Independently Speaking

Independently Speaking For ordering information: Contact me at [email protected] or through most major bookstores

Just a guy in an old house in a small place, trying to figure out what matters.

08/31/2026

All my books, including Neither Collar Nor Crown, are for sale at OMG on Main Street in Ortonville. While you're there, buy a bunch of their other stuff, a wonderful eclectic collection of goods.

08/28/2026

Last week we helped move Granddaughter Number Two into her dorm room in Fargo, and then dropped by to see Number One in her new apartment in Moorhead, right across the river. She has kind of a relaxed landlord, so I’d been asked to bring some tools to spiff things up a bit.

I wasn’t sure what I would be fixing, so I took my carpentry toolbox, my plumbing toolbox, and my electrical toolbox. The canvas bag that holds all my power tools was there and also my power washer, because the deck hadn't had any attention in a decade or two.

I hadn’t taken a welder, because I didn't know if the house had a 220 plugin. Although, I could have taken the welder and if I’d discovered that there wasn't a plugin, I could have rented a generator. I guess I didn't think it through enough.

Number One glanced in my pickup box, looked at me and, “Papa, that’s not normal.

Earlier in the week, there’d been some lip from her brother about the back seat in my pickup being not quite right for sitting, because in the tiny tool compartment underneath there were tarp straps, a tow rope and extra-long jumper cables, along with a few tools.

Here's the thing. In March of 1975, about three days before our wedding, my girlfriend and I were in the Twin Cities, cleaning out our apartments, and I lost the keys to my dad's pickup.

Just in case you've noticed the twitchy little routine I have whenever I stand up - patting pockets for wallet/keys/phone, wallet/keys/phone - that's where it started. Anyway, we called a locksmith, he fiddled around for a while and then said, “Yeah, I'm not going to be able to get it.”

We were sleeping on the floor in a bare apartment, all our possessions were in the pickup, there was a blizzard predicted, and there was that wedding coming up in a couple of days, scheduled to be held in a church 200 miles away. I carefully explained that “not going to be able to get it” wasn’t one of the options. Properly motivated, he tried again, and after a few minutes more he was successful, and everything worked out.

But I didn't ever want to go through something like that again. So, after that, whenever we traded vehicles, I'd take a spare set of keys and tape them to the right tie rod. Keep in mind, that was before a spare key cost $300.00 and came with a chip and a battery. This method worked for years, a decade - maybe two. We never misplaced our keys. Then one day I drove to a mall, thinking about twelve other things, climbed out, bumped the door lock button and too late remembered that the keys were still in the ignition.

I had a flash of irritation and then remembered my twenty years of preparation. But, funny story, the week before we ran the car into a hardened snow drift and got a little damage, including bending the right tie rod. Our local mechanic replaced it with a new one but hadn't noticed the lump of electrical tape. If he did, there was no investigation to see what was underneath. The old tie rod was still in the car, along with the key, in the trunk, which, of course, was locked.

There are people who say there is such a thing as too much preparation.

I don't think that's true.

Copyright 2026 Brent Olson

08/21/2026

The other day I ran into a young woman in a hardware store who was a classmate of Granddaughter Two and we’ve gotten to know her over the years. She has stayed at our house a few times, and we’ve cheered her on at tennis matches.

Or we tried to. Did you know they don’t like you doing the wave at tennis matches, even if there are only two of you?

I have one especially fond memory of her. After the Grand March at the junior prom, we were wandering around the gym looking for our granddaughter but ran into her before our granddaughter. Prior to this, the only times I’d seen her was when she was coming off the tennis court with her hair in a pony tail or roaming around our farm in jeans and a tee shirt. On prom night she was, I believe the technical term is, “all dolled up.” The contrast was significant and I said, “You look beautiful!” She said, “I know!”

It was a sweet and lovely moment. A young woman claimed her indisputable worth, and it makes me happy every time I think about it.

Anyway, she’s off to college in a week. I told her I had a new book coming out and that if she has an English course my wife and I would do a road trip and I’d speak for free in her class. I doubt anything will come of it – she probably won’t mention it to her professor and if she does, I’m not the type of writer who impresses English professors.

The conversation made me a little sad and I talked about it with my wife when I got home. It’s a trend we’ve noticed over the years, first with our kids’ friends and now our grandchildren’s. Our place was always a locale for sleepovers and cast parties after high school musicals - that sort of thing. We’d gotten used to making breakfast for a herd of rumpled twelve-year-olds in pajamas and cleaning up the debris of pizza boxes and pop bottles after late night movie binges. You watch kids grow up, become fond of them, then they graduate and they’re gone out of your life. Unless she runs for governor or runs afoul of the law, we might never hear how this young woman’s life turns out.

That’s okay. You want the young people you cherish to go out in the world, get an education, have adventures, and build a life.

Yet, the concept isn’t something we’ve truly evolved to handle. Today, the average American moves nearly twelve times in their life, but for most of human existence we lived in little villages, grew up and married the kid across the street, built a hut next to our parents and got advice from the old couple down the alley. When we became the old couple, there was someone right on site to help wash windows and split firewood. We’re built for deep multi-generation connections that make life richer, and most of us just don’t have them anymore.

Fortunately, they haven’t all disappeared. About a year ago, a former nanny called us out of the blue and asked if I would officiate at her wedding, which was really pretty wonderful. In a couple of weeks, two former Sunday School students, accomplished women in their fifties, are going to check into our guest wing for the first time in a few decades.

I don’t know if they still like chocolate chips in their pancakes, but I’m going to have some handy, just in case.

Copyright 2026 Brent Olson

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34596 690th Avenue
Ortonville, MN
56278

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