seemed like a lifetime ago– was only 20 years prior.

As I mulled over which topic to tackle this week, I was thinking back to my dorm days at the University of Washington. This time of year, I would have been mid-way through my first school year. Doing the math, I realized that my first year as a U-Dub Husky was 50 years ago!

Five decades! Half a century! And yet, so much of those special times feels like yesterday. Once I start reminiscing about those days, a flood of memories gets turned loose. Head to my photo albums and I get to enjoy seeing some of those faces I shared my life with for three years.

I came up from California to the U.W. with my buddy, Tank. We were best friends at Torrance High School in southern California and, after graduation, his parents had planned to retire in the Pacific Northwest, and he was going to attend “the U-Dub.” He asked, “Tim, why don’t you join me?”

I applied with my powerful 3.2 grade point average and somehow got in. I knew nothing about the school or the campus, but after visiting his parents’ Hood Canal place the summer before my senior year of high school, I fell seriously in love with Washington state. We both applied to get a shared dorm room in the Terry-Lander building and managed to snag a room on the 5th floor of Terry Hall.

I guess I should be proud of the fact that I outlived the dorm building. It has since been torn down and a brand-new Terry Hall now stands on that site. But while the buildings were demolished, all the memories that were created during my three years there are very much still alive.

Tank and I roomed together for a while, then my buddy Steve and I paired up. Steve was great in that he had a girlfriend in the dorms, so he was rarely in the room. It was like having a single room, which I eventually got.

Oh, they were small, little abodes, but big enough to store my stuff and let me customize it into my own little mini-adult pad.

During those years, I met people from all over–locals who stayed in town, that New Yorker grad student name Howard; Ed “the Rookie” Ramotowski from Spokane; Neil the cool dude from the Bay Area who would often play his guitar in the echos of the stairwell; Bill, the brainiac down the hall with his own Moog Synthesizer; Mike, the Native American who was on a free ride and used his college money for the best pot, the biggest Speakerlab speakers and who was having a blast for the first two quarters of his freshman year until he failed out. He never went to class.

After the girl back home decided to go on a different path, I found myself single and in the dorm dating circles. I got to know some pretty great people, some of whom I’m still in touch with after all these years.

I worked in the kitchen at the dorms. I started out as a milk runner (replacing those 5-gallon boxes of milk when they ran out), then became a fry cook, flipping upwards of 1200 pancakes during the course of my 3-hour shift. Working the front lines like that gave me the chance to see everyone who came through the dining hall, and so I got to know quite a lot of the residents. Eventually, I went for the higher paying job which involved sweeping and mopping up in the kitchen at the end of the day.

There were special events–well, special by dorm standards–like “Steak Night”, when the thought-they-were-cool crowd would dress up and make it a high-class event in the dorm dining room. We had dances with local bands like Rail. I remember walking up “the Ave” for the U-District Street Fair and seeing another local band performing, with a couple of girls heading up the group. Those were the early days of Ann and Nancy Wilson and their group, Heart.

Now, say to me “Up the Ave” and that triggers memories of the Great American Food and Beverage Company, a restaurant now long-gone. However, during my dorm days, I believe it was on Tuesdays, they offered 10-cent schooners. A glass of beer for 10-cents! What a great country! Towards the end of my college run, there was a tavern called “The Hogsbreath” and on Fridays, they offered $1 pitchers! What an even greater country!

Across the road from the dorm, in a funky little building, there was a pizza joint called Morning Town, where the folks battling the munchies would go most nights, more for the convenience than the great food. But if you were up for a walk down the hill and a tougher walk back up to the dorms, you could make a jaunt to the Northlake Tavern, for the seriously greasy pizza. Another place I mysteriously managed to outlast.

Yeah, you get me started talking about those days and the stories begin to pour out. Ideally, someday I’d like to write a screenplay to help preserve some of the crazier things that happened for future generations. Yeah, while the frat and sorority crowds may knock “the dormies”, I really am glad that I went that route. It was a place where you could experience adulthood on training wheels, start figuring out life and how it works, and how really easy it is to mess up bigtime.  I remember after one month of living with Tank and both of us having out-of-state girlfriends, we managed to rack up a $114 long-distance phone bill. It’s how you learn.

I’m really looking forward to the day that science finally develops a time machine. When they do, I know that one of my first stops is going to be the 5th floor of Terry Hall at the University of Washington, just so I can say hi to the old gang just one more time.

Tim Hunter

Well, here we are again. It’s the beginning of a New Year when we all tell ourselves it’s going to get better. We’re going to lose weight, maybe even pull off a “Dry January”, learn from our missteps from last year, and conquer the 366 days that lie ahead. (Yes, it’s a Leap Year)

I’m not a big fan of dwelling on the past, but rather, I like to focus on those things happening around us now and what’s to come in the future. However, during the first couple of days of January, I will allow myself to take a quick look back on the previous year to do a high-level assessment.

I would have to say, overall, 2023 was a pretty good year. Of course, that’s only because 2020-2022 were three incredibly long pandemic years and after those, any year would look good.

It was not a very good year for some companies. Rite Aid, Bed, Bath & Beyond, WeWork, Tuesday Morning–they all went into the history books.

We said goodbye to some incredible people in 2023. Sure, that happens every year, but last year included a bunch of names who, you mention them, and I’d have a story or two on each to pass along. Here’s the list: Tina Turner, Mathew Perry, Tony Bennett, Jerry Springer, Gordon Lightfoot, Paul Ruebens, Andre Braugher, Ryan O’Neal, Norman Lear, Richard Moll, Richard Roundtree, Suzanne Somers, Michael Gambon, Roger Whittaker, Gary Wright, Jimmy Buffett, Bob Barker, Sinead O’Connor, Alan Arkin, Pat Robertson, Jerry Springer, Harry Belafonte, Dame Edna, Bobby Caldwell, Lance Reddick, Burt Bacharach, Lisa Loring, Cindy Williams, David Crosby, Gina Lollobrigida, Lisa Marie Presley, Adam Rich, Jeff Beck, Steve Pool and not to be left out of this blog, just last week, Tommy Smothers.

Each of those people passed in and out of my life, one way or the other. Plucking the name Lisa Loring out–she was Wednesday on the original “Addams Family” TV series, back in the days when I could not watch enough sitcoms. Steve Pool I had just recently blogged about. He was KOMO Channel 4’s weather guy for four decades and I was lucky enough to get to work with him. What a class act!

And here’s a connection for you: Long ago, shortly after the earth cooled, I was this high-energy kid running around the neighborhood, not really paying attention to the older neighbors. But one of the guys down the street was a man by the name of Ted Misenheimer, who taught at Redondo Beach high school. While he was a science teacher, he also helped organize a singing group which included a couple of brothers–Tom & Dick Smothers. A few years back, when Mr. Misenheimer passed, Dick showed up to say a few words about the teacher that helped launch them towards their remarkable career.

All of those names (and I’m probably forgetting several) made quite an impact on all of our lives, mine in particular. From those schmaltzy Roger Whittaker songs (which my late aunt Jan dearly loved) to the iconic dance scene Cindy Williams shared with Ron Howard in “American Graffiti” which makes me tear up every time I see it. It reminds me of a similar situation I went through as I headed off to college.

2023 was a year filled with special anniversaries. It was the 60th anniversary of both the March on Washington and the assassination of President Kennedy. (by the way, Rob Reiner has done a stellar podcast on that topic that pretty much explains who was behind it) 50 years ago, hip hop was first performed at a party in the Bronx.

There were also some important personal anniversaries. It had been half-a-decade since I graduated from Torrance High School, which set the stage for an amazing 50th Reunion this past September. Kudos to the organizers–Andy, Debbie & Dave, and a bunch of other THS Tartars–who put together one of the best possible reunions anyone could have imagined.

It’s hard to wrap my brain around the fact that 2023 marked the 20th anniversary of the end of the Murdock, Hunter & Alice Show. It happened on December 17th, 2003, General Manager Mark Kaye came backstage at 9am and asked if we were done with the on-air part of our live Christmas Show at the Village Theater in Issaquah. We said, “Yes” and he replied, “We’re not going to renew your contract,” which is, of course radio-eeze for, “You’re fired.”

Originally, I had thought I should commemorate the 20th anniversary by writing in great detail all that went on in that final year. For radio nerds, it would be interesting, but it would also tear back the curtain and share a lot of the negative stuff that happened towards the end. The bulk of my 19-year adventure at KLSY was good and I plan to cherish all those positive memories as long as the Ginko keeps working.

Coincidently, 2023 ended up being the year I finally hung up my headphones and gave up radio. The frustrating part was that it wasn’t because of my lack of ability or desire. I originally went back on the air in 2018 thanks to that perfect opportunity at KRKO and to prove to myself that I could still do it. After five years of proving it, I was done. Financially, it just didn’t make sense. It basically was an expensive hobby and by letting that go, it gave me back 60 hours a month and made everything else I did so much easier. Seriously, there are now days when I can be done with everything that needs to be done by noon! That’s my idea of semi-retired.

But I’m not completely done talking about radio. The other day, an email was forwarded my way from KRKO, from a local writer. He wants to interview me and do a feature story on me for an upcoming issue of the University of Washington Alumni Magazine. Well, that’s cool! If we know each other well, you’ll probably be getting a copy of it for Christmas next year.

I have a collection of yearly traditions that I like to do, and 2023 included all of them. I was once again an auctioneer for the Norwegian Ladies Chorus‘s annual event, as well as the Our Redeemers‘ yearly auction. I was also Ken Carson‘s sidekick and reader for the big Bothell Booster‘s Auction at Nardoland.

When May 17th rolled around, I once again found myself on Market Street in Ballard, announcing the annual Syttende Mai Parade (Norwegian Constitution Day), in July, I emceed the Lutefisk Eating Contest at Ballard Seafoodfest, and I was honored in December to lead the annual Julebord celebration at the Seattle Golf Club for the local chapter of Norcham.

As a grad and longtime fan of the University of Washington, it was the most special football season in the school’s history as they went 13-0 for the first time. With the New Year’s Sugar Bowl falling in 2024, that means 2023 will always be their biggest undefeated season ever. I had bought a 4-pack of tickets at our church auction for their very first game because I just felt this was going to be a special year and I wanted to be able to say I was at least one of their games that year.

Oh, there were some lows along the way. 2023 was also the year I got the diagnosis of prostate cancer. Right now, I’m doing “active surveillance”, which means annual checkups and keeping an eye on that small amount of the slowest-growing type of cancer down there in the Underworld.

But everybody’s got their “stuff” (keeping it clean in case mom reads this) to deal with. You just need to savor the highs and battle through the lows and enjoy this one-way trip we call life as much as you can. Yeah, I’d give 2023 a B+ and, yes, if I may be honest, 2024 is a bit intimidating–but bring it on!

And with that one final glimpse into the rear-view, it’s on to this year’s adventure. Good luck to all of us!

Tim Hunter

I think back to my high school days and a ton of memories begin competing with each other. Meeting new lifelong friends, playing in the band and on the basketball team, “going steady” with the girl I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Because of my involvement with student government, I was invited to be a member of the Sears Teen Fashion Board (with that kind of judgement, perhaps the reason they went out of business) and got my first real paying job at Sears, working in various departments–Men’s, Boy’s, Outdoor Living and my favorite, Division 9: Hardware.

During those high school years, I bought my first car, applied to colleges, did fun things with the gang on Friday nights. Yeah, there was a lot going on during that special time of my life. And, you may recall, when you were a freshman, the seniors looked so old.  But then, when you became a senior, the freshmen looked too young to even be in high school.

So, it’s not surprising I never got to know one particular freshman who attended Torrance High School with me as I made my way through my senior year: a fellow by the name of Michael McGovern.

Yeah, that’s Michael on the far left, looking just thrilled he was getting his picture taken. Just another Torrance High Tartar who was going to head out into the world to seek his fame and fortune.

I’ll be honest. I had never heard of the guy until earlier this year when his passing was posting on a Torrance High Facebook page I follow. Just 65 years old. In the write up, he was described as an artist. I Google’d him, found his website (which has since been taken down) and discovered all kinds of interesting tidbits about Mr. McGovern’s career. Fortunately, I had copied down his bio to help give you a better picture of how he spent his post-THS days:

A California native, Michael McGovern received his art education at El Camino Junior College and the UCLA Art Extension program. Subsequent studies continued in Germany, where he enjoyed a three year apprenticeship with Old Masters Instructor, Herr Alfred Herztfield. Traveling and studying extensively throughout Europe during this period, Michael focused in particular on landscape painting.Michael moved to New England in 1984, establishing a successful career as artist, illustrator, and portrait painter. His celebrated work as portraitist includes paintings of Walter Cronkite, Leonard Bernstein, and Henry Kissinger. As well as illustrating over 200 romance novels, Michael also painted and exhibited in galleries throughout the United States.Though Michael’s style is often described as photo-realistic, its minute detail never compromises the overall mood or “gestalt,” of the work. A master of realistic illusion, Michael displays his technical virtuosity in all of his chosen subjects. Whether it is a deserted beach at sunrise, a solemn sunset over an expanse of marshland or a winter’s evening in the mountains of New England, Michael creates in each painting a visual harmony which deeply echoes the viewer’s own awareness. Employing a subtle and sophisticated palette, Michael pays particular attention to the element of light in his compositions. The resulting works resonate with an atmosphere of peace, dignity and profound tranquility.In 2000, Michael’s painting “Laurance and Mary’s Place” was accepted and made the top 200 in the prestigious National Arts for the Parks Exhibition, Jackson, WY. Michael’s work has been broadly exhibited and hangs in private and corporate collections nationwide.

Pretty cool. So, he was an accomplished artist whose works hang in galleries and decorate art auction websites.  I wanted to see what some of his works looked like and, the afore-mentioned “collections nationwide” offered up some pretty impressive works:

But that was just the opening act.

Taking a look at his Facebook page (which IS still up) it seems that in later years, he focused on a personal favorite form of art–intensely detailed portraits of celebrities.

He called Gal Gadot a muse. His celebrity portraits contained amazing detail and it was something he loved to do, but it was hardly a new passion. In fact, years before, a portrait he sketched of a young Stevie Nicks earned him the opportunity to actually sit and chat with her for a couple of hours. 

This is the drawing that made that rendezvous happen. Stevie even signed it for him.

He would recall, “I was 19 she was 29 we met on Valentine’s Day. I gave her a long stem red rose and my portrait of her!”

And the more I snooped around, the more impressive tidbits about Michael I found. His caption for this photo:

“Back in the days when I played slide guitar for Linda Ronstadt.”

For Pete’s sake, Michael, what didn’t you do?

His Facebook page also included this heartfelt note from his older sister, Molly:

It is with the heaviest of hearts that I inform his friends that Mike unexpectedly passed away this morning, on July 1, 2023. Mike was my baby brother and I miss him so very much. Mom and I feel so very blessed that we moved back to the farm in April 2019 and had the undeniable pleasure of spending the last 4+ years with Mike. His humor was infectious and sometimes annoying!!! , but he always made us laugh whenever we needed it. Mom and I will miss him yelling out his kitchen window, “no hot water” (not sure which one, but it was a line from a movie!!), or as he turned corners on the riding lawn mower yelling out loudly “YEEEAAAHHHH”!!!

Mike was so gifted with his art and somehow had the ability to capture people’s souls when he painted them. I always envyed Mike and his ability to touch the lives of those he painted for, because they had a loved one that they wanted captured in time.

Mike’s beloved cat, Georgy Girl, will remain here on the farm and mom and I will take care of her. I can tell she’s confused and lost, but I found the stuffed animal she loved that Mike got her and she’s snuggled up with that toy.

One beautiful moment that happened late this afternoon as mom and I were sitting in our living room, I looked across the road and saw a beautiful deer running through the fields without a care in the world. I said to mom, “look it’s Mike sending us a message that he is OK and at peace.” It brought us a little bit of comfort on this very difficult day.

I never knew Michael and no doubt walked by him countless times on the way to class, wondering how he and his friends could be old enough to be in high school. When it comes to art, I just know what I like and what I don’t like.  With my brief introduction to Michael’s works, I know I would have been a huge fan. It would have been cool to congratulate a fellow Torrance High School Tartar on his achievements and body of work. And what makes it even more amazing, from a freshman!

Who the frick knew?

Tim Hunter

I had reached the home stretch of my vacation back to the Midwest.

I started out the day with one more waffle breakfast at the hotel I had made my headquarters during my stay in Aberdeen and while I wasn’t scheduled to meet my cousins for dinner in Minneapolis until 5:30pm, I wanted to get the 5-hour drive over with so I could do a little exploring around town.

I put the finishing touches on the Morning Show Prep I write every morning for Radio Online, submitted it to the mothership in Texas, then packed up and hit the road. It was brisk–in the low 30s–but no moisture or anything else to make it a tricky drive.

It was a beautiful send off. As I drove towards the sunrise, the state of South Dakota really put on a show for me.

And while difficult to snap pictures while driving, I managed to grab this picture of a hot air balloon off in the distance. I wonder if it belonged to the Great Oz himself.

If so, he was off by a couple of states.

I wanted to make good time, but I also realized that I just never knew if I was going to get back this way again anytime soon. So, when inspiration hit, I would pull over and take a photo.

I actually passed this park and turned around to capture these wild turkeys hanging out.

One sign along the road mentioned a “Mansion of Mystery.” I pulled off the highway, saw it and still don’t know what the big deal was. Perhaps that was the mystery.

But to be honest, it wasn’t much of a mansion.

I took this picture of Montevideo City Hall in Minnesota. Yeah, that’s also the name of the capital of Uruguay.

And then, continued on towards Minneapolis, driving towards the ever-changing sky.

I arrived at my hotel, checked in and then headed over to the nearby Mall of America. That really is a monster of a place. I just had to take the obligatory selfie outside of L.L. Bean.

Then, I wandered around the mall and made my Fitbit earn its keep. Take THAT, you annoying step-counter.

So many stores…

Then, it was time to meet up with my cousins, Pamela, her husband Dave, and my other cousin, Corinne, at the Twin City Grill. A really great spot, should you find yourself in the area. I highly recommend the Walleye Sandwich. Best fish sandwich ever!

One of my South Dakota stories from long ago. Pamela and Corinne’s dad, James, took me and my dad out fishing on his boat out on the Missouri River when I was around 5 years old. They gave me a little kiddie rod, probably just to keep me busy and I ended up hooking and landing a Northern Pike on that thing. I’m pretty convinced God gives everyone one of those experiences, so you then develop a lifelong love of fishing. At least, that’s how it worked in my case.

Sadly, my cousins lost their father in an auto accident when they weren’t even ten years old, so their memories of him are limited and blurry. Fortunately, our family kept some home movies from our South Dakota visits where my mom’s brother, James, was seen goofing around and hanging out with his wife, Yvonne.
Shortly after I returned from my trip, we got word that their mom had passed away.

Back at the Mall of the America, we wandered around and chatted a bit more after dinner, and then hugged and said our goodbyes. I went back to my hotel, conked out for a while, got up and headed for the airport and my return to Seattle.

I don’t know who to thank or maybe it’s a genetic thing, but my relationships with family and my closest friends are always such that, whenever we see each other, that’s great! Let’s celebrate and talk and get caught up and enjoy being together. We just pick up where we left off, whether it’s been five weeks or five years. There’s never any, “You never called!” or “Why didn’t you write?”, etc.

The main reason I spent a week back in South Dakota and Minnesota wasn’t for the Red Beers or the miles of flat fields, the occasional pheasant or deer dashing across the road, or even a bowl of Knoephla soup. It was all about reconnecting with these precious people you’ve read about in this collection of adventures, who all mean so much to me.

When you spend a lifetime knowing someone, that can happen.

Tim Hunter

This particular series of blogs was an experiment. I wanted to share with you all the fun people, places and things from my recent trip to the Midwest in installments, therefore giving each day its own spotlight. I was afraid that if I made it one big “War & Peace” rambling, you might not have made it this far into my adventures. I think it’s working.

Sunday, my final full day in South Dakota, ended up being a day really focused on eating.

As you may remember, on Saturday, I spent most of that day with my cousin Clay (OK, Clayton, but I wanted to make that rhymed) and his family. After the Gypsy Day parade, wandering around the N.S.U. Campus and taking in a football game, he invited me to breakfast at his daughter Ashley’s house the next morning. The only thing I had on the books that day was a gathering at the Tokyo Sushi and Steakhouse, Aberdeen’s answer to Benihana. But that wasn’t until lunch!

In the meantime, I arrived at Ashley and Tony’s house at 9am as cousin Clayton’s family began to gather. It was Clayton, his wife Dawn, her mother, along with the 3 Geist daughters, Ashley and Bailey and their husbands, along with Northern State University piccolo player and daughter, Ember. It had been six years since I had been back in the Dakotas and this was really the first time I got to sit down with this part of the family and just talk. OK, there was a lot of eating, but we did chat quite a bit. And, thanks to the modern technology known as Facebook, I was tipped off that it was Dawn’s birthday, so I brought along some flowers for the occasion.

I also discovered during our conversation that Dawn’s mom, Ruby, was going to retire at the end of the month from her job at the Marcus P Beebe Library in Ipswich, where she had worked for 32 years and 7 months. I was unaware of that celebration going into the day, but I did have something to offer. Ruby told me that her final day was set to be on Halloween, and she really didn’t want to go in that day. I recommended she just not go in and then tell everybody that she came as a ghost. It would be such a good costume, that she’d win the best costume contest.

Yeah, she felt the same way. And Ruby did go in for that final day before officially retiring.

After devouring a huge breakfast and taking a group shot….

I was off to enjoy yet another meal with the Aberdeen gang I hung out with the most, PLUS cousin Sandra, who had driven down that morning all the way from North Dakota!

This was a real treat for me in that I had only heard things here and there about Sandra over the years: That she had worked (I think) with one of the colleges in North Dakota and then retired, then soon lost her husband to Alzheimer’s at an early age. I had physically not seen her since the 1960s. Please don’t do the math.

We talked a bit at lunch, but it was more of a “dinner and a show” event, with our chef cooking right on the grill in front of us with knives and spatulas flailing around

and sake being served if he thought your cup was getting low.

I can’t tell you the last time when I laughed so much at one sitting.

Afterwards, we headed over to Aunt Virginia’s house to continue getting caught up. I know there was a meal in there somewhere, and I got more updates on Sandra’s life. Seems you have a lot to talk about when you haven’t seen someone in 60 years.

We covered a lot of topics, including the fact that Sandra’s mother-in-law was still alive and living in Moorhead, Minnesota, at the age of 112! It was said that she might have moved over to North Dakota, to be a nursing home closer to Sandra, but she didn’t want to give up her title of being the state’s oldest resident in Minnesota. Apparently, in North Dakota, someone had her beaten.

It was getting late. We definitely needed to set up the timer and take a group shot.

Yeah, it was getting to be time for me to head back to the hotel to get as much work done before bed so I could get up early and hit the road for the long drive back to Minneapolis. I hated for the night to end, especially when this was going to be goodbye for God knows how long. The entire trip had been like one of those dreams when you wake up and you feel like it was so real.

Fortunately for me, this all really happened. But my time in “the Pheasant State”, South Dakota, was quickly approaching the end.

Tim Hunter

Wow, down to my final two days in South Dakota.

This Saturday required an early start, as I was supposed to meet up with my cousin Clayton (I’ve called him Clay most of my life, but since everybody else went formal, I’m joining in. Being married to a Victoria who detests being called ‘Vicky’, I understand) and his wife Dawn in beautiful downtown Aberdeen for the annual Gypsy Day Parade, which stepped off at 9am. More on that in a moment.

I went to the hotel lobby, enjoyed a quick waffle breakfast and then headed out the door to find my rental car frosted over. They had predicted a freeze, and they were right. This is what 28 degrees looked like.

Well, if that doesn’t just frost your windshield!

After warming the car up so the glass would thaw, I headed for downtown Aberdeen. With the parade starting at 9, I wanted to make sure I got down there early enough to grab a parking spot and get to know my way around. Let me tell you, 28-degrees will wake you up.

People had set up their lawn chairs and lined the street, preparing for the big Gypsy Day Parade. OK, about the name. If you live in the PC world, it’s an outdated term that needs to go. But back here in the Midwest, it was just something they had been doing forever and while the younger generation had been suggesting for a while they change it, the Gypsy Day name remained.

My 95-year-old mom remembers back in her day that people would dress up like Gypsies for the day’s events. The 2023 edition featured the big parade, followed by a football game at the new Northern State University football stadium in the afternoon.

But first thing’s first–I needed to locate my cousin and after a bit of wandering around, there he was! I hadn’t seen him for six years, but when you get to our age, you don’t really change much over a couple of years.

Clayton and Dawn were excited to have me join their stalking party. You see, their parade tradition was to be moving spectators for the parade. Their youngest, Ember, was a proud member of the N.S.U. marching band, so as they progressed along the parade route, we’d walk alongside them and enjoy the music. I love small town Americana and I was basking in it. But it was a cold bask.

Of course, if you’re celebrating Gypsy Day, you have to have a “King of the Gyps”, right?

The radio stations in town (apparently all owned by the same company) had their boom box in the parade.

Not exactly sure what was going on here. Maybe a vacation suggestion?

Some farm equipment. (dang that was big)

And what’s a Gypsy Day parade without the N.S.U. Young Republicans Club and an elephant boxing a donkey? Of course, the elephant won.

And look at that! Royalty in the house-the South Dakota Snow Queen!

The parade continued, but we wandered over to the N.S.U. campus where we could chat a bit with Ember….

and then enjoyed a couple of performances by the band prior to them handing out awards to the high school bands that took part in the parade.

After this, my cousin and his wife had to drive home quickly to their home 45-minutes away to take care of the critters on their farm. They gave me my ticket for the football game and said they’d see me in a couple of hours.

I used this occasion to walk back to my car, get inside and turn the heater on and drive around. Since it was lunch time, I spotted a Taco Bell and thought, “I haven’t eaten at a Taco Bell in like, forever!” What happened next was unbelievable.

OK, the restaurant was busy, but I was in no rush, so I placed my order and waited. I had committed something like $10.12 to the local economy and started to wait. And wait. And wait. At what point would you give up and just walk away, consider it a loss and go to someplace where you could actually get food? I sat there and watched person after person, yelling at the two slow-moving guys in the kitchen, probably doing their absolute best, but this was ridiculous. From the time I ordered, until the time my food was handed to me–note the time stamp at the top when they printed my receipt and when I placed the order below.

Yes, 59 minutes. This was an apparent problem all over Aberdeen, as I often heard about the poor quality of service almost everywhere. I enjoyed going to a Wing place next to my hotel, but one cousin said they would never go there again because of a similar “Taco Bell” situation where it took forever to get served.

But I had earned my Taco Bell lunch, so wolfed it down and then headed back over to the football stadium. What a beautiful friggin’ facility!

I told my cousin, I don’t mean to be picky, but they spelled Dakota wrong.

The field, the big screen…this was all big-time. And to top it all off, a win for the homecoming game fans.

I thanked my cousin for the football game and they got ready to head back to the farm. But on the way out, they invited me to join them for a breakfast the next morning at their daughter Ashley’s house. My streak of never saying no to a meal remained intact.

I added it to the list of adventures awaiting me on Day 6. But in the meantime, to wrap up Day 5, I headed over to Virginia’s house to hang with her and Rhonda and chat the night away until it was time for me to go back to the hotel and crash.

It was a very fun day!

Tim Hunter

So, Friday morning started the same way as the rest of my vacation had begun each day–I still hadn’t seen any kind of room service at my hotel. I got the work stuff out of the way while watching the morning news and every couple of minutes on the TV news, the phrase, “Frost Watch” kept coming up. A big chill was on the way and while I wasn’t so concerned about the cold, I could have done with the possibility of any snow.

So, I got going and visited a few of the stores I hadn’t made it to yet, as well as making a return visit to “The Hitchin’ Post”, just in case I noticed anything else I couldn’t live without. In talking with one of the salespeople there–she might have been the owner–she was saying that she had once lived in the Tacoma, Washington, area but was really glad to be back in South Dakota again. Chit-chatting with the guy at the register, the conversation turned to the weather and he mentioned he had heard on the radio that they actually got a little snow out at Summit that morning. I acted like I knew where that was and headed out.

Summit, it turns out, was east of Aberdeen, right there on Highway 12–the road I would be taking back to Minneapolis on Monday. With an elevation of 2,000 feet, it wasn’t surprising to anyone that it got a dusting, but they only got a dusting.

I had been invited over to Virginia’s again for lunch, joined by cousin Rhonda. Afterwards, we hopped in the car and went for a drive to make sure I saw anything I may have missed during my visit, since I was beginning to run out of time.

I got the deluxe Aberdeen tour, which had to include a drive through Wiley Park.

We first went behind the park, so we could see where the bison and elk hung out during the off-season.

The park was heading into winter mode with some areas already closed for repairs, including the famous “Yellow Brick Road.” You see, for a time, L. Frank Baum and his family lived in Aberdeen. In fact, he ran a store downtown called, “Baum’s Bazaaar.” Unfortunately, he developed a habit of selling wares on a “buy now, pay later” plan that eventually lead to his bankruptcy. He and his family moved away, but it was around a decade later that he would go down in history as the author of that incredible tale, “The Wizard of Oz.”

Because of that connection, Aberdeen embraced the fact he once lived there. You can still see the home he used to live in at 211 Ninth Ave SE. (I can’t believe I was that close and didn’t get by) And Wiley Park is home to a Yellow Brick Road you can experience and walk, with characters greeting you along the way. Let me dig out some of the pictures from one of my previous visits.

You get the idea.

There were actually quite a few folks camping in the park, unusual for this time of year except for the fact that tomorrow, Saturday was “Gypsy Day” in town. More on that to come.

My “last call” tour of the sites in Aberdeen also included a drive-by of the home where the Fischer Quintuplets once lived.

For my younger readers, there was a time when having five kids in one litter was such a rarity, so the family would become instant celebrities, as would their hometown. Of course, now-a-days, have 8 kids and they make a reality series about you. But back then, it was viewed as nothing short of a miracle. I remember seeing this sign back when we visited when I was a kid.

We drove around a bit more, went past the home of my cousin Rhonda’s hairdresser (I told you this was the complete tour) and as we came around the corner, there was a Schwan’s Truck. Sure enough, it belonged to the husband of my cousin’s daughter, Ashley, who I had just met with the day before. Tony was out on his route and he posed for a quick picture.

This turned out to be a collector’s item, as Schwan’s is no more. Well, the company is still around, but five years ago, the kids who took over from the founder decided to sell the business AND the name. Quick backup—Schwan’s is like a Costco Grocery delivery service, where you order things and then, when the truck comes to your town, they make deliveries. And, if you’ve decided you’d like something else, let’s check the truck and see if we have that. Both my cousin Clayton and his son-in-law make their living driving Schwan’s trucks.

Or, did. Since I was back, they’ve gone through a name change. Remember, the kids sold the name, so while the company is still in business and offering the same products, they are now known as Yelloh. Yup. The research department thought that would be a great name. I’ll move on.

By now, it was about time to head home and enjoy another home-cooked meal, then sit around and chat—really, my favorite part of the trip. We even had a special visitor that night–my cousin Rhonda’s grandson, Brady, along with his parents, Missy and Troy. Brady was popping in as his buddies were all coming home for “Gypsy Day” this weekend, so he was going to be pretty busy getting caught up. He’s a student at Northern State University and is seriously just a great kid. Working three days, going to school for two, and then, whenever time allows, living the Midwest dream of fishing and hunting, depending on the season. He shared some pictures of some of the lunkers he had caught, but he would not say where he caught them, out of fear somehow, the location of his secret spot might leak out. I was really happy to hear that he was a catch-and-release fisherman, enjoying the thrill of the catch, and then sending ’em back for another day. What a great kid!

And a big one.

Well, since he didn’t share any pictures of his big catches with me, so you’ll have to settle for this picture of a pheasant ON the glass.

It was getting late. I still needed to go back and work a little and then get to bed because Saturday was going to be a busy day. The big Gypsy Day Parade, followed by a football game at Northern State University’s new stadium. With my cousin’s daughter Ember performing in the marching band, I needed to be in downtown Aberdeen the next morning by 9am when the forecast said we’d start the day at 28-degrees!

However, those details will have to wait. That’s part of Day 5’s adventures.

Tim Hunter

Thursday, I woke up to my 3rd day in Aberdeen, South Dakota. There was talk on the weather report about a big cool down heading our way later in the week. I know I had rolled the dice on the timing of this visit, but even though things were about to get chilly, it looked like I’d be lucky enough to come and go without encountering any of that fluffy white stuff.

I have to say that Thursday was probably the most relaxed day of my entire trip. I got up, did my various work projects and then once those were out of the way, I went and visited a client.

As Chief Creative Officer of Create Impulse, my buddy Corey Newton‘s company, we do the marketing for Send Kiosk. It’s a pretty cool machine that is basically a robo-shipper. You download the app and then you can walk up to this beast and ship anything, anywhere, and at discount prices. Great concept, just starting out, but among the early adopters was Ken’s Super Fair Foods in, yes, Aberdeen, South Dakota.

Back in the Midwest, they tend to have stores with several stores within a store. For example, Ken’s Super Fair Foods was a grocery store, as you would expect. However, one corner of the store was basically a liquor store. And in another corner, there was an outdoors section for hunting and fishing gear and, if the mood struck, a place for you to buy animal pelts. Skunk, rabbit, you name it.

I chatted with Rebecca at Ken’s who was excited that someone all the way from Seattle cared enough to come to her store to visit. Over the course of my stay in Aberdeen, I would do my shopping there, grabbing something for an upcoming meal or some reinforcement beers. My relatives’ beer of choice: Busch Light. Did you know they make a Peach Busch Light? I refused to buy that.

But I thought you’d be interested in exactly how some drink their Busch Light back in Aberdeen, at least in our family.

Take one can of cold Busch Light Beer and pour it into a really tall glass. Once the head has settled, add Clamato. Yes, clam-flavored tomato juice. You’re saying, “Well, yeah, Tim. That’s called a Red Beer.” Yes, I know, but it didn’t stop there.

The next step: take a home-made Bloody Mary popsicle (yes, from the ones in your freezer) and put it into said Red Beer. Stir. And enjoy.

I heard they did a survey among South Dakota residents and found that the majority of them were quite happy. No one could read what they wrote on the survey, but they all appeared quite happy.

I had agreed to meet up with my cousin’s daughter, Ashley, an Aberdeen resident to chat with her about writing and doing audio voice work. But that wasn’t until after lunch at Aunt Virginia’s, so at a leisurely pace, I did my part in boosting the local economy by visiting several stores, including The Hitch’n Post!

This store has been a definite stop on every visit to South Dakota. Of course, they had lots of western wear and such, but also some touristy things (I bought some South Dakota produced “Rattlesnake Coffee”) and they have an antique section in the back of the store. (I’m a sucker for antiques) I fought off buying a couple of things, but I couldn’t resist buying a 50th anniversary button from the town’s “Gypsy Day” celebration. (more on that to come)

I swung by the local Dollar Tree to see what bargains they offered, grabbed some snacks and then drove through some neighborhoods, in search of cool Halloween displays. I really scored with this one:

One of the best things about being back there at that time of year: since we’re in farm country, EVERYBODY had grown pumpkins to sell, which meant you’d see displays like this almost everywhere, using the honor system.

After lunch, I headed to old downtown Aberdeen, which I’ll feature more on day 5. I met Ashley at a funky coffee shop and we chatted about her new mental health office, while also answering her questions about audio production and writing.

Back to Aunt Virginia’s for dinner where she, cousin Rhonda and I chatted the evening away until I headed home to playoff baseball and bed.

That’s the other thing. The time difference. I’m so used to how things work out here, a baseball game would never start later than 7 o’clock on the west coast. Those 6:20pm West Coast games are 8:20pm back there! I’d get in maybe two innings before my personal bedtime. Pacific time his THE time zone to be on, if you’re any kind of sports fan. 

Like I said earlier, day 3 of my great adventure was probably the most relaxing of the entire vacation, but I couldn’t believe my time in South Dakota was already halfway done.

But there were plenty of adventures ahead!

Tim Hunter

PS–Cousin Rhonda pointed out a couple of corrections concerning the above-mentioned beer beverage. 1) the Red Beer is made with plain tomato juice. 2) The Bloody Mary Popsicles are made with Clamato and then inserted in the beer to melt. 3) And she insists it’s NOT a South Dakota thing. Just a little something she came up. Check with your doctor to see if Rhonda Red Beer is right for you.

After spending Tuesday basically getting to Aberdeen, South Dakota, Wednesday was going to be a day-long stroll down Memory Lane as my cousin Rhonda and her mom, better known as Aunt Virginia and I were going to be off to enjoy the memories that were waiting for us in Roscoe.

That was the town (city is too big of a word) closest to the farm where my mom grew up, which was several miles southwest of this hamlet. On the drive from Aberdeen to Roscoe, I discovered that Cousin Rhonda was a woman after my own heart, as when she saw something that would make a good picture, she pulled over and we’d pose away!

Like a dinosaur at a Sinclair gas station.

We passed through Ipswich, “Gateway to Roscoe” (I just made that up)

My cousin actually shared with me with me what they say Ipswich stands for: I Pee Southwest I Catch Hell.

You learn something every day.

But we didn’t stop there, because we needed to get to Roscoe!

Our plans for the visit included, among other things:  driving past Grandma’s old house, the Roscoe Library, the new school (that’s elementary through high school) and swing through the cemetery to look up the relatives, but first thing’s first: lunch. And that meant a stop at Ricky’s!

Which, by the way, is THE restaurant in town.

And, if you’d be interested, the place is for sale. Has been for 10 years now. 

It was a busy day for the diner. A couple of sheriff’s deputies were in there, along with a collection of the locals. We chose to sit in the back by the bar (maybe a family comfort zone thing) and order up! I went for the Philly Cheesesteak Sandwich and a bowl of  Knoephla soup. My cousin and aunt were shocked when I said I had never heard of that soup before, as apparently is a staple back in the Dakotas. It’s a potato soup with dumplings and was really good, but I don’t recall eating that while growing up. It must have been a part of South Dakota mom left behind.

Well, it was time to leave the comfy confines of Rick’s and explore the various sites I remember from our family vacations to this area back when I was a kid.

The last house I remember Grandma Brandner living didn’t look so good. Believe it or not, there were people living there.

There’s the famous Roscoe Public Library. Open once a week, I believe. (reminds me of the old joke, “Yeah, the library had to be closed this week because someone stole the book.”)

And there’s the bank.

And, of course, the day wouldn’t have been complete without the visit to the Roscoe Cemetery.  That’s where you’ll find my grandparents, Emma & Emil, as well as my Aunt Doris (who we lost just last November) and Uncle Herbert. I hunted down more relatives after returning to Aberdeen with a handy website you should know about: findagrave.com. Yeah, you just put in a first and last name and a guess on which city they are buried, and you’ll see exactly where they are, often with a picture of their headstone. For example, I didn’t have this time to make the trek out to Onaka, to visit the grave of my Uncle James (my mom’s only brother) but I was able to go to that website and see his headstone. 

It breaks my heart to think his parents, my grandparents, had to deal with the loss of their only son when he was just 29 years old. He left behind a wife and three kids and I was able to meet up with two of them the night before I flew home in Minneapolis. More on that to come.

After seeing the sites of Roscoe, we headed out east to “the old farm.” Grandma and Grandpa’s farm, just a couple of miles out of town, where my mom grew up until she was in her mid-teens. It’s where, as a kid, I remember family gatherings, Grandma letting me help her feed the chickens and Grandpa sticking me up on his tractor, so I could pretend I was driving. There were baseball games, picnics and on Sundays, they would pack a picnic lunch and we’d head to a local fishing hole. (after church, of course)  It’s just what families did.

That farm, the barn, the farm house, all of those things–are now long gone.

I still have the auction listing from when they sold off everything and Grandma and Grampa gave up the farm and moved into town, into that house I showed you above.

See and now, looking at that–more memories. Under ‘Household Goods’, a 3-burner kerosene stove. I remember seeing that and was amazed that people still cooked on it. It looked just like it was right out of “A Christmas Story.”

We headed back from Roscoe to Aberdeen, where my cousin and aunt live and where I was headquartered during my stay. We decided to drive through a Dairy Queen and get a Blizzard and that was my first real encounter with the town’s labor shortage. Even if you could find warm bodies to work at a job, it didn’t guarantee they would be fast and efficient. I think that was at least a 20-minute wait in a line of 4 cars to get our tasty treats. But that was just a warmup for what was to come on Day 5. You’ll have to wait for that one.

All in all, it was a great day packed with memories from a time long ago, with a couple of the people I enjoyed those times with. While it didn’t look the same as it once did, the home movies played in my mind.

It’s funny, but when people heard that my wife was going to Norway for a class reunion and that I was going to South Dakota, they would laugh. Being the jokester, I would explain that we had a coin toss and I lost.

Actually, the truth is, I won.

Tim Hunter

I’m in my late 60s and should my kids ever lose their cable, their cell phones quit working, the writers and actors strike brings the entertainment world to a complete halt and there’s a solar flare up that shuts down the world’s electronics, there’s a chance they just might ask me to tell them what I did when I was young.

I’d have a bunch of great stories.

The reason they don’t ask that now is because they know I would never shut up. In my humble opinion, I have had a very fun, adventurous life, complete with all those standard-issue ups and downs. 

The ‘ups’ are many. Writing jokes and having Jay Leno tell them on “The Tonight Show”, standing up on stage in front of thousands of people at what was Safeco Park at the time for a “Race for the Cure” event. Being able to sit down and write songs with the late Stan Boreson for one of his Christmas albums. Doing 28-hour radiothons for the “Make a Wish” Foundation, getting to meet famous actors and sports heroes. Doing a morning radio show in Seattle live from Japan. And on and on….

Some of the downs include the things you learn while growing up. For whatever reason, when I was around 5, I remember stealing batteries from a store and to make sure my parents didn’t find them, I hid them behind the doors on the TV. (yes, our TV had doors) Why my undeveloped brain didn’t think that someday, they might just open those doors to turn on the TV in the near future was beyond me. I was taken back to the store to apologize and return the batteries.

One day while walking home from kindergarten, I thought a girl named Susie had cheeks that looked like peaches, so I bit into one. Her big brother threatened to “pound me”, so I learned at that tender age not to bite girls on the cheek.

It’s all part of the learning process. Younger minds like to see how far they can go, they test and if they go over the lines, punishment ensues. Over the years, you develop the skill of knowing where the line is, that there’s a right and a wrong, and that wrong always gets punished.

I bring this up because I believe we’re looking at a generation of kids that have coddled, over-protected and allowed to get away with things. So much that the results are the world you see out there today. A society without consequences.

Seattle, like so many major cities, has become a poster child for this emerging phenomenon. Tents, press-board shacks and dilapidated R.V.’s line the streets and neighborhoods suddenly find themselves the unwanted home of three groups: the down on their luck, the mentally challenged, and the drug-addicted.

However, that’s a blog for a different time. Homeless camps are actually disappearing in Seattle, as Mayor Harrell has become our first leader in years to actually do something concerning that issue. They’re all in need of our help but allowing them to live in filth and squalor is NOT a compassionate response.

But now, take a drive around our fair city and you’ll notice yet one more result of churning out of our out-of-control youth–Graffiti.

One of the local news stations led off their evening coverage last night with the plague that has run rampant in the Emerald City, especially on freeways. There was one case where a tagger used a state-owned machine to lift him up to tag an overpass, laughing it off with a video he posted online.

Graffiti, like so many other infractions against the laws we have on the books, is given a low priority by law enforcement. Understandable, since we went through a “police are evil” phase in recent years, we lost a bunch of good officers and for some reason now wonder why crime is more out of control than ever.

Let’s get one thing straight–graffiti can be considered art, but not when it damages someone else’s property, private (owned by an individual) or public (owned by you and me). That’s what they call ‘vandalism’ and there are laws. Just not ones that are enforced.

Let’s go to the case in point of what inspired this rant:

For over 100 years, the Ballard neighborhood of Seattle has showcased a proud, Nordic heritage. In a small, triangular park off of Market Street is a chunk of land designated as Bergen Place Park. Originally, it was the home of a hand-painted mural. Then, as the mural began to decay, it was replaced with a special graffiti-resistant material print at a cost to volunteers of $100,000.

Over recent years, there have been occasional bouts of graffiti, which volunteers removed as soon as it was noticed. So far, I’ve been down there twice this year, scrubbing away tags and various writings.
However, last week, someone took the time to write all over the lower white portion of it. Being Labor Day weekend, it was just too hard to try and rally troops to get it down as soon as possible.

My wife, who for years was the volunteer coordinator for the park, saw the graffiti, came home and stared blasting out emails to as many people as she can think of. She got various responses from “That’s terrible” to “Do you need help cleaning it up?” to “Well, the city attorney says it’s protected art.” I find that last one hard to believe.

So, I wrote to Mayor Harrell to see what he would have to say. Among my words:

I got an auto-response that pointed me in multiple directions. A fairly generic, “Thanks for writing email.” And that was the end of that.

Here are a couple of pictures of what these destructive punks did to the mural.

Until there comes a time where the city can either protect the mural or thoroughly prosecute those who do this kind of damage, I think it’s time to move the mural to a safer location. Perhaps the National Nordic Museum?

Otherwise, the graffiti will rinse and repeat, the volunteers will grow weary, and we’ll reach that stage where everybody just gives up and frankly, I don’t want to get there. At least, not without a fight.

If we normalize this kind of destructive behavior, much like we have with the rows of tents and junky RV’s, the city will just continue to decline. I don’t believe it has to be that way.

But maybe it does.

Tim Hunter

Over the past year, I’ve had to cancel two credit cards because of mysterious charges that would appear when I remembered to actually check my credit card transactions.

Most of the fraudulent charges were made to Amazon. That makes sense. Someone somehow gets ahold of your credit card number and just starts to buy random stuff with your information. Or, maybe they’re starting out with smaller purchases and then, when you don’t get suspicious, they go for the big one!

Well, I decided it was time to get serious about this and started checking my orders with Amazon (which are quite bountiful), trying to match up the purchases with what went on my credit card. It was then that I discovered charges for items I had no idea what they were. I tried to get someone from Amazon to offer some clarification, but just try to reach a live person.

So, I went to my bank online and would tag those purchases as fraudulent. After several of these in row, the bank recommended canceling my current card and getting a new one.

Great. I have so many things set up with auto-pay on that card. Now, I’d have to go through, account by account, and put in the new credit card number.

Then, these mystery charges started happening on my new credit card.

That’s when I decided to do a thorough exam of what was going on and get to the bottom of this.

So, I’ll take you along: As you can see below, I made two purchases here. The deodorant and the Lysol, totally $43.65. And then, the hair shaping cream (great product, by the way) for $26.46.

It all checks out with Amazon. I wrote those amounts down in my checkbook. (Yeah, I still do that, too)

But then, what shows up on my VISA statement?

What the hell? I made a $43 purchase and a $26 purchase, but that doesn’t match either.

I go to Amazon to check the details and there it is, the $43 purchase.

OK, well, before I cancel another card, I decided to take a deep dive into the receipt and when I did that, I discovered they don’t charge you the $43.65 full amount. They actually ding your card for each of the items separately.

So, ignore the number at the top, and the two prices on the right side of the summary (because those don’t match anything either) but go all the way to the bottom of the receipt, in the right hand corner, and you get those two numbers that would have been nice to know at the beginning of all this.

Yep, right there.

That very important to know $24.53 and $19.12 tucked away at the bottom of the receipt that I had to dig to find and when I did, it let me know that my card had not been hacked once again.

It amounts to going to the grocery store and spending $80 and they charge your credit card for what’s in bag #1 and bag #2 separately.

Come on, Amazon! Give one of your regular shoppers and the rest of us a break!

Tim Hunter

I believe most of us would like to do good in this world.

I know there’s that built-in self-survival thing that, over time, rises to the top and when our minds are a swirling mess of obligations and expectations, it’s easy to focus on ourselves and make everything around us secondary.

For me, I’ve always had a need to do good things, to surround myself with positive people and avoid those who live in the negative. (and there are SO many) Oh, sure, it’s their choice to live that way, but negative people thrive on negativity (thus, the name) and that includes dragging others into their downward spiral.

No, thanks.

Now, I’m going to tell you about three ‘good things’ that I did this past week NOT for the sake of blogging about them and thumping my chest. But, I gotta say, at the end of the week, I’m looking back and feeling like I put some positive energy out into that big chaotic world of ours.

Two of them have to do with the tragedy in Maui. We only know a fraction of the horror and the death toll. And while the Red Cross is always there, I’ve had concerns about how much of the money I donate to them actually makes it to the cause. But this isn’t about Red Cross bashing. I just wanted to make sure the dollars I would send to Maui actually reached the people in need.

I initially found The Hawaii Community Foundation which got high scores when it comes to using their money locally. They came up on Facebook and people were saying good things about them, so I made a donation.

Then my accountant (who lives most of the year in Hawaii, except for tax time) put in a plug for the Maui Food Bank. Coming from a guy who knows where dollars come and go and being a local, I made a donation to them. Both small financial chunks in comparison of the need, but every little bit helps.

Then, if you’ve stayed in touch at all with the news this week, besides the indictments, you heard about The Marion County Record in Kansas. The local Marion, Kansas police department raided the newspaper’s offices, confiscated computers, cell phones and a range of other reporting materials. Officers spent hours in the newsroom. They also seized material from one of its journalist’s homes. Eric Meyer, the publisher and co-owner of the newspaper, who said that his 98-year-old mother passed away the day after police raided her house, from the stress and strain.

All this because the newspaper had apparently received a tip about a sex scandal involving the police chief.

I mean, how Stalinistic can you get? In America? This one really bothered me.

Enough so I decided to just go online and subscribe. I really don’t care what happens in Marion, Kansas–well, I didn’t, but I do now. In any case, I subscribed and a couple of days later, received this from the above-mentioned Eric Meyer.

Oh, I don’t expect to become pen pals. I just wanted him to know that, last I heard, there still is Freedom of the Press in these divided States of America and that those kinds of antics won’t be tolerated. Although, between you and me, I think he’s got a lawsuit settlement on the way that should easily result in a new coffee pot in the break room.

Again, no great effort or great deeds done by yours truly. I just wanted to share because all of those things combined just made me feel so good. Helping. Doing something good. I highly recommend making a difference.

You know, it’s just not that hard.

Tim Hunter

PS: Nice article on why you should avoid being negative right here.

Like so many Northwest residents, I just didn’t see the need.

Why, for God’s sake, do I need air conditioning in my home when it’s only hot here a couple of days a year?

Well, for starters, because when you have to fully function every day, a sleepless, hot, sweaty night can make that really difficult. And when that happens more than just a couple of days a year, you eventually give in.

Not to mention, what once was a couple of days a year is now weeks in the summer and seems to be increasing every year.

Humankind (like that non-gender usage?) has long been in pursuit of cooler temperatures. I asked my buddy, Chat G. Beetee, about the history of air conditioning and this just spewed out:

The history of air conditioning dates back to ancient times when various cultures used innovative methods to cool indoor spaces. Ancient Egyptians and Persians used windcatchers and water evaporation to cool their homes. Romans circulated water through the walls of their buildings to provide cooling. In China, hand-operated rotary fans were used to create a cooling breeze.

But it wasn’t until 1902 that Willis Haviland Carrier finally invented the first modern air conditioning system.

Appropriate, because the heat pump system we finally broke down and had installed is by Carrier.

I first broke down several years ago when I bought one of those single-room units. When the weather heated up, I went down to our storage area, hauled it back upstairs, hooked it up to the window and carefully rearranged the bedroom so we could open and close the door. It was too loud to run at night while we slept, so I would have to remember to fire it up on the “Ice Age” setting at 7 o’clock, so that our bedroom would be cool enough to sleep in by 9-ish. The nights we didn’t get home until 9 would mean no one would get to sleep for a couple of hours.

This week, the Northwest is having another one of those rare sets of days, with Seattle around 90-degrees, as eastern Washington and Portland to the south both flirt with triple digits. On the lower right of my computer is a heat advisory. ‘Alexa’ keeps reminding me to be careful going outside. All this, while I sit in my office on the lower level of our home. Our thermostat upstairs is set to kick on and cool things down when it hits 75 indoors. Fortunately for me, (who prefers to live in temperatures where you could also hang meat), it’s a beautiful 68-degrees. Oops, there goes my phone.

Yeah, another excessive heat warning.

It’s the classic case of “I wish I had done this sooner.” For the first time in my lifetime, I’m living in a home with a heat pump, air conditioner and air purification system, all electric, and the temperature throughout the house is comfortable. Like you always imagined it could be.

I’m not afraid to give you numbers. We were replacing a gas furnace with an all-electric heat pump, with AC and the best air purification possible (for those pesky summer fires up here, also becoming an unwanted tradition). The lowest estimate clocked in at $21,000, the highest at $47,000. Seriously, when we replaced the furnace in this home when we bought it 16 years ago, that was $8,000. There was some serious sticker shock going on. But, as you know, when you haven’t priced things for a while and then check back, it’s a lot to absorb.

However, most HVAC companies have special financing that let you stretch out the payments. In our case, we went for a 15-year contract, which dropped down the monthly payment to $200. $50 a week, to stay cool, comfortable in the summer and toasty warm in the winter, with a newer, more energy efficient unit than was available 16 years ago. We should be good for a while.

My hero.

I think of all those years I fought making this big commitment and there will always be reasons why not to do or not do something. But this decision really didn’t require a whole lot of convincing. And, as Alexa warns me again about the head advisory, I encourage all those still believing you don’t need AC to really give it a second thought.

My words to you: “It’s OK to break down.” And, downright comfortable, I must say.

Tim Hunter

Leaving a job can go several ways.

It can be you wanting out or just seeking something better and so, one day, you suddenly announce you’re leaving, give your two-weeks notice, there’s an after-work gathering at a cheap happy hour, and you move on.

Then there those who reach a point, hit the wall and up and quit. Walk out, no goodbyes, just instant former employee.

And then, there are those who feel the need to turn it into a major production.

While that may work in the hotel industry, just quitting and walking out of a radio station gig greatly reduces your chances of getting another job in the biz. I’ve experienced quite a variety of exits over the years, some good, some not so good.

KQOT--My first professional radio job in Yakima, Washington. It was definitely a passion project and I cut some serious radio teeth during my 16 or so months there. But when our former sales manager went across town, I followed him there.

KMWX/KFFM--I got a call one day from a deep voice at the other end of the phone. It was Larry Nelson at KOMO radio, wanting to know if I’d be interested in being his producer. I went over to Seattle the next weekend, accepted the job, came back, got married, went on a one-week honeymoon, came back, moved over and started the following Monday. Going to the big leagues over in Seattle tended to put you into a revered light and so it was no hard feelings when you quit. In fact, during my wedding reception, the General Manager of the station slipped a $100 bill in my pocket and told me to “take her out for a nice meal.” (back when you could do that with $100)

KOMO–After 4-1/2 years as Lar’s producer, one August Friday morning, I was called into the GM’s office and notified that I was being laid off. They had to do some trimming on the budget, and myself, sports guy Keith Shipman and Gary the news director were all being let go. In an amazing example of bad timing, it was the same day that my wife found out we had a baby boy on the way. What management didn’t know was that Larry had tipped me off to the layoff when I was telling him the week before about the new car we were looking at buying. It allowed me to avoid that purchase, and to clear out my bunker before the Day of Doom arrived.

KLSY–This is where I set my personal radio endurance record. I was close to 19 years at “Classy”, from copywriter and production assistant to morning show guy and all the stops in-between. Being at a place that long makes for awkward reunions because the people in the first five years I was there never met the people from the last five years. This was the ugly one–being backstage at the Village Theater in Issaquah as our live Christmas show ended and being informed the station was not going to renew our contract. We were told by the GM there was no rush in cleaning out our offices and that they’d throw a party for us next month. I’m still waiting for the party.

Destination Marketing–Not a radio station, but where I spent just shy of 10 years. I hit a wall there, but as much as I would have loved to have dramatically quit, I’m a high-road guy. (And frankly, I didn’t want to pay for the marching band) I had been scouting places to land and after one Labor Day Weekend when I went away and all of my copy had been rewritten by the owner to dumb it down for the masses, I went into my supervisor and said I’m out of here in 30 days.

Now, there was a send-off! The party, a giant card with pictures and notes from people. In my final weeks there, I decided it would be fun to figure out just how many different people I had worked with in my almost-decade there. Keep in mind this is a company that averaged around 33 employees or so. The final tally: I had worked with exactly 100 different co-workers.

KRKO–Since day one, the radio station has always been appreciative of my joining the team. The trick in this relationship was that they really couldn’t afford me. Not that I’m so great, but I do offer a solid product. I decided to take their offer (which was originally lower) and take on the challenge of doing a solo morning show by myself. After having been out of radio for over 10 years, I had to prove to myself that I could still do it. The low salary was the cost of being able to still play on the radio. I’m not going into numbers, but my salary at KRKO was 3% of what I was making my final year at KLSY.

Just shy of the five-year mark at KRKO, I need to get that valuable time back, if nothing else, to just not work as hard. Those familiar with my routine know that I go 5a-5p, Monday through Friday with a few hours every weekend. As I approach birthday number 68, I’ve demonstrated to myself that I CAN work that hard and do a good job. But I just don’t have it in me anymore to do that quantity of work just to prove I can.

I’ve known Andy Skotdal, one of the owners of KRKO, for years. He’s expressed several times how he’d love to have me up on his airwaves, but the situation was never right until that summer of 2018. The station had switched from sports to “Everett’s Greatest Hits.” It’s basically a “Classic Hits” (or Oldies) format but there was concern about calling it “Classic Hits” when their other station was “Classic Country.”

Classic radio.

I’m so appreciative of the opportunity to play songs I grew up with on the radio, to be a part of a radio station that celebrated 100 years on the air last year. I also gained some lifetime friends that will always make me smile when we can figure out some kind of get-together. Chuck Maylin, Terry Patrick, Stitch Mitchell, Tom Lafferty, Maury the Movie Guy, Heidi May, Amp Harrell, Buzz, Elise, Andrew, Jeff and so many more.

This exit from radio will be my last. Initially, when asked if I would consider filling in for my morning replacement, Bryon Mengle, when he went on vacation, I said yes….but then, I thought, I really need this to be the end.

And so it will be. Over the final two weeks, I’ll be chatting with retired friends, asking for tips and playing some of the bits and interviews I did during my time at KRKO.

It’s going great, it’s going smoothly; it’s just weird.

Tim Hunter

Maybe you already knew this.

But I went to see the new “Mission Impossible” movie on Saturday and I learned something new. Something that has been in existence since 2012 and is really old news in the movie biz. But somehow, this technology has avoided me like the plague.

So, when I went to buy tickets on Fandango and get my senior discount, we were hoping for a movie early afternoon and there was one that was at 12:45pm. Perfect! I went through the motions and bought our tickets for $19.60 each. Really? That’s what movies are up to these days? Or, is Tom Cruise just trying to get his money back sooner?

This is what the listing looked like:

Notice anything unusual? There’s the IMAX screen. Yeah, I don’t need that big of a screen. I just want to watch the movie on a traditional sized movie screen. Noon was too early, so we went with the 12:45p showing.

Notice anything about that showtime? Right below the word Standard and above the 12:45p is the phrase “Screen X”. I didn’t even give it a second thought.

That is, until we were in the movie theater and suddenly found ourselves surrounded by the movie. The screen in front and both side walls of the theater. That’s what Screen X means. They don’t do it for the whole movie, but for certain scenes, you can follow past the edge of the traditional screen and the scene just keeps going. On both sides of you!

Wait. What. Huh?

Apparently, they’ve done this for a lot of movies since 2012. The cost of an old-fashioned “just a movie ticket” was $15.10, while the Screen X version was $19.60. Was it worth the extra $4.50? Not really. This first time, it came as a surprise and was a gentle reminder that, Tim, no, you don’t know everything. I’m fairly certain they weren’t intentionally keeping it a secret from me, but I couldn’t have been more surprised.

So, it looks like this:

Weird, huh?

As my old broadcast partner Bruce Murdock would say, “It’s a pretty poor day when you don’t learn something.”

Maybe I just made you a little richer.

Tim Hunter

Wow, that happened quickly. The first half of 2023 blurred by and the next thing you know, it’s the last week of June, July arrives on Saturday and this year, we have one of those unfortunate Tuesday Independence Days.

That paints everyone into a corner. First off, there’s a Monday between the weekend and our holiday day off. And worst of all, while there are parades and picnics, the 4th of July shares the honor with New Year’s Eve in that the bigger celebrations are at night, when normal, hard-working Americans need to get up and go to work the next day. I mean, our country’s birthday–isn’t that enough of a reason for Independence Day to be a two-day celebration? You know, like Amazon Prime Day.

How one celebrates the 4th is really a matter of age. Toddlers are amazed at simple sparkers and scared by everything else. In time, they actually hold the sparkler, burn their hands and then they’re afraid of everything.

Then something happens when the determination that you had a good 4th of July is the number of bottle rockets that landed in your yard, or the carnage in the culdesac left by those cool neighbors who went and bought explosives Ukraine only wishes they could get their hands on at the local reservation fireworks stand.

I start thinking about the 4th of July and my mind goes all over the place. For example, like when growing up in Torrance, California, going to the local Black Panther stand and pushing the folks into going as high as $20 for “The Family Assortment.” As we drove home, holding the box and admiring all those marvels inside, it was a Hunter family tradition for dad to utter those famous words, “I don’t know why we don’t just take a $20 bill and light it on fire.” I’ve actually got recorded, as I called dad one year and had him say it on the radio for old times’ sake.

But that $20 box of treasures included such amazing fireworks, that our celebration wouldn’t have been complete without them. Like the Smokey Joe, which simply stood there and made smoke. There were smoke bombs, which did the same thing, but they were round. Oh, yes, there were sparklers and those black snakes that somehow grew and left black marks on the curb that irritated dad. Oh, and the fountains, usually with gigantic or patriotic names, like Vesuvius or, Red, White & Blue, which produced a very anticlimactic 17 seconds of sparks that would soar up to five feet into the sky.

Yes, as much as that pales by comparison to today’s assortment of sleep-deprivers and carnage-makers, that was all the Hunter kids needed to have each of our brains lasered with lasting memories.

Fireworks and close calls go hand in hand, as common sense does its best to try and convince us that fireworks are, indeed, a bad idea. Back in South Dakota one July, during one of our family vacations there, my single-digit aged cousins were able to have packs of firecrackers and light them by themselves. One time, a cousin threw a lit firecracker that exploded near my ear. You probably could have asked me then if I thought fireworks were a bad idea, but I probably would have just said, “What?”

Then there was that neighborhood gathering when an un-named relative of mine lit one of those mortar deals, but as he ran away, it fell over, launching mortors into all the neighbors circled around the culdesac. That no one was injured was a red, white and blue miracle.

Yes, there are plenty of memories of the 4th of July and fireworks throughout my years. But after my half-century mark, it all became less fun. While I personally could sleep through an atomic bomb test explosion (OK, I might wake up for a moment, but I’d fall back asleep), each 4th of July is a battle between the light sleepers and the neighborhood pyro’s who can’t wait to light off the next, even louder one.

I heard a great idea the other day that I really like. If you’re like me and pretty much done with the firework thing, take what you would have spent this year–even half of that–and give it to the local animal shelter to buy food for the critters hoping to find a new home. Having pets or pet-in-laws over the years that didn’t handle those unexplained explosions very well, it seems like a cool thing to do.

Should you break down and have a moment of generosity, here are just a couple of the hard-working shelters in the Puget Sound are that I’m sure could use a couple of bucks. Nothing big, just making the gesture will make a big difference.

The King County Human Society

The folks at PAWS

The Kitsap County Humane Society (the favorite of my late cousin, Diane)

Any amount, no guilting intended. Just an idea.

Because it’s time to celebrate our country’s 247th birthday. And you know, they say 247 is the new 235.

Let’s do this, Uncle Sam!

Tim Hunter

I would like to quickly touch on three topics that have been on my mind lately and please, respond away. This is basically me thinking out loud, with more questions than answers. I’m a big believer that we all need to seriously search for the truth for everything we consider ourselves an expert on, and that our pursuit of the truth shouldn’t stop once we’ve formulated an opinion.

Why Do We Continue To Be Buddy-Buddy With Saudi Arabia?

I’m not saying become enemies, but we’re in a situation equivalent to handing someone compromising photos of ourselves and hoping they don’t blackmail us. From 2015-2021, we provided $54.6-billion worth of military support to Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. Wait. Those countries can not only afford to pay for that, they could pay cash! Why do we give them $54-billion worth of anything, when they’re playing the world oil market to bilk as much as they can out of us? Do we use Saudi oil? Oh, only 350,000 to 500,000 PER DAY!! They recently announced a production cutback, which bumps up the price. And, with their OPEC buddies, including Russia. So, when they get more money for their oil, so does Russia.

We pay more at the pump, while sending billions of dollars to our oil lords–American tax dollars, that is. Yes, your money. Doesn’t this seem like a broken model?

Crazy idea–let’s switch to buying those barrels of oil to every other day. On the day we don’t buy their oil, that money is used to purchase electric vehicles in a government swap program. You give up your gasoline powered vehicle for an election one. $350,000 times $80 a barrel equals $28-million. At $60,000 a car, that would be 466 electric vehicles on the road. The gasoline vehicles they replace would be sold for a minor amount to people in need or to get older, less gas efficient vehicles off the road. Doing that every other day for a year would put 85,000 electric vehicles on the road. And buying less oil from them would help drive the price down. Fine. Cut production. We need less anyway.

Remember, I’m free-form thinking here.

Give people a crazy tax break that would speed up the switch-over and you’d accelerate the program even more.

Eventually, they can keep their stinking oil. During the transition, we’d rely more on U.S. production, with a set time to shut that all down. There are wiser brains than mine that will be able point out why this idea wouldn’t work, but I welcome a better one. (hint–leaving it in our current situation is NOT an option)

Or, we keep giving them billions. They’ve bought pro golf. Which sport is next?

How do we save Social Security?

We are so self-defeating.

Here’s the current system: Employers and employees each pay 6.2 percent of wages up to the taxable maximum of $160,200, while the self-employed pay 12.4 percent.

There are those that say it’s just a matter of time before Social Security fails. Well, yes, with limitations like that. Why do people quit contributing once you make $160,000 in a year? 10% of the U.S. population makes over $150,000 a year. It doesn’t even have to be at the same rate. Maybe after you crack through $160,000, you pay 1% towards the fund. That’s $1600 a year! On a million dollars a year, that would be $10K a year. That would leave $990,000 to pay taxes on and spend as you wish.

And maybe you bump that current 6.2% to a whopping 6.3% out of your paycheck.

We pay people in the budget office to figure it out (being paid by tax dollars). Figure out a long-term solution, and let’s all have one more thing to worry about as we get older.

By the way, quickly, that rumor about Congress taking money out of Social Security? It’s debunked here.

The Charges Against Trump Are Political

So, you think there’s a vast conspiracy between the U.S. Justice Department, the state of Georgia and the state of New York, to “get Donald Trump?” Or, is it because you think he should be able to do anything he wants without prosecution?

If your thought is the afraid-of-the-Don Republican talking point, “this is all political,” for what gain? The former president has already said he was still going to run if he was convicted. And, from what I’m reading, he’s still legally able to do that. And the Republican Trump-loving sheep say something as simple as potential espionage won’t stop them for supporting their beloved hero.

Those boxes of top-secret government files are real. There are witnesses, including his own staff. His former Attorney General Bill Barr, who knew better than to go along with “the election is stolen” lie, says if even a couple of the accusations are true, “he’s toast.” Former advisor and presidential candidate Chris Christie said, “Blame him, he did it.”

For the Trump supporters who have made it this far, I know that nothing I say here will sway you, I get it. I pride myself on being in the middle of this nightmare called “American politics.” Sadly, our country has devolved into a nation of “Tommy hit me first!” Rather than even consider someone in your own party could be in the wrong, it’s “But they did this!” Don’t let one side tell you want to think or believe. Remember those things your parents tried so desperately to teach you, right and wrong?

I had high hopes when Trump first took office. I had always felt that what our country needed was a Chief Executive and that our nation should be run more like a business. Compassionate, but practical. But what I got from that administration was basically a reality show, with a very real and terrifying reality.

By the way, a quick full disclosure. I was raised in a Republican family. My senior year of high school, I attended a “Young Republicans for Nixon” rally in Long Beach and went door-to-door campaigning for him. Among the presidential candidates I’ve voted for over the year: Reagan, Perot, McCain and Hillary Clinton. If the first place you go with this whole Trump thing is, “But Hunter Biden….” Go for it. You got proof, you got a case, if he’s guilty, I’m all for it. I’d call myself a concerned Biden supporter, only because I don’t think he should run for another term. Not that he hasn’t done the best job possible, but I’m also concerned about his health and who would be next president, if something happened.

All this to bare my political soul and let you know, this is how I think. I highly admire Republicans like Liz Cheney and Adam Kinzinger who bucked the current “But we need Trump” Republican party to pursue the truth about January 6th. They are some of the few remaining players of the common sense Republican party and it wouldn’t surprise me that if Trump gets the nomination, one or both might not run as a third party candidate. Conservative writer Peggy Noonan thinks that 2024 just might be the year for a third party to emerge.

OK, I went a bit overboard on this topic, but I just wish people would think for themselves, because there is a better America out there. THEY won’t do it for us, we will have to do it ourselves.

I can’t possibly be the only one to think of these things.

Tim Hunter

P.S. Immediately after posting this, my friend Camille put this up on Facebook, so I thought I would share. Do you really hate what he is doing, or just hating because your party expects it?

As a human being, I consider myself typical.

From my earlier recollection, I was always in a hurry to grow up, get out there and take on the world. In elementary school, I couldn’t wait to get to high school (I attended school back in the day when Elementary grades were 1-8. Yes, shortly after the earth cooled) I had a blast in high school, playing basketball, falling in love, going through all those things teenagers go through and then, I couldn’t wait to go off to college. Again, those really were some of the best years of my life; if I had only realized it at the time. Nope, I was in a hurry to get to the next level. To go out in that big, beautiful world, start building a career and making my fortune.

Hindsight is quick to point out that, if I was hoping to make a fortune, I probably shouldn’t have chosen radio.

But sure enough, off I went. After interning at KING-AM the final two quarters of my college days, I headed east of the mountains, took those almost four years of college at a cost of around $20,000 (thanks mom and dad) and landed my first radio job. Yep, a full-time position, doing afternoons, making commercials, living my radio dream for a whopping $350 a month to start. If I worked out and stayed for three months, it went up to $375!

Of course, I almost immediately started dreaming about getting to a bigger market. I had looked at Salem, Oregon, but that was more of a lateral move. I didn’t really want to go any further east, as in Spokane, and in just shy of three years in Yakima, the “Palm Springs of Washington”, I took a job as Larry Nelson’s producer at KOMO-radio in Seattle. I had made it to the big time.

But I wanted more. First, a starter home, then wanting a bigger home for having kids. We somehow pulled off the kid thing, while the radio career slowly grew to as much as you possibly hope for, only to have it blow up. And there I was, in a way, starting over.

There was no radio work to be had, so I expanded my skills and become a copywriter at an ad agency. The longer I stayed there, the more skills I picked up. All the while, I was looking for the elusive “What’s next?” and, eventually, I realized doing the things I love to do was the job. There really wasn’t really a single job that included all those things, so I spun off and took a big swing, doing what I call my “career salad.” And for the past coming on 9 years, I’ve been living that dream.

Every workday of my life is different. I need to do a project for this client, a comedy client needs some jokes, oops, it’s another month–that means writing a hundred or so social media posts for clients. There’s video work, voice-over projects, email blasts, newsletters–not all at once, but when I get done with one, others are waiting.

Again, all stuff I enjoy doing and I consider myself blessed to be able to somehow make this all work. But now I find myself at that stage of life where I want to cut back on the amount of stuff I’m doing. Before, I wanted to crank out stuff and then crank out more. That drive is fading, as slowing down is becoming more and more attractive. For most of my life, I’ve gotten so much satisfaction out of amazing people just how much I do.

While sitting out on the deck last night on a cool, almost-summer evening, I sat there sipping my beverage and watching all the birds play in the backyard. It was downright peaceful. It’s also something that I just don’t do enough. Too often, it’s wedge in a TV show I recorded or maybe try to get ahead of the work projects. I was only out on the deck for about an hour, but it seemed longer.

As I sat there, letting my mind wander all over the place, the thought came to me that this is what I should be doing. Not necessarily watching birds but just making my world smaller. I mean, really smaller. Right now, I’m involved with a really big world, and the constant bombardment about everything going on in each of our individual worlds takes a toll. You find yourself absorbed in the local or national news, followed by learning more than you ever wanted to know about people in your Facebook or Instagram feeds. Or Twitter, or TikTok or whatever.

So much stimulus.

I can’t possibly be the only person that feels this way. Perhaps that is just part of the learning about life process. We all need to just read that point where we, instead, focus our waking moments on the things that are really important.

I’ve spent the bulk of my life being in a hurry to get to the next big adventure. I think my brain is finally understanding that I need fewer and smaller adventures.

I’ve long abandoned the common philosophy, “I’ll be happy when I get ______.” Because that only lasts until you think you need one more thing to be happy. Oh, I want things, everybody does. But they aren’t what makes me happy.

I’m going to focus on those important things that surround me and try to start doing more of that cliche` “being in the present” stuff. That phrase gets a lot of lip service, but you don’t see many people living it.

67 years into this life, is that the big “ah moment” that has finally dawned on me? Is it really that simple?

I hope so. I’m going to go check on the birds now.

Tim Hunter