Tech Talk

When did writing a check become a social faux pas?

I consider myself a modern girl.  I embrace technology for the most part.  Computers?  We have three in this house.  Cordless phone?  Sure, even though we don’t use it.  Cell phones?  Let me just say…duh.  Digital cameras are the next best thing to sliced bread in my book.

I have even ventured into online banking.  Slowly, yes.  But I do it. I still refuse to get eStatements, though.  

Debit cards?  Sort of.  This is the one area where I am old fashioned.  I need the paper trail of a check. Molly is the one who has urged and educated me on the benefits and advantages of a debit card, so I’m using that more than I used to.

Sadly, the rest of the world is light years ahead of me on this.  When I put gas in the car, I don’t pay at the pump.  I’d have palpitations if I had to try.  I go in a write a check.  What’s the big deal?  Money is money, right?  Oh no.  I can feel the waves of impatience coming off of not only the people behind me waiting to swipe their cards for their lottery tickets and donuts, but the cashier is tapping her foot and rolling her eyes.

I’m sorry.  Sue me.

Writing checks seem to have gone the way of writing letters using paper, pen, and a stamp.  Or even little “thinking of you” note cards.  

It makes me sad to lose those pieces of yesterday.  Geez, I say that a lot.  I sincerely hope I am not entering that stage of life when every other conversation I have starts out “back in my day…” because I just don’t feel that old.  

But I digress.

I have embraced technology more as the years pass.  I have a smart phone and I use it to check my email, my social media, send and receive text messages probably like the rest of you.

Given the recent cyber attacks, reverting to old fashioned paper, pencil, and other non-tech ways of keeping records is starting to look pretty good, isn't it? Not to mention good old green money...cash. Does anyone even carry cash anymore? I'm thinking all those people who live "off the grid" just might have it right.

Have you ever considered how dependent on technology we are?  Have you ever thought about what would happen if something catastrophic happened to the cloud or whatever it is that powers and connects all those devices?

There would be no cell phones for one thing.  More than that, even the necessities of life would be lost to us.  No electricity to run coffee makers, computers, panini makers.  No one would be able to buy groceries or gas because all of that commerce is dependent on technology and computers.  

Scary thought, isn’t it?

So I will use technology as much as I can, but you can bet the bank that I will have hard copy backups for everything because that’s just how I roll.  



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Happy Father's Day!

It’s no secret that I was a daddy’s girl and pretty much reveled in it.  In my line-up of important people, there was God, and then there was Daddy.

That might be why Father’s Day is bittersweet for me.  Okay, I’ll be honest.  It’s hard.  

It shouldn’t be, I know.  I have a million precious memories of Dad.  His humor, his work ethic, his unstinting loyalty to family and friends.  Those are memories I treasure, and I generally drag them out of my memory box on Father’s Day.

This year, Father’s Day is just a little bit better because I have a brand new memory to ponder on.

We attended a graduation party for a neighbor’s son yesterday.  It was nice to visit with folks that we only see at “marryings and buryings.”  

We spent some time talking to Mike Chamberlin,  a long-time dairy farmer from north of Pine Island.  We, of course, hashed out the weird weather pattern that has been happening over the last week or so, and I mentioned the storm damage at Carlson Dairy near Willmar.

Mike was trying to remember why the name Carlson was ringing a bell with him, so I explained that one of the Carlson brothers was married to Kindra Rott from Elgin, and Mike knew Kindra’s dad, Duke.  I saw the light bulb go off as he made the connection.

So then he asked me, “You knew Rott’s also, didn’t you”  You bet.  My dad and Duke were best friends and our families attended the same church, so we spent a lot of time together.

Then he told me a story I had not heard before about Daddy.

My mom and dad raised registered Holsteins (let’s hear it for Footprint Holsteins!) and had a fairly impressive reputation for quality livestock.  Twice a year in Rochester, there was a registered Holstein auction at the fairgrounds, and Daddy would sometimes have a heifer or calf for sale at the auction.

Mike said that one year’, he bought Daddy’s heifer at the auction, but before it was time to load her on a trailer for his farm, the on-site vet discovered that she had an abdominal condition that would require surgery.

Mike said my dad came to him to tell him this and to let him know that he--Daddy--would take the heifer back to our farm, have the surgery done there, and then only when the heifer was recovered Mike could come and get her.

Mike said he was impressed, even now, with that kind of generosity and honest dealing with a buyer.  He never forgot it for which I am thankful because now I have another precious memory of my dad to have in my thoughts next Father’s Day.

Captain and I are both strong believers that the spirit of a person who has passed is still present.  Knowing that those we love are never truly gone as long as they are remembered makes all those difficult days a little bit easier.

I can’t close this post without saying Happy Father’s Day to Captain.  I’ve heard it said that a girl will often marry a man just like her father.  I’m living proof it happens.  Captain reminds me a lot of my dad with that same goofy, off-the-wall sense of humor; a strong commitment to faith, family, and friends; and a work ethic that just doesn’t quit.  

Congratulations to all fathers!  Keep up the good work and enjoy your special day.  May it bring you blessings and smiles for your memory box.  

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Happy Birthday, My Baby!

Happy, happy birthday to our first born, Young Man!  I am so proud of the man my baby boy has become.  

I remember the first night we had him home.  It was hotter than Hades that day.  I had practiced and perfected the mummy wrap before I left the hospital and was so proud as I laid him down in his bassinet that my effort looked just as good as the nurses’ had.

What I couldn’t understand was why he wouldn’t stop fussing.  He was fed, he had a clean, dry diaper on, he was all cocooned in his little blanket; what was the problem.

By midnight, I was at my wit’s end, in tears, and absolutely sure that I was going to be the world’s worst mother if I couldn’t even get through the first night without a crisis.  I finally woke Captain up and confessed that I didn’t know what else to do.

Captain meandered out to the living room and looked down in the bassinet at our bundle of crabby baby.  

“Well geez, the poor kid is hot!”  So saying, he unwrapped the blanket, took off the little jammies, and snuggled Young Man a bit before putting him back down.  

Where Young Man promptly stuck his diapered butt in the air, pulled his arms under his chest, and snoozed like...well...a baby.  That has been his favored sleeping position from then until now.  

It was a rocky start but we all survived it.  Even thrived.

Young Man is my sentimental sap, my cuddler.  Always has been.  He is the one who embraces all things historical from country music to ancestry.  He is the one who loves nothing better than to sit with the old folks anywhere, anytime, and listen to all of the “back in my day” stories they tell.

Young Man had his share of disagreements with his sister through their teenage years, but when push comes to shove, he is her fiercest defender.  I know this to be true because there is at least one person on this planet who got a come-to-Jesus talk from Young Man when he was in full Big Brother mode.  Let me tell you, when a 6-foot, 215-pound pissed off brother gets in your face...you will back down and behave.  Just saying.

Young Man is the Brogan grandchild most like Captain’s dad.  As he gets older, I can see it more and more in his speech and mannerisms.  It’s a bittersweet realization, knowing that Captain’s Dad is gone from this earth but alive and well in spirit and living on in Young Man.  

Family is first and foremost for Young Man.  Friends are an extremely close, sometimes indiscernible, second.  He is generous, kind, loyal, and hard-working.  I remember one time in high school or shortly after, he helped a friend groom his show heifer for state fair.  When they tried to pay him, he not only refused, he was somewhat insulted.  

At 26 years old, Young Man is a loving husband and father.  He works hard and plays hard.  He contributes to his community and always has a helping hand for those in need.

Reginald Patrick, we are so proud of you and love you beyond reason.  Best of everything to you always.  

Happy Birthday!

Bertha

In Brogan world, we tend to name our vehicles.  Don’t ask me why because I don’t know.

The first Explorer I had when the kids were younger was named Tessie, as in Tessie The Truck.  

On a recent outing to Treasure Island, Mama Bear along with Molly and cousin Krispie, named Mama Bear’s SUV “Ron.”  I’m guessing there is a story behind that, but I sort of don’t want to know what it is.  

The most beloved of the vehicles in our family was Bertha.  She was a tan Ford Taurus that got handed down from Captain’s grampa and gramma, to his dad, to his brother, and finally to Molly.  Bertha was Molly’s first car after she got her license, and she formed an extremely strong emotional attachment to Bertha.  

Anyway, we’ll come back to that.  

Some of you might not know that this spring I was elected the new president of the Pine Island FFA Alumni.  Spring and early summer happens to be our busiest time of the year including the Pine Island Cheese Fest where we sponsor a petting zoo in conjunction with the student chapter, and we have a float in the grand parade where we hand out string cheese.  As in just over 2000 stick of cheese each year.  

That’s a lot of cheese, pals of mine!  To offset the cost, we solicit donations from area businesses, and we have always had a good response to that.

This year, one of the donors was Steve Johnson of Zumbrota Ford.  You’ve seen or heard his commercials as a Dealer For The People.  When Steve contacted us about the donation, he asked that an alumni officer come to pick up the check personally at the dealership so they could take a photo for their Facebook page.

Being as I had the morning off for other reasons, I set up a time with Steve to get the check and take the picture.  When I arrived at Zumbrota Ford, I had a few moments to chat with Steve, and one question he asked was “Are you related to the Brogans in St. Charles.”  

This is a little different than the usual question of “Are you related to Brogan Heating and Air.”  The answer to both questions is yes, but the St. Charles connection is a direct family line from Captain to his grandparents while the Brogan Heating one is a more distant connection.

Anyway, he told me he started selling cars in St. Charles 40 years ago.  Turns out that Captain’s aunt Pat worked part-time there during college.  

Steve then went on to say that Grampa and Gramma Brogan were long-time, valued customers of his, and that he remembered selling them their last car.

A tan Ford Taurus.

Yep, he sold Bertha to Grampa and Gramma back in the day!  So of course, I had to tell him how useful Bertha had been in our family through four generations.  

That’s not the interesting part...or not the point I wanted to make.

Steve told me that when Grampa and Gramma wanted to buy Bertha, he had already moved his dealership to Zumbrota, but Grampa Brogan called him up and said they wanted a new car and he should come on down to see them.

Steve found a car--Bertha--and drove from Zumbrota to St. Charles right to Grampa and Gramma’s house, and they signed the paperwork at the kitchen table.  Steve then took the car that they were trading in and drove back to Zumbrota.  

More than that, he said Grampa would call every four to six to eight weeks after that saying that the car was making a funny noise and needed to be looked at.

Steve would take the time and drive down from Zumbrota to St. Charles right to Grampa and Gramma’s house, look at the car, and spend some time visiting with his long-time, loyal customers.

That’s customer service that I can applaud, so this is a shout out for Zumbrota Ford as a valuable asset to our community through excellent customer service as well as generous charitable contributions to local civic organizations.

Thank you Zumbrota Ford, not only for the donation, but for this little piece of Captain’s family history that we didn’t have before!

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A Visit With An Old Friend

I stopped in to see an old friend last night since it’s been awhile.

I told him about how much fun it was for us to see how his boys are growing up so fast, with his oldest one just turning 10 last month.  It doesn’t seem possible that he is that old already!  His youngest just had his preschool “graduation” program a week or two ago.  I asked him if he remembered us talking about our kids’ preschool programs.

I told him how Captain would have come with me but he was busy planting soybeans since it’s been a difficult spring with rain and cold and wind delaying planting a week or two.  He’s Captain’s oldest friend so he gets it.

I told him stories about Cubby and how fast SHE is growing.  Neither one of us find it odd that his kids are just a few years older than our grandchild.  He married later in life than we did, so all those parenting dilemmas are what he watched us go through 20 years ago.  

I told him how my mom was doing in Wisconsin near Baby Brother and Mae, and how that was the best decision we made for her.  He gets it because his folks are just a few years younger than my mom and are starting to depend on the younger generation somewhat to step up and help out once in awhile.  

It was good to talk to him for awhile on a warm summer evening, but I said there were things I needed to do at home.

So I said my goodbyes, laid a flower on his headstone, and drove out of the cemetery.  

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