Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting:

I won’t be able to work tomorrow.

Why not?

My Grandma Hanson died.

I’m surprised. That’s the fourth time she’s died.

You’re surprised? Just think how my Grandma feels.

Driving by the Bruces

I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: Being happy for others makes me happy.

The cafe chronicles

I stopped at the cafe because it was conveniently located near a restroom. Using a restroom creates an obligation. It was guilt more than hunger that made me order something to eat. I sat down with a group of men. I didn’t know any of them. I asked if any of them owned a chia pet. Moronic questions make wonderful ice breakers. Someone was introduced as being slightly cracked, but still a good egg. Another as having a reach impediment when it came time to pick up a check. Someone said, “Jeepers!” I felt right at home.

And you are?

My sister-in-law, Donna Swenson of Waseca, retired from her full-time job and took a part-time job at the local Care Center. She is an occupational therapist blessed with skill and dedication. My bride stopped to see her sister. She asked one of the other workers where she might find Donna Swenson. The friendly person told my wife that there was no one by that name in that section and that she should check out the residents living in a different hallway.

It reminded me of a hick from Hartland visiting a nursing home resident who had been his mother’s friend. He greeted her and asked, “Do you know who I am?”

The woman pointed at a nursing assistant and replied, “No, but if you ask that woman there, I’m sure she’ll be able to tell you.”

Watching Carlie Wagner

It was as cold as normal. It was so cold that the fine print in my cellphone contract had gotten even smaller. Winters here are gelid enough that people watch TV shows that are nothing more than a fireplace. Stouthearted individuals have been known to open front doors to leave and say, “Forget it,” before retreating to the comforting hold of familiar blankets.

Maybe that’s why we hadn’t gone earlier. Maybe it was because family and work had filled our calendars. We’d been meaning to go, but we’re part of the largest nation on Earth — procrastination.

My family, friends and I rode a snazzy bus to Williams Arena to watch local hoopster Carlie Wagner and the Minnesota Gophers play. Finally, we were going to see some college basketball! We had a swell time and it was a great way to travel.

A car covered with bumper stickers passed us. There were fender stickers, trunk stickers, hood stickers, etc. The driver believed in things. Mostly, he believed that he should put on another bumper sticker.

The Maryland coach spent the game bending the ear of the nearest referee. I guess that is what you have to do at that level. There was more cajoling than coaching on her part. Her staff handled most of the coaching. Hers is a tough gig. Most everybody on her staff wants her job.

My thanks to Carlie for the incentive and to Rick Schultz of New Richland for arranging the trip.

He told me, ‘Carry on.’ I will.

My brother Donald’s wife, Glenda, had a father who was in the Navy, a brother in the Marines, another brother who was in the Air Force and a husband proud of his Army service.

Donald was a volunteer firefighter, someone truly good for nothing. He was a magician when it came to maladies of motors and machinery. His humble mastery of such things mystified and delighted me. I felt rich to have such a sibling. It was nearly impossible for me to break things that he couldn’t fix. Until now. He broke my heart and I’m not sure it’s fixable. He didn’t do it with malicious intent. He did it by dying.

Donald died a couple days short of his Jan. 15 birthday. Glenda was with him when he shuffled off this mortal coil. My wife and I had just left his room and had almost made it into our house when my cellphone rang, giving me the bad news.

The good news is that Donald was my brother. It doesn’t get better than that.