Google Maps: Fargo, North Dakota; part of the south side.
Google Maps and Street View: Fargo, North Dakota, decades after we lived there.
Our first apartment was in Fargo, North Dakota; in the square mile south of Main Avenue and between I-29 and 25th Street South.
I don’t know how Fargo zoned that land. From what was there, my guess is that the designation would translate into ‘meh, whatever’.
Our apartment was on the top floor, and had a nice floor plan. Bedrooms were on either side of a living area. A kitchen and bath shared a wall with that floor’s corridor.
That’s the good news.
Something was wrong with the place. Come winter, no matter what we did, it was uncomfortably hot.
Then there were the crickets. The apartment’s nooks, crannies, and carpeting supported a modest cricket community. Normally, they’re lively insects. But these critters didn’t hop or skitter. They walked. Slowly.
On the other hand, only one of the windows fell out of its frame while we were there.
Maybe, given time, we could have done something about all of the above. Instead, when opportunity came, we found a place on Fargo’s north side. And that’s another topic.
Our First Child, Learning New Skills
We were still living with slow crickets when our first child came.
Happily, my wife was the second-oldest of seven, so she had infant-care skills.
As for me, I gleefully, if sometimes ineptly, learned how to hold babies and change diapers.
Okay. “Gleefully” and changing diapers isn’t a good match. But saying I was pleased about being a father would have been an understatement.
What They Don’t Tell You About Holding Infants
Turns out that, as a skill, holding babies has at least two facets.
First, there’s the matter of providing adequate support for the infant’s head and cradling the rest of the tiny person’s body.
Second: something I haven’t seen in ‘how to hold a newborn baby’ discussions.
It’s very important — particularly, I suspect, for fathers — to hold their infant in such a way as to not frighten the mother.
That brings me to one time when we were descending the stairs at our first apartment.
A Lesson on a Stairway
With some practice, it’s quite possible to safely hold a sufficiently-wrapped infant in the crook of one arm.
I gather the technique has a name: cradle hold.
I didn’t know that at the time. I’d just learned that I could keep her head, neck, and body lined up along my left forearm; with my left hand maintaining a firm-but-not-tight hold on her bottom.
Perfectly safe. Even when I was walking.
Or, rather, thanks to my gimpy hip, lurching. With a cane in my right hand. It’s odd: after I started using a cane, around age 20, I didn’t get nearly as many disturbed looks from folks. And that’s yet another topic.
Anyway, all three of us were heading somewhere. I don’t remember where. Any place that wasn’t that apartment was a treat, and I’m drifting off-topic again.
This time I was holding our daughter. Securely and safely. In the crook of my left arm.
Going down the building’s switchback stairs.
With my wife a step or two behind me.
Giving her a clear view of her baby being swung over the stairway’s gap.
I don’t remember exactly what she said, or how she said it.
I do remember a swift and lasting lesson: don’t swing the baby over gaps. Ever.
Good idea, I think. Aside from not alarming my wife, there’s prudence in not assuming that what I think is safe enough: is actually safe enough.
Vocations
“VOCATION: The calling or destiny we have in this life and hereafter. God has created the human person to love and serve him; the fulfillment of this vocation is eternal happiness (1, 358, 1700). Christ calls the faithful to the perfection of holiness (825). The vocation of the laity consists in seeking the Kingdom of God by engaging in temporal affairs and directing them according to God’s will (898). Priestly and religious vocations are dedicated to the service of the Church as the universal sacrament of salvation (cf. 873; 931).” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, Glossary)
I like being married. I realized that it was my vocation long before I knew what “vocations” in the Catholic sense were: long before I became a Catholic, for that matter.
But being married isn’t the only vocation.
I’d better clarify the term.
A vocation, in the Catholic sense, is what each of us does with our life.
In my dialect of English, when Catholics say “vocations”, we generally mean being a priest, monk, or nun.
But vocations aren’t limited to either the religious sort, or being married.
For folks like me, who are part of the laity, rules for managing human sexuality are slightly different when we’re married. But single, married, or in a religious vocation: being human, including our sexuality, matters. So does what we do with our human nature. (Catechism, 2337-2359, particularly 2349)
Our first child has long since grown up.
She’s single: not because she didn’t find the right guy, but because she thinks it’s a good idea for her.
I think she’s right.
I don’t “understand”, on an emotional or experiential level, why she decided that finding ‘Mister Right’ and raising a family wasn’t for her. But we’ve talked about this: and I understand, intellectually, her decision. Just as important, I accept it.
People, Duties, and Doing Our Job
Human beings, all human beings, are people. People matter. We’re not all alike, and that’s okay: we’re supposed to be different. Single adults are people. And, since people matter, they matter, too. (Catechism, 1658, 1934-1938, 2258-2317, for starters)
While I’m thinking of it — this is a bit counter-cultural.
My wife and I didn’t have a “right to a child”, because a child is a person, not property. (Catechism, 2378)
While we were raising them, each of our children had a duty to obey us. My wife and I had duties, too: which included remembering that each of our children was a person. Part of our job was educating them, showing them how to make good decisions. (Catechism, 2217, 2221-2230)
And part of our job was not telling them what sort of jobs they should have, who they should marry: or whether they should get married. (Catechism, 2230-2231)
From “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” trailer. (1953) The ‘good old days’ weren’t all that good.
Like I said, the way we should live is a bit counter-cultural now.
It didn’t fit cultural norms back in my ‘good old days’ — which weren’t — either: which is yet again another topic.
I’ve talked about dealing — and living — with differences, vocations, and being human, before:
Don’t worry, by the way. The poem is short: only 14 words, including the title.
A New Normal and a North Window
Me, in 2021.
Normally — or, rather, what used to be normally — I’d be spending most of the day at my desk, looking stuff up, reading, writing, or thinking about what I’d been reading, writing, or looking up.
Then, in April, a sore on my shin wouldn’t heal.
As a result, I got to know the folks who come to town each week for a Wound Care Clinic, and spent most of the summer’s days keeping my feet as high as practical.
The good news, some of it, was that the household already had an easy chair by the north window.
The open sore wasn’t open any more by the time summer ended. But now I’ve got a new “normal”: spending a fair fraction of each day in the easy chair by the north window. Often with a cup of coffee, always with something to read.
The new routine keeps my feet up more than before, which is supposed to help with blood circulation: and did strongly correlate with getting that sore healed.
My webcam’s view, around noon, October 22, 2025.
It’s a nice view out the north window: basically the same as my webcam’s, but from a different angle.
Webcam: Sauk Centre MN “…my corner of small town America, deep in the heart of darkest Minnesota….”
Lately, I’ve been enjoying watching the leaves turn to their autumn colors. And that reminded me of something my father did.
“Autumn Yard Work” and Rejoicing
“Autumn Yard Work (II)”, Bernard I. Gill.
My father didn’t write much, but he did have a way with words. That’s something I inherited from him, along with a habit of thinking about life, the universe, and all that.
Autumn Yard Work (II) Life passing Leaves falling Birds flying Clouds floating I’m watching Rejoicing (Bernard I. Gill)
I can’t, offhand, point to any one example, but I very strongly suspect I learned my habit of paying attention to the wonders and beauties surrounding us from my father.
Or maybe it’s something hardwired: an inherited predisposition to notice where I am, and think about what’s there. If so, that’s a pleasant counterpoint to other very-likely-inherited glitches.
In any case, I think rejoicing is a good idea. Even when — particularly when — everything isn’t copacetic, the snail’s eyebrows, and the bee’s knees: and I don’t have ‘beautiful feelings’.
“…Oh, what a beautiful Mornin’ Oh, what a beautiful day. I’ve got a beautiful feelin’ Everything’s goin’ my way….” (“Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” , from “Oklahoma!” (1943) via allmusicals.com)
Bottom line, rejoicing is a good idea, no matter how I’m feeling. It’s also possible at any time, although sometimes it’s more of an intellectual exercise than a rush of emotion.
This might be a good time to stop writing.
Besides, I’ve talked about life, perceptions, and making sense before, more or less:
Our part of Sauk Centre has been getting new paving, sidewalks, and utilities. Or, rather, the old ones are being replaced.
The folks doing it have been working in stages, so no one address had their street access cut off for more than a few days to a week or so. Except for Our Lady of the Angels, the parish church for this household.
When the street and sidewalk on the church’s north side was torn up, we’d been told that the job would be done and we could use the church again by the end of summer.
So we shifted our schedules around — and so did St. Paul’s, the other parish in town. There’s a story behind a town this size having two parishes, but that’ll wait for another day.
I like St. Paul’s just fine, but by the end of summer was looking forward to getting back into “our” church.
Then, around mid-September, we learned that the concrete in the new Our Lady of the Angels sidewalk had to be re-poured. It had failed a stress test, and the slope between the doors and the street to the east exceeded insurance limits.
No worries, though. We’d been told that the concrete would get replaced. Perhaps some time next year. The contractor, apparently, was booked solid and wasn’t at all sure when we could be squeezed in.
The local priest talked with city authorities, indicating that this was not acceptable. For the first time in years, decades, I sent an email saying basically the same thing. My guess is that I wasn’t the only one indicating that, no kidding, we really do use that building.
Time passed.
This morning, on my way to St. Paul’s, I noticed cars parked outside Our Lady of the Angels, and lights on inside. Turning the corner, I saw through an entry-area window that someone was INSIDE the church.
As I said, this was an unusually good Sunday morning for me. We can start using our parish church again.
Somehow, part of the sidewalk we use was re-poured. And, I hope, this time passed tests.
The too-steep incline issue has been solved by putting stair-steps where the slope was.
What looks like a wooden railing has been installed, too. I haven’t gotten close enough to verify that the wood-colored, rather rectilinear, railings actually are wood. Wood isn’t the structural material I’d choose for railings in this climate: but the things are there, and we can use them, so I’m a happy camper.
This is very good news: and a far better outcome than I’d expected.
Now, instead of related stuff, I’ve picked links to stuff that isn’t necessarily related:
Something new each Saturday.
Life, the universe and my circumstances permitting. I'm focusing on 'family stories' at the moment. ("A Change of Pace: Family Stories" (11/23/2024))
Blog - David Torkington
Spiritual theologian, author and speaker, specializing in prayer, Christian spirituality and mystical theology [the kind that makes sense-BHG]
I was born in 1951. I'm a husband, father and grandfather. One of the kids graduated from college in December, 2008, and is helping her husband run businesses and raise my granddaughter; another is a cartoonist and artist; #3 daughter is a writer; my son is developing a digital game with #3 and #1 daughters. I'm also a writer and artist.
