Johnson Family Newsletter
1998
It was a dark and stormy night. Is there any other kind in rural
Wisconsin? There are parts of Wisconsin I have never seen in the
daylight. I swear they are in some sort of eclipse zone rendering them
permanently nocturnal. Hurtling toward the Lake Michigan car ferry,
past towns with names like Neillsville (which forever in my mind
sounds like Nelliesville), Milladora, and Pittsville, I was stuck in my
roadside alphabet game on "R". Ever notice how few signs there are
on roads that appear to be going nowhere in particular? Suddenly
and without warning, I found the missing "R". "Road Closed". Okay.
So, where's the detour? No detour. Not even a cowtrail leading off
into a field. They must be kidding, right? Some kids just put this sign
here.
Wrong. Never to be intimidated, we drove right around the sign. Just
beyond, the road was not only closed, but nonexistent. It just
disappeared. I thought about calling 911 and reporting a missing
highway. But hey, they're probably the ones who took it. At least
they're probably the ones who put up the sign. So, feeling foiled, we
turned around. Do you have any idea how much it goes against
Skip's grain to backtrack? It's a direct affront to testosterone effect
whose credo is - "I don't know where we're going, but we're making
good time!" (translate: we're going fast!)
When we finally found another road ("Haven't I seen you before
somewhere?") we decided that if we could just travel east we would
eventually run into Lake Michigan. It is a big lake. It would be hard to
hide. Finding the road labeled "Highway 41 East" we embarked with
naivete. By compass (Why do they put those things in cars, anyway?)
we were traveling south, followed by west and ultimately north. Okay.
I'm confused. I think it's map time. Of course we have maps of
Michigan, Minnesota, Toll Roads of Illinois, Scenic Routes of
Timbuktu, but no Wisconsin.
Subjugating his testosterone yet again, Skip went in search of a map.
Do you know how hard it is to find an open gas station in the middle
of the night in the middle of nowhere? Now, if Wisconsin just sold
maps in a bar...
Having located his quest, Skip was told by a teenage boy, "You can
probably get there if you go around Lake Winnebago," a place that
sounded suspiciously like an aquatic burial ground to dead RV's to
me.
Lake Winnebago turned out to be only slightly smaller than Lake
Michigan and our previous assumption about running into it proved
true - except that it was the wrong lake. At this point we discovered
that while the road we were on seemed like a great little piece of
road, it was apparently unknown to the Wisconsin Highway
Department or at least to the map making division. Traveling around
a lake only slightly smaller than Lake Superior on a road that didn't
exist, I began to have anxiety about missing the boat. Okay, I know
there are those of you who would say I already have "missed the
boat" but, I'll ignore that. Scheduled to depart at 12:30 a.m., the boat
would hold our state rooms only until midnight. The thought of
spending the night in a deck chair in the rain loomed large and held
only slightly less attraction than a steerage class berth on theTitanic.
After offering several prayers to Ralph, the patron saint of the
seasick, I was thrilled to see the car ferry come into view. Now was
the time for mom to show her competitive edge. Leaping from the car
parked in the "No Parking - Tow Away" zone, she sprinted for the
door, careened around the corner, then, slowing abruptly, casually
approached the counter agent. Eyeing the clock that said 11:59, she
summoned her best "Oh what a boring trip this has been" voice and
nonchalantly requested "two staterooms for Johnson, please."
It's been a 3M year for the Johnsons - Mexico, Michigan, and our
cabin in Minnesota. I'll let you guess which one's in the picture.
Actually, there was a fourth M - Miller. Elizabeth Miller, my cousin's
daughter has been with us since she graduated from college last
spring. Having been around the last four years, she's really become
"one of the chickens" as Skip says when he's checking to make sure
all the family is accounted for at night. She's leaving for grad school
second semester and we're not looking forward to our postElizabethan era. Her departure leaves an Elizabeth-shaped hole in
our hearts.
Jenna had her year of firsts this year. (Someday we'll have our first
year with no "firsts".) First driver's license, first car (which she earned
by taking piano lessons for ten years), and first speeding ticket. She
also went to Mexico on her first mission trip and built a house for a
homeless Mexican family. She's still playing soccer (in the state
tournament this year), is active in Young Life and church, and loves
nothing more than being with her friends.
Crista is, well, just Crista. She asked if she could have a few kids
over for Halloween. "Sure," I replied. "Sounds fine." Shortly before the
event, I asked her how much food I should buy. "Well, I think there
will be about 70 kids" came the reply. After picking me up off the
floor, she added, "But mom, I didn't want anyone to feel left out."
That's my Crista. She is also playing soccer, piano, oboe, and
dancing at church. Maybe this year she'll manage to keep her skirt on
(see last year's Christmas letter).
Reading alone has been a highlight of second grade for Brett. He
continues to love sports and has been involved in soccer, hockey,
basketball, and baseball. The "strong willed" (some would say
stubborn) child, Brett often has discussions with his parents about
doing things his way instead of the parent - sanctioned way. Such a
discussion at Cub Scouts resulted in a square knot that bore a
distinct resemblance to a night crawler with a leg cramp. Fortunately,
he's still a great kid who loves to read in bed and cuddle, and has
found a wonderful friend in his new "big sister" Elizabeth.
The Mom and Dad paragraphs are longer than usual this year. We
both quit our traditional jobs. Skip is going solo as of January first.
Independent of all HMOs, he plans to offer "good old-fashioned
medicine." Gives a whole new meaning to "Give us this day our daily
bread." He's also a Cub Scout den leader, a cast and crew member
for Passion Play and Christmas at church, and the best dad and
husband in the world.
Jan started work at the Minneapolis Veterans' Administration Hospital
in late June. Part of the transition required her to reconcile her neoLuddite feud with the computer. I guess we all have to make some
compromises. She also sang in Passion Play and Christmas, chaired
the Roseville Skating Competition, and was one of the official
physicians for the World Figure Skating Championships last April.
One of the responsibilities was to sit rink side waiting for the accident
which fortunately never happened.
Sitting beside the ice, I could feel the spray from the landings. These
were people I had seen for years as bigger than life. But somehow,
as I checked their sore throats and sniffles, they seemed small and
almost frail despite their incredible conditioning. It was as though the
patina of TV crumbled and beneath that veneer were clay feet and
cut fingers. They were real, not characters from someone's fantasy.
It made me think of God and how often he seems to fit in the same
category with Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Michelle Kwan.
How much I need to get close enough to Him to feel his presence, to
realize His power and to be led by His hand.
May the Santa shell of Christmas break open for you and reveal the
almighty God of the universe.
Love,
Spencer, Jan, Jenna, Crista, and Brett