Dear 2025,
Would you believe quietly sitting in reflection takes work? Seriously, it can be exhausting contemplating the value of a life!
Perhaps most folks don’t spend a lot of time wondering: what/who they are as an entity on the planet consuming resources, serving others, or not.
Much reflection occurs throughout the year, not solely at the end, 2025. There’s Lunar New Year, my birthday which is a good mid-point, along with Rosh Hashanah when I participate in 10Q, and who could forget Michaelmas…
Many of these reflections center around the mysterious and fleeting nature of time. This informs the work I’m doing. Work that fills me with joy or holds meaning or is in service to others.
Because I’m not here forever. Having turned 40 this year, I value my time more than ever now because it doesn’t only belong to me. Turns out having a dog is like a real serious commitment.
Our rescue dog, Louise, celebrated a full year was with us. She’s a light in our home. We’re blessed she chose us when she reached out her paw!
Though we didn’t feel quite as blessed when she ripped her paw open in late October. She needed seven stitches and nearly a month of low-energy activities. She’s healed perfectly now, but it was a tough few weeks.
Her restraint from licking her wound was inspiring. If you allow it, dogs can show the way to becoming a better person. Each day I try to be a better dog dad than yesterday. In service to this creature the benefit comes to us all.
Simple things. Little joys. More days together.
In 2025 I tried to find the joy in the doing and granted myself permission to do things I was not trained, equipped for or knowledgeable enough to carry out.
Here are some of those stories…
Undertaking Car Care, Meet Car Undertaker
For instance, at the top of 2025 I attempted to remove/replace a mechanical component from “Ollie,” a 2013 Mini Cooper Countryman ALL4 S and failed spectacularly.
For months at a time, I couldn’t even drive “Ollie” while I fiddled and futzed with its European guts.
Despite being unable to remove the component, I continued to try…
And it was due to this foolish persistence unknowingly intent on overlooking the proper type/size of wrench needed to remove the screw and thus resulting in its stripped head.
Next logical step was to extract the stripped screw with an extractor bit, but the bit bungled the only job it had and snapped inside the stripped screw head…
Complicating this matter was the physical location of the screw: deep in the rear of the engine bay. To access the screw either shrink yourself, hang upside-down, OR remove the entire engine from the frame.
While I tinker, a song composes itself in the style of “Worthless” from 1987’s The Brave Little Toaster:
Knuckles and arms, scratched and bruised
cut by a hose clamp, I blow a fuse.Maintenance issues mounting, gears spinning and slip
please help me find this other coolant drip…
Thermostat, head gasket, water pump?
Which of these sent my car to the dump?It’s worthless!
In the six years I’ve owned “Ollie” it’s visited the shop many, many, many times. Yet over the same period my partner’s Subaru has been in the shop maybe twice.
Seeking assistance off we went to the “doctor,” then the dealer’s operating theater. Two different estimates shared.
How much would this foolishness cost?
- Option 1) thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars; or
- Option 2) the cost of a new-to-you used car for thousands less.
Seeing the maintenance realities of my Mini and her Subaru ultimately helped me accept it was time to say goodbye to the brand. To stop investing time and money into a model considered now obsolete by its manufacturer. To stop torturing my knuckles attempting work in a space too tight to turn a wrench.
Ollie, it was an honor to share the 6+ years together.
Thank you for keeping us safe as we rolled over 57,000 miles together through so many seasons of life. Thank you for all the smiles and adventures along the way — like when I picked up Grandma Venske for Christmas, how surprised and happy she was for me…
Thank you for carrying each load of lumber, logs, concrete and camp gear with the same steadfast resolve of a stout water buffalo. Thank you for never quitting on me or leaving me locked out. Thank you for such a happy last “tour” of the parkways around Minneapolis with my brides, Jess, and her mom, Denise.
You helped me reconnect with the feeling of being alive through the joy of motoring. I am forever grateful, Ollie.
With love and gratitude, motoring on — to another goodbye…
Waving White Flag Ending Endless Tug-Of-War
This year I learned when it’s time to throw in the towel and wave the proverbial white flag of surrender.
Thinking specifically about a chainsaw that came into my life…
…and a chainsaw I ultimately let go from my life.
Yes, it was sad to see it go.
But I accept the things I cannot change or fix.
And I cannot fix what I changed.
I accept this truth as law.
Although, laws change…
Civilians Last Writes…
For the early part of the snowiest and coldest days of 2025 I, a civilian member of the community, wrote parking citations during snow emergencies in the City of Saint Paul.
Not every vehicle was towed, but each vehicle visited earned a special handwritten notice from yours truly.
May I confirm for the curious: little joy is found issuing citations to neighbors.
The hand hurts penetrating carbon papers and the writing repetitive. Filling fields describing location, direction, and vehicle type, make, model, color, time, case number, agent name, badge number, and date.
Handwritten impressions barely readable. Legible, but the scrawl in the headlights of whatever rental car the city sent me off in is smudging, harder to understand in the dark as blowing snow causes the eyes to water over again, but with the citation secured to the vehicle’s windshield/wipers I move to the next snow-covered vehicle and begin again.
The work was an eye-opening glimpse behind-the-scenes. Snow emergencies are not revenue generators. The city doesn’t make money towing cars.
The work was important, but I’m no hero. I didn’t wear a cape, but the city required a vest; so I brought mine from home, its got nine pockets and dual tone reflective strips.
I’m serious about safety and that means being seen.
Safety seen, which is not to be confused with safety scenes, which I’ve also appeared in…
In this safety vest/costume combo I embraced the safe.
Saw a car parked in front of a fire hydrant near a large apartment complex. Not safe. Vehicle had to go. Firefighters don’t dilly-dally around illegally parked Nissan Rogue’s when I’m on the streets…
I was safe/seen on the streets a lot. Snow emergencies are 96 hours and I spent most of that time out-of-doors, but in my mind scripting messages I’d share if the rental vehicle had a mic and PA system:
“Emergency! Urgent! Urgent! (Snow) Emergency!”
“Move your car now. Avoid a ticket later.”
“Emergency! Urgent! Urgent! (Snow) Emergency!”
However, this civic role would not join me in old age.
The year 2025 saw the end of an analog era of enforcement: handwritten snow emergency parking citations would be no more!
This change occurred at the official end of snow season, May 2025, when the Minnesota court system no longer accepts the City of Saint Paul’s handwritten civilian snow emergency citations.
Handwritten citations aren’t efficient. Digital tickets save the courts countless hours of administrative work. By removing civilian human hands from the process error rates go down, issuance speed increases, citations are created and completed correctly with minimal energy.
However, by no longer utilizing a civilian team of ticket taggers all enforcement of snow emergency parking restrictions falls solely to sworn police and parking enforcement officers. Not because of the skill required in issuing the citation, but due to the tech required to play the game.
As a result I’m now a former civilian snow emergency ticket/tagger. Though to be fair, I only worked a handful of snow emergencies in 2024 and 2025. So I’m by no means a long-time tagger, though I romanticized working the gig for years…
Serving the needs of the community by ensuring roadways are clear for plows to allow first responders get to where they need to go speaks to the heart. What’s not to love about that? Drinking piping hot coffee in the middle of a snowstorm writing citations at 3AM still excites me…
This change in law makes me feel antiquated. Outdated. To be one of the last civilians issuing handwritten citations in Minnesota’s Capital City in the last of 2025’s snow emergencies…
I’ve lived long enough to see something become obsolete. I didn’t imagine handwriting going obsolete — what a sign of the times!
While writing citations one afternoon on the east side I had a profound experience. I watched a Chrysler minivan, name of some medical transport company peel-and-stuck to the side, pull into a driveway a few houses away.
A husky man exited the van, crossed to the passenger-side, and opened the door for his passenger, an elderly woman who probably should’ve been in a wheelchair or wearing a gait belt…
I finished writing the citation, placed it on the vehicle’s windshield, got back into my vehicle and began driving. Looking toward the minivan, I saw the man and elderly woman near the front steps.
The woman’s arm around the man’s shoulder. Attempting to climb the stairs with the man, but her feet weren’t cooperating. Each attempt exhausting each of them further.
The woman needed a break, she couldn’t stand any more. She lowered herself onto her knees and rested on the first concrete step.
When I saw her kneeling I stopped the car. The man needed a hand and I have two.
So I run up to them, greeting the man and woman in the fluorescent vest without introduction, “Do you mind if I help you inside?”
The woman didn’t speak any English, but saw the expression of concern and knew I was there to help. Her face told a different story with bluish/purplish marks; perhaps she’d fallen before. She didn’t look great, but she was grateful.
The man’s relief was more palpable. The moment he knew he was no longer alone shifted all the energy. Together, we were community. We were united in caring, loving, and serving our neighbor.
The man held the storm door open and unlocked the main entry. I held the woman steady. Together, step by step, we were able to help move the woman up the stairs and into her home.
The front door swung open and revealed, hanging on the wall, a 30-inch Jesus Christ face. Yes, the face of Christ.
He surprised me and I chuckled, of course Christ is on the other side… Even said a little prayer in my heart that went something like, “Hey, Jesus. I see you working miracles. Wow, thanks!”
Each snow emergency was a bit of an adventure. A quest to serve the city!
As a resident of Saint Paul, the work felt like it’s own reward. I’m happy to be part of the last civilian citation writers and proud that none of the hundreds of citations issued were ever contested in court!
Forced Leveling Up
When the snow melted and spring sprung, the back porch pulled away from the house. This meant the back door was no longer square and true, preventing the door from closing or locking.
This porch was not original to this 1928 charmer. Perhaps if the porch were original the builders would’ve included a foundation. Alas, our poor porch didn’t come with footers or foundation. Our porch was built directly atop black dirt.
I’m guessing the porch addition came at the same time as the builders poured concrete steps and sidewalk. The sidewalk was next to the porch and followed around the corner of the house toward the street.
After decades of freeze/thaw cycles without gutters, runoff eroded the soil beneath the sidewalk which subsequently buckled at multiple points surrounding the home.
When I bought the place in 2019 I didn’t know the porch was pulling away from the house. But you can clearly see a visible crack in the top corner where the porch meets the house. This pic is from move-in day:
Guess who mentioned the crack?
No one.
Not the inspector. Not the realtor. No one caught it.
Then I came along added gutters and removed all the cement.
Ooops?
How was I supposed to know the sidewalk was supporting the porch?
This project involved a lot of digging. During the day I dug new footers and at night I studied the family tree.
When I felt unsure of next steps or weary, I thought of the lives of my ancestors — their struggles and how they overcame. I imagined their strength fueling this porch project.
As I nervously lowered the porch off the jacks I imagined the ancestors watching. Forming a semi-circle of equal parts care and concern around me as I released the pressure in the jack.
If they were watching then they also heard the sound the porch made when it got cozy on its new foundation.This was an intense moment in the process. Less a leap of faith and more a check against craftsmanship…
The noise wasn’t a grumble, more of a soft groan. “Ahh, that’s the spot.”
All in all, a success!
I didn’t get squished, the porch is level and the door is plum-square-true’d. The project took 45 days and cost less than the $15,000 originally quoted.
Since I was working outback, finally got around to pressure washing and staining the old fence. To help create another cozy area to chill outback, I added electrical (outlets and switch) for a set of string lights on the westside of the property over the new “meditation/wood room.”
Even added more insulation to the crawl spaces in the attic. Felt an immediate difference during winter — why oh why didn’t I do this sooner…
Looking at tasks like these as less “work” and more “active meditation” has changed my philosophical outlook on homeownership. Joy is in doing the thing, completing the task, etc.
Like being able close and lock your doors from the world outside…
Unexpected Realities of Domestic Terrorism Before Showtime
For the past few years I’ve enjoyed participating in Rubber Chicken Theater’s Chicken Hat Plays in Duluth, Minnesota. A day-long art experience / dream come true for theatre makers like us:
There’s this expression:
“Anything can happen in live theater!”
Like the sound cue is early which startles an actor who falls and while attempting to brace themselves pulls off the wig of another actor who forgets their line stumbling into the set causing it to collapse.
Ah, theatre!
As a theatre artist I’ve experienced all of these things (and more).
I accept and celebrate the spontaneous wonderment of live theatre, especially when it goes wrong. The on-the-spot team creative problem-solving is a joy to watch. The capacity to excel as a group (cast/crew/company) while under pressure as all eyes watch when things have already gone wrong is drama in the highest — oooh, I feel tingles!
In the theatre this collaboration is in service of a story. Playing pretend story telling. Playing. Joy is a built-in feature.
However, something real, unexpected, and unjoyous happened in the early morning hours of June 14, 2025, in the suburbs of Minneapolis.
An individual impersonating a police officer assassinated Minnesota’s Speaker of the House, Melissa Hortman, her husband Mark Hortman, their dog, and attempted to kill Minnesota Senator John Hoffman, his wife Yvette Hoffman, and their daughter Hope Hoffman.
We were in shock at the severity and scope of these acts of violence against our elected representatives. It happened here — in Minnesota, in the ‘burbs… Another national story of heartbreak putting our state on the map again…
Back in the rehearsal room a group of actors attempted to learn their lines. During rehearsals most actors ‘check their lives’ at the door. To put down the real-world-baggage and pick up focus for the story on stage. That’s the job.
However, the news sat heavy and consumed my energy. It was difficult to be present, to play and react. A minute hiccup to playing pretend.
But at that particular moment I didn’t want to play pretend. I wanted to ditch the show, drive up the coast and weep…
After Donald Trump was elected in November 2024, but before he returned to office in January 2025, I pondered: how much has the Office of the President impacted my personal day-to-day life?
The question almost soothed.
It calmed me to know most Presidents don’t impact life day-to-day. But then again, most Presidents serve the country rather than hold it hostage or rule over it…
After the Hortman’s were murdered, President Trump didn’t offer condolences. Even a small gesture acknowledging the lives lost would’ve been appreciated.
You know, on a human level.
Maybe President Trump would instead offer a symbolic gesture of respect and national mourning by instructing American flags to be flown at half-staff to honor the life of an elected official from the State of Minnesota?
He did not.
Although Trump instructed US flags at half-staff following the murder of Charlie Kirk.
It got me thinking, what are the priorities of the Trump administration and how will those priorities benefit the residents — citizens both documented and otherwise — of these many divided United States of America?
Here’s a list of 365 “wins” Trump scored for America in 2025.
Given how it feels to be a citizen of the United States at this time and place in history, I’m curious if the Trump Administration has taken a look in the mirror to ask this simple question:
Baddies?
Fascist baddies.
Fascists enacting and supporting fascism.
How?
Check out this infographic on the defining characteristics of fascism:
Ugh.
Seeing those causes the mind to wander, current events and news of the day and…ugh, this is bad…for … uh, the whole flappin’ world!
In Minnesota still we continue to heal. Or try to heal from traumas past and present.
The unjustified killings of black men like Jamar Clark and Philando Castille rocked the community years before George Floyd was murdered here.
After, Minnesota became the epicenter of a global call-to-action for abolishing the systems that perpetuate injustice and to hold all perpetrators accountable for their actions.
Murders of other black men like Daunte Wright and Amir Locke followed still.
The Hortman’s in June.
In August, a shooting at Annunciation Catholic School. During mass in the church.
Children shot as they prayed. While our neighbors sat in prayer in church, they were shot.
Here.
Killed two kids, age ten and eight. Thirty others injured; 26 kids, three elderly folks, and the gunman died by suicide.
These moments exist like scabs trying to heal. Not scars healed over. No, these are barely scabs. Each tragedy ripping away what little time had to heal.
By the baddies.
Haters Gonna Hate; Lawyers Gonna Lawyer
An acquaintance of mine was born with one kidney and it was failing.
In 2025 I went through the process to determine if I’m a good candidate for kidney donation. Because I have two kidneys and I can live with one.
However, the health system determined I’m not an acceptable candidate for kidney donation…
Bad kidneys?
No — these kidneys are healthy — ask any nephrologist!
The reason I was declined is due to lawyers and liability. The health system deemed lacking insurance coupled with my mental health history and current absence of pharmaceutical and talk therapy interventions.
But it’s not all bad news!
The lawyers said if I got health insurance, started talking meds, and got back into therapy — they’d approve removing the kidney posthaste!
Not being a lawyer, their logic confused me. Here’s why:
At the age of 13, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.
In 1998 I started talk therapy and a prescription for anti-depressants.
For decades my depression and anxiety became a pair of well worn sad pants. Lost stretch elastic stained droopy baggy saggy sad pants.
After nearly 30 years I’ve tried different meds and methods with multiple providers (primary care, therapists, psychologist, social workers, psychiatrists). I’ve learned a lot from others and learned a lot about myself and these conditions.
In early 2020, after many years of adding coping skills to my “tool belt” and despite continuing to live with treatment resistant depression and anxiety, I concluded my talk therapy journey.
Then the world shutdown. Global pandemic. Many people died. Sad, traumatic.
Then Mr. Floyd was murdered and civil unrest followed.
Even then, through those uncertain times, I managed as an otherwise healthy human.
Now, fast forward six years. No therapy, no medications, no alcohol, healthy relationship, volunteer, dog dad…
Healthy. Yet, still living with depression and anxiety.
This mindfulness and self-awareness is the same levelheadedness I carry to accept living with these conditions. My reality, not a crisis; I’m okay.
This simple mindset, of course, is one of the results of many years as an active participant in talk therapy. The tools and skills necessary to manage these conditions without the use of pharmaceuticals or additional interventions live inside me — are me.
Army! An ‘army’ of one…
Certainly any doctor…
…or nurse
…can see: common sense says there’s no reason to get back “into the system” for unnecessary services.
Doesn’t it seem counter-productive to go to therapy without a reason?
There’s no crisis requiring professional processing. More than that, my place on a provider’s couch takes space from someone in real need or crisis.
Personally, the cost/benefit of prescription drugs advertised during commercial breaks are not worth the long list of potential side effects. Allowing health care providers to randomly toss SSRI-darts at your system is less of a solution and more guesswork (“practicing” medicine).
No, thanks. If this body is a temple, I’ll stick to natural anti-depressants.
That said, I’m 100% for talk therapy, individual or group, whatever is most helpful and healing — but only when necessary and not because a legal team made the determination to reduce the health system’s liability.
Lastly, it is the responsibility of the kidney recipient’s insurance provider to cover all medical expenses related to the donation and any post-operative issues the donor may experience as a result of having donated an organ. The fact that I don’t have health insurance seems moot considering the other party’s insurance is paying…
Ah, but haters gonna hate; lawyers gonna lawyer. If only healthcare cared.
But caring and acts of service are not the ideals of the United States of America.
In fact if you search for “care” in the Constitution you only find it once.
“Care” is used as part of explaining the duties of the Executive in Article Two Section Three of the Constitution:
“…he shall take Care that the Laws be faithfully executed…” –Article II Section III, US Constitution
Now put it in context:
Donald Trump “shall take Care that the Laws be faithfully executed.”
Hmm.
Seems odd that the individual in charge of caring about laws is…
Laws are what America is all about.
A nation of laws, lawyers, and career lawmakers turned lobbyists who wrote the rules and loopholes to allow corporations and capitalism to dominate supreme.
Perhaps when you imagine the USA you think of “the land of the free,” but that’s advertising and marketing running a public relations campaign. Selling a lie spectacularly.
Sounds a bit like a George Carlin bit, doesn’t it…
When in actuality, there are so many laws and types of law in America — constitutional law, statutory law, treaties, administrative regulations, and common law/case law — that not even the Director of the Office of the Federal Register or Principal Deputy Librarian of Congress can provide an accurate number of laws in this country.
So it’s understandable then that there exists a law allowing you to remain completely silent; for if you were to even whisper a word, it’s likely you’d incriminate yourself against those other many number of laws unknown.
Through the eyes of the legal department, reducing the health system’s liability is more important than providing a vital organ to a human person in need. Don’t pay attention to what the science says, listen to lawyers.
So despite results from multiple lab tests, body scans, and my own willingness to be cut-open along with the recommendations of a surgeon and nephrologist who confirmed healthy organs: I can’t donate.
Though I’m grateful for the opportunity to be poked, prodded, scanned, and studied to confirm my organs — especially the kidneys — are healthy enough to be removed from my body and placed in another. Seriously, because in 2023 — before I quit drinking — scans of those organs weren’t great.
So at the very least, 2025, I can rest easy knowing I went through this process to donate an organ in good faith; raised a hand in service, completed the process, and feel pride when I look at myself in the mirror knowing I didn’t fail, the system did.
Keys to Happiest Daze
Some of the happiest moments of 2025 were on the nearly 80 acres of land at RecuperAcres, the Twin Cities only private, outdoor, nature-based facility for therapeutic purposes.
You could say I was there for “tree-ment.”
For a day or two in the spring I helped dig holes and plant trees on the ol’ Vanderlinde farmstead and site of the upcoming Morels & Memories mushroom hunt/Alzheimer’s disease research fundraiser.
We planted over a hundred trees.
Here’s the three different bundles we planted:
All kinds of trees.
Tulip trees, maple trees, oak trees, fruit trees. I’ve never planted so many trees before!
It’s such a special feeling serving future generations.
Helping to beautify this sacred family land and healing space, providing habitat for the birds and bees and turkeys and foxes and deer and woodchucks and beavers and, you know, all of the ecosystem…
It’s a rush, doing good. Though sometimes offering a helping hand doesn’t go according to plan…
Later in the year, the property owners asked if I would be able to help mow the walking trails that surround the eco-park.
The job would take between 4-6 hours atop an open air zero-turn riding lawn mower. Sun, noise, bugs and branches may all be an issue.
I agreed to the task.
The job took many hours. I did my best to ensure the grass was cut even and neat on soggy soil and around new plantings.
I took pride in the job. I enjoyed doing the job.
And I’d do the job again, too, but do one thing different…
When I finished, I returned the mower to the shed. Got in the car to drive home, but couldn’t find my keys.
My keys were gone!
Morty Seinfeld’s voice rang through me like an alarm:
Somewhere on 80 acres I lost my keys.
The last place I saw the keys was on the side of my body. Connected by carabiner to a belt loop near my right hip.
The keys were no longer connected to my body by the belt loop. The belt loop was no longer a loop; it ripped at the seams!
It never occurred to me that all of the bouncing on the air-ride seat could tear the keys from my body.
The next 90 minutes were spent retracing tracks on 77 acres of walking trails and beating myself up for not leaving the keys in the car (like a good country boy).
I returned to the shed empty handed and defeated. I was going to have to call for help.
But before placing that call of surrender, I had one last place to check.
The scene:
I moved to the right rear of the mower, the general location of the last known whereabouts of the keys.
The keys weren’t on the seat or directly below.
Returning with a flashlight I probed deeper into the mower’s chassis. With my arm buried up to the shoulder and chin resting on the metal frame, I blindly felt my way along the mower deck.
That’s where my fingers brushed against a loose set of metal…keys.
My keys!
Thank you thank you thank you holy wow thank you!
The sensation of holding the keys, finding them after I thought they were lost, was powerful.
Yes a relief, but the way life can teeter quickly one way or the other. To feel a certain feeling one moment and then feel the emotion opposite a moment later is head/spirit-spinning to say the least!
Something I noticed then and notice now thinking about it again.
Funeral Jams
This year I finally got around to capturing the songs I want played at my funeral.
No, I’m not ill…
As the creator/producer/host of Your Funeral Music it was important to participate in the process as well. To have the “guest” experience. Exploring the meaning behind the music and then “listening to the jams I won’t get to hear.”
Early on in the run of the show, 2023, I tired to capture my songs alone. Without an official host to guide the show, performing both as host and guest, and the episode fell flat.
Thankfully my friend, Everett, agreed to act as host for the episode and brought his own brand of sad fancy boy.
Everett did a fine job hosting and we had an enjoyable time together talking about music, memories, and meaning.
The episode turned out well. There’s a lot of music in a short amount of time and hopefully a little something for everyone. Feel free to take a deeper dive here or give a listen now:
If you have a keen eye, you’ll notice the thumbnail photo is me with Chuck Mangione.
This year, 2025, Chuck Mangione died.
If this comes as an unwelcome surprise to you, please take the next 17 minutes and let Chuck help you drift away to peaceful acceptance by listening to Consuelo’s Love Theme — it always calms and soothes me. Perhaps it’ll help you, too.
It was an honor to meet Chuck in 2007. Shout out/special thanks to my date for the night, Jimmy “Dutch” Gaines, urging us to wait for a post-show meet-and-greet.
I’m grateful for Chuck and all the joy his music brought others. As a tribute to him and his family, I will continue to share and blast his tunes in celebration of being alive and staying connected.
Thank you for everything, Chuck.
Heard I Audio
A lot of 2025 was spent listening and recording.
All this recording allowed for growth in the ability to capture and edit audio. A noticeable difference heard. By design.
Early audio was released before perfection.
Hearing imperfections is part of the journey. It wasn’t supposed to sound flawless, the flaws are sign posts.
This year in addition to sharing community member’s funeral jams, I also:
- recorded, edited, & hosted the Frogtown Community Radio gala;
- recorded, edited, & produced a demo for the Twin Cities Threshold Choir;
- captured & edited audio keepsakes for families; and
- started a (micro) sound residency at A House Unbuilt in Stillwater, MN.
I enjoy listening.
Hearing thoughts strung together in real time. The pauses and flurries. Connecting deeply.
Listening becomes drama of the mind. Something I savor.
Loving D’Life in Duluth
In October I had another opportunity to savor house/dog-sitting for Everett + fam in Duluth, Minnesota.
This wonderful opportunity helped me learn how it would feel to be responsible for two dogs!
Plus, I got to return to Lake Superior which will forever tug at my heart. The place fills me with all kinds of peace, excitement, and ideas…
Here’s one I stumbled upon:
A front-yard community message board. Brilliant!
Another novel idea I stumbled upon, nature in the heart of the city:
Walking the dogs up and down Chester Creek Trail was a special kind of a experience. Definitely more of this everywhere, please.
While in town I shared time with drama students at Harbor City International School, too. They were in rehearsals for their production of Trap by Stephen Gregg.
The cast was insightful and energizing. When a group of creative individuals come together, your own creativity is fueled by the collective creativity surrounding you. It’s a beautiful cycle and was an honor to be in their creative presence.
In chatting with the students, we talked about ‘the work.’ The very nature of the job. In a room of people under 18 — whose futures are full of bright possibilities — for a moment I wondered:
Should I “grow up?” Stop being an actor, stop playing pretend? Stop being an artist? Stop trying to create and make or tell stories?
HELL NO.
This desire to create and make isn’t going away. Nor is my passion for sharing stories. The world needs art and connection and humanity more than ever!
I continue to audition for voiceover, on-camera, and stage roles. Even if I’m not being cast, I continue to audition. Because that’s the gig, right? Auditioning. Putting yourself out there.
This year I didn’t feel particularly __________.
(Use whatever negative self-talk you’d like to fill-in-the-blank.)
Still, I refused to let __________ stand in my way.
This meant that in 2025 even when I was feeling crappy, not camera ready or picture perfect, I still auditioned. Because it was the doing I was concerned with… Less about getting cast and more about auditioning.
Getting into the rhythm of rehearsing, recording, submitting, and then letting it go. Offering myself the opportunity to collect a ‘no’ and let it go.
Freeing, right?
That’s the practice. Doing the reps and putting in time.
I submitted over 40 auditions in 2025. This number includes on-camera, voiceover, and two or three theatre submissions. Of those, I was cast in two and thrilled to participate.
That’s what I told the students.
I’m proud of the work submitted, but more than anything I’m proud of continuing to walk the path. Jumping at opportunities that speak to the heart. In service of the dream. Keeping the dream alive.
Though there is one other thing I’d share with the students.
…sorry I missed your show, cast. I wanted to see the work and bold choices and learn how you execute what happens in the script...
Missing the show is a regret of mine, 2025.
Intentions In 2026
In 2025 I focused on savoring experiences.
Like trying new candy bars:
After much testing, Zagnut is still the favorite.
As much as I want my time on this planet to help make it a better place, I also want the time spent to be enjoyed. Even if some of that time is spent on chores or jobs.
So, 2025 was about changing my mindset. I want to try to carry this thought process into 2026 as much as possible.
Same with listening. Deep listening is powerful. I’ll be exploring these ideas in 2026 with others and previous me…
As I come to the end of reflections in 2025, I’m reminded of a moment from just the other day. There was nothing particularly special or standout about the moment. It happened at home.
We were on the couch. Sammi and Louise, and me. Watching TV. All snuggled in together. It just felt perfect. Everything in that moment was bliss. Contentment.
I leaned over to Sammi, “I don’t want anything to change.”
So much peace and comfort.
But then.
Recognizing how I don’t want things to change becomes an excellent reminder that change is ever-present and each moment is fleeting.
So accept it as the gift it is when change enters your life in 2026, Mr. Venske. It’s coming, it’s all there is!
Alright, 2026, let’s tussle.
1 Second Everyday Video Diary
Please enjoy this snapshot of 2025!
Noted Happenings & Intentions Met in 2025
- Listening to music approximately 7.5% of the year; 3,210 songs totaling 39,467 minutes of music
- The artist listened to the most was The Rose Ensemble’s Na Mele Hawai’i: A Rediscovery of Hawaiian Vocal Music
- Celebrated Campbell’s 18th birthday
- Only played 4 rounds of disc golf; average decreased from 7.62 (2024) to 4.5 (2025)
- Celebrated William’s holy confirmation
- Submitted forty auditions (on-camera, stage, voiceover)
- Cast in the Chicken Hat Plays and a training video for Saint Catherine University’s Nursing School
- Celebrated Mom’s birthday in Denver
- Registered citizens to vote in four Ramsey County elections
- Hosted WFNU Frogtown Community Radio gala
- Celebrated Cassandra’s birthday at The Price Is Right Live
- Acquired a new deep freezer
- Sang at the bedside of those dying with the Threshold Singers
- Learned more about family ancestors
- Enjoyed fellowship and celebration with Matt and Lora on their birthdays
- Louise’s first injury: 7 stitches deep in the left paw pad
- Haven’t let Covid-19 catch me
- Split 2+ cords of wood
- 2025’s best guilty pleasure purchase? An old Subaru Forester.
THOUGHTS?