November Morning Thoughts

Hear it's cold back in Minnesota. I don't miss that.

I do miss the roar of the space heater inside the heavy wooden door at the Plains Cafe every time I went in there for lunch. I miss the clink and clank of the steaming plates of hot beef sandwiches smothered in mashed potatoes and rich, hot gravy that Hattie set in the window between the kitchen and the dining area. I miss the crowded dining room with customers comfortably clad in warm plaid flannel shirts and suspendered woolen pants.

People may nut understand why I remember that place after all the bad things I endured there. I guess it's easy to think that the Great Masking of 1989 revealed the dark underbelly of that iconic scene, that somehow life in Jefferson was secretly evil, waiting to explode in the events of that week in March. In retrospect, that's garbage.

In every town, every community, there is good and evil, the Word and the Earth Man. However, if there is one thing I learned from the events of that spring, it is that good dominates...if you let it. Life before 1989 was, at times, confusing and lonely. There was stress, anger, depression, and often sadness. Yet there was also happiness, love, and rejoicing.

And since? Immeasurable blessings – family, professional success, peace, and security in the acceptance that Knowledge is fleeting, Wonder is unerring, and Being is all.

The blessings are more than enough to compensate for the memories of a cold Minnesota fall.

Memories of Jefferson: Part 1

It's over twenty years since Amanda, Jeannie, and I left Jefferson, Minnesota. I miss it, but I'm glad we're gone.

The events of 1989 are still fresh in our minds, especially since Michael Frickstad published his book The Storyteller. At the time, what happened to us and what we did could only be described as earth shattering. Since then, however,  our parts in defending and battling for the Word have diminished.

Then, again, these are different times. The Word uses different people in different places. That is how it should be.

As for us, Amanda and I still write, each in our own little offices here in Vancouver. For awhile, our novels and scripts fueled much debate among the literary and movie industries, but the debate proved fruitful. People heard. People listened. People found what was always within them.

As I said, these are different times.

Our physical bodies are older, more tired...at least Amanda's and mine. Jeannie has grown into a beautiful young woman. She and her husband Tom moved to my college community of Middlebury, Vermont, and now have two energetic and inquisitive boys who ask more questions in five minutes than most people think of in a lifetime. Somehow, Jeannie has inherited her stepmother's patience and passion to teach these human sponges all they want to know.

Back to memories.

Moving to Jefferson frightened me, especially after losing both my parents, but it initiated the most formative events of my life.

1. Marrying Sarah Bjornson and having our daughter Jeannie brought stability to what seemed an aimless future.

2. Dealing with the Norske Junta showed me the cruel, hard underbelly of small-town life, but also highlighted the good, the caring, and the glory.

3. Art Benson...What can I say? Without this outcast plumber's assistant, I would never have heard the Word, found my role in the universe, or learned the Truth. I miss him, but ecstatic that I knew...know...him.

4.The events of Grave Swamp are still fresh in my mind, still as frightening, still as difficult to tell. I yield to Frickstad's book for the definitive description of all that happened. (I'm not being lazy. I promise. I'm just preserving my serenity.)

Enough of my ramblings. Maybe next time, I'll let Amanda write. She's far more focused and far more objective than I am, especially remembering facts of the past and their impact on today.

Later,

Beecher