You know you're starting to get older when...

* the pro athletes you cheer for weren’t even conceived yet when you were in your athletic “prime.”

* you’ve finally gotten most of the words down to a FloRida song, which your kids now refer to as “old school.”

* you actually have an lengthy inner "pro’s" and "con’s" debate when a friend wants to meet you for a drink on a Saturday night and you’ve gotten clearance from the better half to go. Many times it’s a toss up whether you’ll go or not.

* the clothes you wear to work one week are snatched up by your kids the next week for them to wear as part of “Retro Day.”

* you try to sit down with one of your kids and bond through a “Peanuts” cartoon on TV and your kids aren’t interested or don’t “get it”.

* during a discussion about music the group Nirvana comes up and your son says, “they’re that old band whose lead singer committed suicide.”

* you realize there are NFL head coaches who hadn’t celebrated their first birthday yet the last time the Minnesota Vikings played in a Super Bowl which you vividly remember watching on TV.

* “Funky Cold Medina” comes up on the radio, you crank it up and your kids hiss and moan about “turning off that old crap.”

* something doesn’t quite feel right about wearing blue jeans to Sunday Mass or other church service, but you do it anyway because other guys my age are doing it.

* the combination of words “possibility of bi-focals” is tossed into a conversation between you and your optometrist. I know, I know a lot of younger people wear them, it’s just that it threw me off guard.

* remember a trip to the movie theater didn’t mean having to take a small loan out just so you could also have a small popcorn and small soda.

* you see at least a two or three people in the obituaries each week who have blown out the same number of candles you did on your most recent birthday cake.

* a commercial free set of music on a “classic rock” or "oldies" station sounds a lot like the music that was playing at your high school’s homecoming dance.

* you have to update your laminated "list" of your dream babes because some have recently retired from show business to spend more time with their children and grandchildren.

* you still bitch about the price of a house or hotel on Park Place and Boardwalk.

Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree...

A yearly tradition at the Hildebrandt household is to put up our Christmas tree the weekend immediately following the Thanksgiving holiday, as many others probably do.

Come hell or highwater we get that baby up and decorated preferably on Saturday but no later than Sunday after Turkey Day, no matter how daunting a task it can seem to be and how much I procrastinate and try to fend off the begging from the kiddies. The key is to never look them directly in the eye or next thing you know it your up to your elbows in those big plastic tubs trying to find a certain strand of white lights or that certain ornament you and your wife bought together during that first holiday season together which "has to be there, so just keep looking!".

When my kids were much younger, decorating the tree was always a much longer process as they would often take matters into their own hands and put ornaments on the tree where they wanted and which usually meant the tree, if left alone, would have looked like mom and dad were totally inebriated when they decorated that year. Thankfully Mommy would just smile and "fix" things while the kids weren't looking.

Now that they've gotten older, they understand the protocol fairly well ... which basically comes down to "it will go where Mom tells you it goes...and if it doesn't she'll fix it later.

I don't know how she does it. How she keeps tabs off all that is contained within the four large tubs that are tucked away in a crawl space under our main entry way, is beyond me. She has some sort of system that must have been ingrained in her from her own mother or some other higher power because when she starts pulling out all the tubs from the crawl space I see chaos, but within minutes of her assessing the situation I know all will be well.

My kids are still at the age where they enjoy decorating and help Mommy put the ornaments up and I rue the day they either get "too old" for that kind of thing or simply aren't around anymore to help us out because they've got their own family's tree to worry about.

Nonetheless, 2009 Operation Christmas Tree is now complete and the tree is as beautiful as ever and is sure to make the next 4-5 weeks much more festive. I completed my ritual of helping string the lights around the tree and making sure the ornament to branch ratio doesn't get above 1:1. Mission accomplished once again.

The only thing I dread about the whole experience is it seems like whenever we're done putting up the tree it seems like I blink my eyes and we're tucking the tubs away again for safe keeping until the next holiday season when we'll repeat the process all over again.

A lot to be thankful for ...

It doesn't seem fair that we only take one day out of the year to give thanks for the things in our lives which are most important to us. Most people talk about the most obvious things for which they are grateful for, so I decided to list the least obvious things for which I am extremely grateful:

* That yellow line TV networks use to mark where the first down is during college and pro football games. Nothing better than seeing a player from your preferred team cross well over that during a crucial part of the games. How did we ever get any enjoyment out of the televised games before that?

* CBS Network for it's Monday night comedy lineup. I know some of the humor is sophomoric at best, but it's damned entertaining and allowed someone with little acting ability like Charlie Sheen to land his dream role and make a fortune. Gives me hope.

* The inventer of the cordless drill. It has made life much simpler for guys like me who have little or no repair/carpentry skills and at least has given us a fighting chance of not looking totally like a wuss and possible revocation of our "man" card every time a hinge gets loose on one of the kitchen cabinets.

* Owning Park Place and Boardwalk on a Monopoly board. Even when I was at my lowest point of my earning power in real life, somehow possessing those two properties made me feel like my crap didn't stink. Houses and/or a hotel on them? Nothing better knowing you can wipe someone out faster than a twister in trailer park should they have the misfortune of landing on either of those.

* The Detroit Lions and Kansas City Royals, because no matter how bad my beloved Vikings and Twins may stink during the season it could always be worse. I could be fans of those other teams.

* The Transformer movies. Three words Megan Fah Oxxxxxxx!

* Patrick's on Third (here in St. Peter) ... because it's the closest thing I have in my life that I can reference as "the local watering hole." Love that place.

* Those big bags of cereal ... because they've allowed me to enjoy at least variations of cereals I love at a fraction of the price of the big-name brands! If you close your eyes Colossal Berry Crunch tastes just like Captain Crunch!

* The sight of the driveway under my feet at the end of one of my long walk/jogging excursions. Just something extremely gratifying seeing that prematurely pitting surface as I'm doubled over trying to catch my breath after running up the Bunker Lane hill coming up the "home" stretch.

* The "Hermits" at River Rock Coffee. Those oatmeal and chocolate chip and whatever else they have in them cookies go perfect with a medium light roast and the usual coffee crew banter which goes on a weekly basis. Chewing on one usually gives my mouth muscles a nice little warm up as I prepare to keep up with my quick witted crew.

* My wife's patience, 'cause God knows I would have kicked me out of the house years ago if I had to deal with someone with the baggage I seem to possess at times.

We've got our highway back!

Anyone traveling through the St. Peter area has known how much of a pain in the derriere it has been the past five months with the Highway 169/Minnesota Avenue reconstruction project going on throughout the downtown area and beyond.

It's like the construction workers are open heart surgeons and they've performed an angioplasty on the city's main artery and for awhile there it seemed like the downtown at times was on life support. Now, after a wonderfully planned and brilliantly executed Holiday Celebration on Saturday, the road opened up for good by Monday afternoon.

As I and my fellow colleagues at work were standing on the Highway anxiously awaiting the arrival of the first vehicles (they opened the north bound lanes first), I half expected a John Phillip Sousa-inspired marching band to lead the parade or at least an Indy 500 pace car to precede the inaugural batch of vehicle to test out the new concrete surface.

Low and behold, we had one straggler make his way off the side street and onto the road before the main event and you could tell he was at least somewhat local as he seemed confused by this new route. Once he cleared through we could see off in the distance a rising cloud of dust as the first wave came rolling along.

Then, just as quickly as they came and they were gone returning the main thoroughfare to its rightful place as a bustling roadway as it was prior to the July 4th holiday. It took a few minutes for the downtown people to let out a "hooray!" and then get back to the business at hand ... trying to recover from the five-month stretch of descent on the ol' revenue charts.

Nonetheless, we're now the proud owners of a brand, spanking new street and like any new parents, we're more than happy to show it off and welcome you back to the new and improved 169!

Parent teacher conferences...

Any parent will tell you there is a certain amount of dread you feel when you go to parent/teacher conferences, especially the first one of the year. No matter if your son/daughter is a brilliant student or not, there's always a little bit of doubt in my head thinking maybe the monster who battles with his/her younger sibling at home finally has reared their ugly head inside the North Intermediate School building. Maybe, just maybe, this conference will be more intervention than discussion as parenting experts are brought in to tell you you've done a horrible job raising the particular child in question.

Luckily, other than a few small tweaks to the study habits for the two put on display tonight, we came through unscathed and there were actually smiles exchanged with my kids' teachers.

I guess, judging from what we've heard through our kids, those reactions are to be expected, but there's always that lingering doubt that perhaps you might not be the parent you think you are and your nurturing and child-rearing ways might better serve in the development of young, terrorists-in-training.

Things went so well, in fact, we decided to do our part to boost the local economy and take all three of them out for dinner. My six-year old was more thrilled than his two older siblings who were up for scrutinity tonight, even though he rode their coattails all the way to the chicken finger kids meal at Patrick's on Third.

But, the little guy's turn is a coming. His first quarter of kindergarten seems to be going well and it doesn't appear that he has brought home any disparaging correspondence from his teacher telling us otherwise. His conference is set for the day before Thanksgiving.

I'm sure his conference, too, will go fine, but I prefer to take the ol' wait-and-see approach on that one so I'm not too surprised if the teacher greets us at the classroom door with an, "Ohhh, so your the one's responsibile for this little engine that won't."

When is a holiday tree not a holiday tree?

I see the Internet propoganda machine is humming along nicely thanks to friendly little reminders that have popped up on my account telling me several of my Facebook friends are "mad as heck and not going to take it anymore" because they've been told (without verification mind you) that President Obama has demanded "No Christmas trees on his White House watch! The Obamas will call them Holiday Trees!"

Just a simple Google search can quickly denounce that little diddy as a hoax (try http://www.factcheck.org/2009/10/holiday-tree-hooey/ for starters), but hey it's more fun to spread lies and false accusations because after all that is what ...

To paraphrase something a wise old man once told me, "If it looks like a hoax, smells like a hoax, tastes like a hoax, feels like a hoax, sounds like a hoax, and has the letters H-O-A-X tattooed to its butt cheeks, THEN IT IS A HOAX!"

But, people only believe what they want to believe.

This goes both ways. The extreme left share's center stage as the extreme right when it comes to winning accolades for over use of scare tactics.

It's the simple things in life that matter most...

As you get older, the more complex one gets and the more difficult it is to try and figure out what it is exactly that make you happy on a moment's notice because most of the time you don't think about it...because there's usually a sense of spontaneity that goes with it and as quickly as those moments pop up they disappear in a flash and are quickly forgotten.

For me, I decided to do a sort of personal inventory of my own simple pleasures and here they are:

* The sounds of one of my children giggling in another room when I've become too preoccupied with a task that simply isn't all that important.

* As a born-again athlete (or at least one in the transition phase) the feeling of aching, tired muscles I've gotten from my wogging or jalking (I do a combination of jogging and walking at least 5 nights a week) as I try to blog or work on some other writing project.

* Walking into River Rock on Wednesdays or Thursdays to have coffee with the gang.

* Even better than the previous entry, getting the opportunity for "bonus coffee" on a Friday with the guys which usually sets the tone for a great weekend.

* The sounds of the wind whirring through a cottonwood tree. It just sounds different than any other tree. One of the best things I discovered after buying our house is a large cottonwood tree just a few lots away that I can hear from my deck.

* As much as I'd like to sleep in on Saturdays, I love the fact my 6-year old son is always up before 7 a.m. and always in a playful mood when he hops in our bed and that usually ends up in some variation of a wrestling match and mommy wanting us out of the room. Perhaps it is knowing these days are coming to an end fast that I'm cherishing them so much.

* Any plate appearance by Joe Mauer. It's almost like life stands still sometimes as my eyes focus on the screen (or in the batter's box if I'm actually at the game) to watch the magic of this man's hand-eye coordination.

* Knowing that every time Brett Favre shows up on the TV screen in a Vikings' uniform there's a Green Bay fan somewhere whose blood pressure is moving skyward.

* A good belly laugh while watching a movie. If I lose slight control of a bodily function, even better!

* The sound of anyone of the my kids calling me "Dad". At one point in my life, I never thought I'd ever deserve that right, so it's truly an awe-inspiring experience to have someone call you that.

* The sound of the garage door opening after you've pushed the button knowing you won't have to spend any time scraping ice off your windshield before going to work.

* How a 10-minute power nap can transform you from one of the walking dead back to a productive member of society once again.

* A Facebook friend request from a long-lost friend or acquaintance. It's enjoyable to make friend requests and have them accept it, but they're just a bit more enjoyable when they've initiated the contact.

* Having the entire family in the van on a long trip and some pop song (good or bad) with a good beat playing on the radio which the family knows most of the lyrics to and jamming out ("So I put my hands up! They're playin' my song! The butterflies fly away! Noddin' my head like 'Yeah'!Movin' my hips like 'Yeah'!") Like her or not, if you have young kids like I do in this day and age, you can't help but get to know the words to at least one Miley Cyrus songs.

* The sound of my wife's laughter when my Whiny Boy mechanism kicks in and I begin rambling incoherently about some little matter of even little-er importance.

For most Viking fans, it's not if, it's when...

We've arrived here on "bye week"...a time when NFL teams take a break from their weekly grind of first-class travel and hotel accommodations, hefty meal per diems, room service, manicures and pedicures, massages, ego stroking, etc., etc., and, oh yeah, playing basically putting their bodies through a series of violent car crashes each week for the sake of entertaining the masses and getting themselves a big, shiny ring and earning way too much money playing a kids game.

But, hey, we'd trade places with them in a second. The favored pieces of laundry (copyright Jerry Seinfeld) a vast majority of us Minnesotans follow on a regular basis, the Vikings, happened to have their bye week this year coincide with the halfway point of the season.

The 2009 version of the purple and gold-clad squad has amassed an impressive 7-1 mark and some purple Kool-Aid drinkers would probably argue the fact the team should be 8-0 in that they handed the game to Pittsburgh with two turnovers the Steelers converted into quick points, all the while forgetting about the Ravens' kicker having an inopportune case of the yips when he hooked a game-winner the previous week.

Needless to say, there hasn't been this much optimism since...dare I say it...the 1998 season and we all know how that ended...with the dreaded Falcons 'dirty-birding' their way across the Metrodome turf to steal a berth in that year's Super Bowl.

A couple of "ironical" points to make when comparing the 1998 version of Red McCombs' Vikings to the Zygi Wilf squad is that at the midway point of the season both teams were 7-1, both lost games they should ould have won (the '98 Vikes lost a toughie at Tampa Bay), both had signature wins at Lambeau Field and both years the Super Bowl destination for the NFC and AFC champs was Miami.

Any long-suffering, diehard Minnesota Vikings fan (and we've done diehard many more times than Bruce Willis) will be afraid to admit it, but it's looming there in the back of our minds. It's the deep-down sense our beloved gridion heroes are going to find a way at the most inopportune time to trip up and dash our hopes once again.

It's as predictable as the sun rising in the east in the morning and setting in the west at night. We just assume it's going to happen.

But maybe...just maybe...with our knight in shiny gray armor to match the color of his hair who goes by the name of Farve but spells it Favre, but that's okay because Favre, Viking, MVP and Super Bowl Victory all have a "V" in them no matter where you put it...okay, I know it's a reach...but we're 7-1, right? A kid can dream.

The next 3 games the Vikes take on the Lions, the C-Hawks and the Bears. You'd find more resistance from the Swiss Army and at the end of that trifecta of good luck, we (after following this time for 37-plus years, I've earned the right to say "we") should be 10-1 and just about have the North division wrapped up with visions of home-field advantage dancing in our heads and...

As a true Viking fan I should know better than to dance with that partner again. After 4 Super Bowl trips in my first 10 years of life, we've gone down this path only a few times since then only to be denied entry into the Super Bowl party.

We should resist the urge to get too excited because it makes the inevitable disappointment much easier to stomach...but...

There's that Favre guy in charge now and it's much more fun to dream and be disappointed than to not dream at all.

Some mental housecleaning...

Every once in awhile the ol' noggin' becomes clogged with thoughts, ideas and other mental baggage and sometimes it's just best to purge them and as a writer there's no better way than to blog.

The following are some random thoughts, me thinking out loud, some jokes that have come up or mindless drivel that I wanted record of and felt the need to spew forth:

* I've decided if reincarnation exists then I want to come back as a piper 'cause they're always getting paid.

* The economy has gotten so bad that when people die, they don’t buy the farm anymore, they sublet at the poor farm.

* The economy has gotten so bad, that people can no longer afford to pay attention, they put it on lay away.

* If you buy a CD and suddenly realize, “hey this sucks,” and eject it, do you have to pay a penalty for early withdrawal?

* If laughter is the best medicine, then I want to be reincarnated as a hyena because they’ll live forever.

* If laughter is the best medicine, then the Mayo brothers should have built comedy clubs in Rochester instead of that little clinic thingy. Might have worked out better for them and maybe made a name for themselves.

* People always talk about how much they appreciate our forefathers, you know those that moved to America and branched out to find a better way of life. But to me they’re nothing but a bunch of underachievers because after all, aren’t they referred to as settlers.
They settled here, they didn’t aspire to be here.

* Why do they refer to the American version of football as football, because it seems like the only time the foot and ball interact, is when you’ve failed. Why honor that? Thank goodness Dr. Naismith didn't have that kind of rationale or the NBA might stand for National Brick Association...although T'Wolves fans probably think it already does for their favorite team anyway.

* If there is such thing as intelligent design: Why NOT put eyes on the back of our heads? Why not put 10 fingers on each hand and 10 toes on each foot. Would make that saying "I can't count on one hand the number of times my husband has remembered my birthday" a little more flattering. Why didn't women get the testes since they obviously have the pain tolerance to deal with them.

* (Beer drinkers, this is just in fun) I'm a beer drinker, but not because that's my beverage of preference. It's because it's the only alcoholic one I can stomach consistently. People that really bother me are those who say, "I drink beer because of the taste." No. you drink beer in spite of the taste. The beer you end up drinking the most is actually the beer you end up hating the least. If beer tasted so special, how come you don't have lager-flavored candy or pale ale schnapps? That's because it tastes like crap. Show me a man who really thinks there's nothing better on a hot day then a cold beer and that same man would obviously prefer a glass of hot water on a cold day strained through a week-old sweatsock.

* After more than 43 years of life on this earth I’ve come to the realization, that while money and material possessions can lead to happiness, what life is really all about is accumulating acronyms. The more acronyms you have when you’re pronounced DOA, the more likely you won’t be SOL when your family and friends gather to hope you RIP.

You have to walk before you run...

As I've mentioned in a previous blog, I've been kind of on an exercise kick the past few months. It started when I decided my elliptical machine had overstayed its welcome as a clothes hanger and a dust collector and I jump started my once sedentary lifestyle into that of a man of action.

It took me about a month to wear the elliptical machine out and took it as a sign from God that the day after receiving an article from a colleague of mine about over-exerting one's self via exercise (and subsequently not taking a break from time to time) that my elliptical machine ... my new lifesaver ... had a major malfunction that I could in no way jimmy-rig up to simply get me by.

When I determined the prognosis was beyond my repair capabilities, I broke down for a moment thinking "now what in the heck am I supposed to do" and was overcome by an empty feeling...a feeling that Sir Lazy Boy had won the battle. Soon it suddenly dawned on me that I could actually accomplish a lot of the things I was doing on the elliptical by...egads...actually going outside and taking advantage of the complex system of trails and sidewalks the generous taxpayers of the city of St. Peter have provided for me and the other nearly 11,000 other residents of this fine community.

It started out with 2-mile to 3-mile walks around the neighborhood and nearby industrial park and evolved back into a 5-mile route I discovered a couple years back when I went through a pre-mid-life crisis that lasted about a month. This time I've almost become obsessed with staying on course. I said almost.

A good friend of mine told me not too long ago that it takes about 30 days to create a habit, and since I'm into my 4th month of somewhat regular physical activity, I think it's now safe to say I've graduated from creature of habit and into animal of routine.

Every time little bytes of self doubt creep into my mind about how much easier it would be to just take it easy for awhile and try just dieting I fight it off with pictures of me from past vacations where I may not exactly look like Fat Bastard (of Austin Powers' fame), but I could have played his stunt double. Nothing more motivating than to be known as the guy always saying, "Get in my belly!"

I'm now happy to report I've now progressed to the point where I'm actually ... hopefully you're sitting down like I used to be so good at not too long ago... jogging!!!

The past month or so, I've jogged an occasional two-block stretch towards the back of the industrial park on the city's far north side, away from any traffic and far from the peering eyes of any nearby housing development. Years ago...no decades ago...no, a generation ago I used to run high school track and rattling off a few miles was old hat. In my very early 20s, I remember after a night of imbibing in a libation or two of running my hometown's 4-mile road race on a whim on a hot summer's day and completing the entire race without walking after no training at all.

Unfortunately, I let myself go to the point where if anyone had seen me running even a few weeks ago they would have called the DNR with claims of a short, fat, sickly and obviously rabid Sasquatch limping his way around the north part of town and would they come put it out of its misery.

But, this past weekend my oldest sis, Jen, (who's still more than a year my junior) came to town and while out for a Friday night stroll she coerced me out of my comfort zone and actually jogging in a longer-than-two-block-stretch of road with houses on both sides and semi-regular traffic and you know what...I made it through.

It went so well that I even tried a little more running the next day on my regular weekend 7-mile walk and that went so well I've gone even further and have logged a mile of jogging three of four days this week...not all at one time, because I fear my lungs might explode, but nonetheless, I've felt almost euphoric reaching my goal each night.

Who knows, maybe I'll return to my hometown next summer and run that 4-mile race once again, only this time more well prepared and not sweating out fermented hops in the process.

Stay tuned.