I HATE KODAK EASY SHARE

Last night or early this morning I spent over an hour talking on line to a representatvie of easy-share. the end result----- I lost over 450 pictures, weddings, trips, fish, etc. I am so mad I am not sure that I trust myself to speak without cussing. I wish I was rich so I could sue the bums.

IF YOU CAN READ THIS THANK A TEACHER

With another school year almost over, memories take me back to those years long ago when I was a student. I remember some of the great teachers I had, I'm sure everyone had a great teacher, a teacher who literally made a difference between success and failure, one who could open up a new arena of thought just by talking to you, making a suggestion, helping you over a particularly rough spot.
The first teacher I remember is Mrs. Gardner. I was a student in a three room country school house with two grades per room. I was in the fifth grade at the time. I was sitting there supposedly working a math problem and she was speaking to the sixth grade about Julius Caesar. How I hung on every word since Caesar was one of my favorite subjects. I had read and studied about him for a couple of years at that point- the Roman Legions, the glory of Rome, all of it was an area of complete and total enchantment to me.
She asked a question regarding Caesar and I held up my hand, she looked a little shocked at me as she turned and said " yes Steve " . I gave her the correct answer, and she said " that's right Steve, but you are supposed to be doing math now." Darn, I hated math, I still don't care for it today, however my interest in Caesar continues unabated.
The next teacher would have to be Ruth Kline. I had gone back to school after having been on the road and in the service for a while. I had gone back to try to get my diploma, and I signed up for a speech class with Ruth Kline. The first speech we were assigned was to demonstrate a skill.
Not being an athlete nor mechanically inclined, I chose to demonstrate a skill picked up in the military. One that a few years in the service had taught me well... how to cheat at poker.
I took a deck of cards and very carefully how to build a top stock, a bottom stock, how to do a false cut, and how to deal seconds. I taught them about other cheating mechanisms, mirror rings, shiners, slick aces, etc. At the end of the class the kids seemed to have enjoyed my speech very much. As class let out, Mrs. Kline called me into her office and said " Steve I'll make you a deal, as far as your speech today goes, presentation was an A, your communication skills are obviously an A, but your subject matter leaves a lot to be desired. I will give you an A for the entire school year in speech class if you never come through that door again."
From then on I used fourth period as an extra study hall or lunch period, whichever I chose. There was a little store about a half block down from the school and you would go in and they would rip open a ten cent bag of Fritos and ladle a big scoop of home made chili across it, by the time you added a ten cent Coke, your lunch cost you thirty-five cents. A great buy and some wonderful memories.
Another teacher that I remember was Gracie Bruckner. She was my home room teacher in Junior High School. I had homeroom right after lunch. Now Mrs. Bruckner was a little old lady with Gray hair, who didn't care what we did as long as we were quiet in home room. We could use it for a study hall, we could sleep, whatever the student needed, with one exception.... she wanted us to listen. She read to us, and Grace Bruckner introduced me to the work of Ralph Moody--More commonly known as Little Britches.
The series of books he wrote were about the west and growing up in Colorado. About the trials and tribulations he and his mom faced after his dad died. This is still some of my favorite reading, but the joy was going in each day, knowing that there was another chapter of that book waiting to be read. It got me to school on many a day when otherwise I would have kicked back and said to heck with it.
The last teacher and the one who influenced me the most was a man who gave me the skills to enjoy and appreciated one of the loves of my life. His name was Earl Faulkner. I had Earl as both my junior and senior high band teacher. I was fortunate enough to be in his bands for six years, not just marching band, but concert band, Jazz band, Stage band, and so many others.
Earl gave me not only a love of music, but also pride in myself, pride in my accomplishments, and pride in who I was. Earl Faulkner was more than a teacher, he was a friend, a mentor, and an educator.
A few years ago a movie came out called Mr. Hollands Opus. It showed the career of a high school music teacher that spanned several decades. It struck a note within me that made me want to contact Earl Faulkner. I called his home only to find out that I was too late, Earl had died two years before that movie was made. Fortunately, I did get to see Earl, I saw him about five years before his death and told him what his friendship had meant to me. It wasn't just his friendship, it was his classes, his ability to know when things were wrong and do his bit to make them right.
Earl Faulkner, Thank You, this entry is dedicated to you from one of your students, I miss you Earl.

THE DANCE, THE BAND, THE GIRL

The junior high gym lights went out as the band teacher's voice came over the P. A. " And now, ladies and gentlemen, for your dancing enjoyment, we give you the music of Steve Brundy and the Dixicats!" A baby blue spotlight caught the bell of my Olds Ambassador trumpet as I played the first notes of Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans? Slowly the circle of blue light enlarged to pick up the rest of the band.


Our drummer was Terry Coker, the toughest kid in town, who found more satisfaction in beating on his drums than on other kids. Bob Steele played clarinet. A real life cowboy, he was born on a cattle drive from Flagstaff to Williams, Arizona. Howard Clark was probably the brain of the group, an honor roll student who played on of the hottest slip horns I've ever heard. Jim Thornton played classical piano, or did until I convinced him to join our group. We were a diverse group, brought together by a common love--music.


I was the leader, mainly because the band was my idea and I put together the schedules. I conned the principal into giving us credit for the time we spent practicing, and got the key to the band room from the band teacher so we could rehearse before classes started in the morning.



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After the set ended, I was at the refreshment table, enjoying the praise of the band teacher and feeling comfortable for once at being around the principal. I was enjoying a glass of lemonade and feeling like the night couldn't possibly get any better, when it did.

" Hi Steve, " the voice said. I turned around and saw that it was Judy Ruckman, I had the same study hall she did, and although I couldn't say anything I had had a crush on her since the first day of school. " I really enjoyed your band and I think you are a really good trumpet player." She was to me at that time the most stunning thing I had ever seen. She was dressed in black, and as she spoke to me, it was as if I was transformed from a boy into a man. Thanking her, I asked if she would care for some lemonade, but she said she would rather dance.

As we moved onto the dance floor, the regular band started to play a Glen Miller medley, starting with MOONLIGHT SERENADE. That is the last song I remember from that night, even though we danced every dance for the next two hours. Her hair was brown, close cut, and soft against my cheek. She had a way of smiling that caused very pleasant sensations to course through my fifteen year old body. Although we had never before danced together, we moved in perfect unison. She was only five feet tall, but as I held her close during the slow dances, it seemed to me that God had designed her body to fit with mine.

She was a great conversationalist, knowing just the right questions to ask to bring out my youthful pride. I couldn't help feeling that I was the handsome prince, the Junior high dance was the masked ball, and Judy was my Cinderella. As the last dance of the evening was played, I asked Judy if I could walk her to her car. As we walked slowly away from the school, toward the parking lot, we found an area of the sidewalk that was shielded from view by several large shade trees. Quickly our arms were around each other, and our lips met in a kiss, a kiss that was tentative yet filled with passion and promise.

The Dixicats went to the state music festival that year, placed first in our division, and got the only trophy I ever remember winning. That was the end of Junior high, and over the summer the band broke up , as most bands do. Jim, the piano player, moved away and I never heard from him again.

With high school came different interests. Terry became the school's leading full-back. Bob Steele started making money ranching and rodeoing. Howard's spare time had to be devoted to studying to maintain his 4.0 gpa. Since we all stayed in band, we saw each other at practices---lots of practices! We practiced for marching band, Stage band, dance band, and concert band, but somehow, even with all that, it was never the same.

We saw each other at our high school reunion a few years ago. Terry Coker, the would be tough guy, became a deputy sheriff in southwest Colorado. Howard the brain went on to medical school and is a doctor on a Navajo reservation. Bob Steele, my buddy was killed when he got caught under a bull at a rodeo.

As for Judy, she and I started dating after the dance and never stopped, even after she became my wife two years after we graduated. Like any young married couple we had good times and bad times--- times when we lived on popcorn and grilled cheese, and times we ate steak and lobster. But no matter what we had or didn't have the friendship and the love was always there, right up to the horrible day we came home from shopping and she said she was going to go lay down. I heard a noise in the bedroom and when she didn't answer I rushed into the room to find my wife, dead on the floor. The doctors said that every blood vessel in her head burst at once and she was dead before she hit the floor.

Judy has been gone for many years, but when I think of her, I remember that night-- the joy, the music, the love----and I smile.

SORRY

SORRY, I HAVEN'T POSTED LATELY BUT I AM SICK WITH PNEUMONIA, BEEN TO HOSPITAL TWICE, AND NO RELIEF, WILL WRITE MORE WHEN I FEEL BETTER

MOM"S GIFTS

Several members of my family have experienced occurrences of psychic phenomena over the years, so frequently in fact that we call them " gifts" . My mom Louise Brundy probably had more gifts than any other member of our family, gifts ranging from precognition to the ability to choose her own place to die.



We were on a vacation and travelling through the mountains of western Colorado near Red Mountain Pass. As we stood there gazing at the beautiful scenery she told us, " you know if I could choose any place to die this would be the place I'd choose.





Less than a year later Mom was killed in a traffic accident less than 300 yards from where she had spoken those prophetic words. But mom's gifts continued even after her death. In the aftermath of the accident that took her life, several volunteers helped pick up the litter left by the truck overturning.



Later that night at an uncle's house, one of the volunteers laid a small brown suitcase on the bed. My dad said " thanks for all your help, but this is one thing you needn't have bothered with. There's nothing of any importance in it." At that point the suitcase flew off the bed as if it had been thrown, it smashed against the wall and fell open. At this point my dad's wedding band fell out of the suitcase, and rolled across the floor to his feet. For all of us who knew Mom , this was absolute proof of her undying love.

FULFILLING DREAMS... PART THREE

THE DREAM FISH

Many of you readers may already have seen the picture of the dream fish. It appeared on the front page of this paper several months ago, but no article of mine about dreams would be complete without mentioning it.
I love fishing, while I have yet to become addicted to ice fishing, I still love open water fishing.
I waited 57 years for my first wall fish. I have caught Northerns, Trout, and enough crappies to fill my frying pan several times over.
Last June 14th I decided I had to get out of the house, and I drove over to Mille Lacs lake. The weather that afternoon was iffy at best, with high winds blowing up some fairly big waves. I went to Francis Resort in Isle, which is where I usually take the launch out of, only to find out that they weren't going out that night because of the weather. HECK, I had driven all that way, what to do now?
I decided to go over to the other side of the lake and indulge myself in another of my many vices, and visit Grand Casino Mille Lacs. As I drove up 169, I saw several launches along the shore and the urge to go out on the water got even stronger. I drove past the casino and went up to seguchee resort. I had gone out on the launch from there only once before and had had only fair luck but I thought I would give it a try. I went in and inquired and they said that they would be going out at eight o clock.
I had a couple of hours to kill so I went back down to the casino, and hit the blackjack tables. Lady Luck was with me and I won enough to pay for the launch trip, my gas for the trip over, and even pay for my dinner.
I reported back to the launch at 7:30 and we went out on the lake. I met a group of guys and in the course of our conversation a wager was made on who would catch the biggest fish. The weather got worse it rained and the wind blew so hard we had to fight six foot waves, but, if you wanna fish sometimes you just have to tough it out.
At exactly midnight Captain Dale said " reel em in boys we are headed back in ". Just as he spoke my bobber went down. I waited a slow ten count and then set the hook... the result of that strike can be seen on the wall of my apt. Thirty two and a half inches, eleven and a half pounds. A great walleye.
So you see folks some dreams come true, when they are finally fulfilled .... well, maybe that is what life is supposed to be about.

FULFILLING DREAMS... PART TWO

THE DREAM DATE

To understand why I call this the dream date you need to know a little more about me. I am very nostalgic, extremely sentimental, and even somewhat old fashioned. While I enjoy many types of music; classical, jazz, country and r and b, I will gladly admit that my favorite music is that of the big bands.
Glen Miller, the Dorsey brothers, Wayne King, Benny Goodman, music you can dance to, dream to .... but I digress.
My best friend Paul, was the late night janitor at the Prom Ballroom on University Avenue in Saint Paul. I used to go down and keep him company in the wee hours of the morning. It was on one of these visits that the idea for the dream date came about.
I picked up my lady about nine, and we went out for a very nice dinner at a now defunct steak house. A little after one I told her I had a surprise for her and then drove her to the Prom Ballroom, which had closed for the evening.
Paul let us in and then disappeared into the basement to continue his work. We entered the main ballroom to find that Paul had exceeded my expectations. The lights were dim, a bottle of wine was chilling, and best of all he had managed to hook my stereo into the public address system.
I went over and hit play, and once again the music of some of the big bands filled the Prom. We had the entire ballroom to ourselves and man did we make great use of it! We danced waltzes, foxtrots, and so many jitterbugs my feet still ache and if I stole a kiss or two oh well, they probably weren't the first kisses stolen there.
The Prom Ballroom is no longer there, the lady is long since married to someone else, and that night is but a memory, but I still remember the wonder of being the best dancers at the Prom.