My head is swirling right now with a plethora of wonderful memories of the two and a half days I just spent in Decorah with my sister and her family (I appreciate my wife letting me slip away while she kept the home fires burning) . . . a visit which just happened to coincide with Decorah’s annual Nordic Fest. I could wax rhapsodically about all kinds of things, but I can’t talk about the Nordic Fest parade or homemade lefse or the play my niece and nephew were in – before I talk about an incredibly moving moment which happened the first evening I was in Decorah.
First, a word about the cast of characters: My sister Randi is a doctor in Harmony, Minnesota. She lives in rural Decorah with her husband Matt and their three children. My family was good friends with Matt’s family even before he married my sister (the Spencers are members of Luther Valley, my dad’s last church before he retired) and my wife Kathy was a very close friend of Matt’s older brother Mitch while they were both students at Carthage. And as many of you know, Kathy and I actually met for the first time at Mitch’s funeral, where she had gathered together a group of choir alums to sing and I was the organist for the service and ended up playing for Mitch’s schoolmates. So there are obviously some strong ties between our two families, and any time spent with the Spencers is a great time.
So I got to Decorah in time for supper Thursday evening, and I was delighted to see that Ted and Donna had come over from Beloit for a visit. At one point during the meal, right out of the blue, Randi asked me to do the following:
Write down the year of my birth . . . double it . . . add 5 . . . multiply by 50 . . . add my age . . . add 365 . . . and subtract 615, I did it and came up with the grand total was 196052 . . . the year of my birth and my current age. It’s quite an intriguing mathematical exercise, and I should ask Professor Charlotte Chell, the most brilliant mathematical genius I know, what makes this work. All I know is that it does, somehow.
But here’s the real heart of the story. This puzzle comes out of a neat little book called Pick a Peck of Puzzles. It was one of a number of books that were sent to Donna, a retired school librarian, when the school where she worked for many years closed. And the reason this particular book was sent to her was because her son Mitch was one of the students who had checked it out, many years ago. (Thank goodness this school library still had the old fashioned cards with which you signed books out.) It was so cool to hold this book in our hands and know that it had given pleasure to young Mitch Spencer, once upon a time. (And from what Kathy and the Spencers have told me about him – and what I know as well from the few times I got to be with him, it’s not surprise that Mitch would have loved a book like this.)
And I am just so glad that someone realized before it was too late that these hundreds and hundreds of old books represented something very precious- and in the case of this particular book, we’re talking about something absolutely priceless to Ted & Donna & Mitch’s siblings. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to just box up these books and ship them off to be recycled or destroyed or whatever. But someone took the time to do this for Donna, and I’m still shaking my head in wonder and gratitude. . . as is she.
pictured above: the book sent to Donna- and the library card attached to it. The fifth name on it is Mitch Spencer.