Steve Fernlund and The Long Way Home

In our highly mobile society, where "home" is often just where the Wi-Fi connects, we sometimes get taken over by a desire to know where our “people” came from, at least before the grandparents, whose story we learn growing up. And, like most things today, an industry has sprouted up to make money off what I like to call the Heritage Hype. There is something deeply humbling about paying a tech giant in Utah forty bucks a month to confirm that my ancestors were exactly who they said they were: a long line of stoic Scandinavians who would be absolutely horrified that I just spent forty bucks to talk to a computer about them. This renewed curiosity about origins became especially relevant for me back in 2018, when I struggled with a painful medical condition that was beyond the treatment ability of my specialist in Duluth. He referred me, with little optimism, to a specialist at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester.  After a day of invasive tests, a surgeon young enough to be my son tol...

Here we are to talk about the SAVE Act, which is simmering wildly in the halls of Congress. It is purportedly designed to prevent election fraud. It appeals to the same crowd of citizens who believe we never landed on the moon, W was behind 9/11, Haitian immigrants were dining on the house pets of white neighbors in Ohio, and Aurora, CO, was "invaded" and "taken over" by Venezuelan gangs. For those of us who saw through those charades, the SAVE Act is a solution looking for a problem, a problem that doesn’t exist. When I was coming of age, the mechanics of our democracy felt as reliable and unnoticed as the plumbing in a house—you only notice the pipes if there’s a problem, like a leak. Nowadays, if you listen to the national rhetoric, you’d think our democracy was in crisis. But voter fraud is less like a flood and more like an occasional, isolated drop of water in an otherwise dry basement. American elections are difficult to manipulate because we don’t hold a sin...

Just wrapped up my 2025 tax returns. Good news: as a pensioner living mostly on Social Security, I didn’t owe any taxes except something called the payroll tax. The Bohunk and I supplement our meager Social Security earnings with whatever scratch I can squeeze out of publishers.  As a freelance writer, an independent contractor, I pay something  called the “Self-Employment Tax.” It is the same “FICA” taxes you see deducted from your paycheck each week, but an employer isn’t paying half; I pay it all. The full 15.3% (12.4% for Social Security and 2.9% for Medicare). Unrelated to taxes, our Medicare monthly premium is more than $400 for the basic Plan B coverage, with a $250 deductible per person and a 20% co-pay for services.  This undermines the perception of Medicare as a complementary service. Nevertheless, misconceptions persist, and there are still criticisms that elderly individuals like me receive free health care. Furthermore, I am required to continue paying into ...

When I was coming of age, gambling was a "back-alley vice."  My mother, raised during the Depression, pinched pennies her whole life and admonished me throughout my youth to stay away from the sins of gambling. Today, gambling is literally everywhere—a striking contrast to my earlier experiences. A majority of ads during sporting event broadcasts, from the NHL and NFL to MLB and Curling, are from online gambling sites. Ads for casinos fill the remaining spots not taken by ads for expensive cars and high-end drugs.  Reflecting on my own journey, my attitude toward gambling changed as I grew up. I became a pretty avid gambler in business and on games of chance, not unusual for someone with an addictive personality. One or two trips to Las Vegas every year usually satisfied my craving for Blackjack, Craps, and even Roulette.  This personal experience with gambling expanded after Minnesota legalized parimutuel betting on horse racing. A friend of ours seduced the Bohunk into ...