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Redwood Falls Gazette - Redwood Falls - MN
Anyone who knows Eric knows that he writes about a little bit of everything, whether it's taking a trip down memory lane, or praising and/or criticizing something or someone.
Bad dreams
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About this blog
By Eric Bergeson
Since 1997, Eric has owned and operated Bergeson Nursery, rural Fertile, MN, a business his grandfather started in 1937. With the active participation of his parents, who owned the business for the previous twenty five years, and his younger brother ...
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Eric Bergeson's The Country Scribe
Since 1997, Eric has owned and operated Bergeson Nursery, rural Fertile, MN, a business his grandfather started in 1937. With the active participation of his parents, who owned the business for the previous twenty five years, and his younger brother Joe, who is now president of the company, the business has nearly tripled in size during Ericís ownership tenure. The holder of a Master of Arts in History from the University of North Dakota, Eric has taught courses in history and political science at the University of Minnesota, Crookston. He is also an adjunct lecturer in history for Hamline University, St. Paul, MN. Ericís hobbies include Minnesota Twins baseball, Bach organ music, bookstores, hiking, photography, singing old country music with his brother Joe, and watching the wildlife on the swamp in front of his house eight miles outside of Fertile, Minn.
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Busy day at the nursery today. People are eager to plant, even though it remains raw cold.

Aunt Olive called my cell mid-afternoon, which is unusual. "Could you stop by, please?" she said in an unusually plaintive tone. She usually is not one to be pitiful in any way. 

When I got to to her room at the Fertile Hilton, she was primping her hair because she knew I was coming.

The problem? She had some bad nightmares while napping in her chair this afternoon, and she was having a tough time sorting out reality from the nightmares and she wanted to talk it through. 

I think the bad dreams and altered reality are a side effect of the painkillers she is on for her leg. Narcotics can alter one's sense of reality. Today she was convinced the people out in the hall were planning to leave her out in a plowed field. "I've paid the rent!" she protested. I assured her that they would remove her from the Hilton over my dead body.  

She is still worried that the descendants of her former boyfriend Joe are plotting revenge for her breaking up with him in 1941 just before he was drafted. I tried to get her not to worry. The best method seems to be to let her hear herself talk it out. After a bit, she pauses and says, "you know, I think I am just getting senile." 

I said I thought her imagination was just getting more active. 

It must be awful to have one's mind start to play tricks and be fully aware that things are not right, even as you aren't able to sort out fact from fiction. 

"It wouldn't bother me a bit to die, you know," she said. 

I told her not to be in any hurry. 

I told her about some dreams I have that keep recurring, dreams that I have committed a horrible crime and am pretending I didn't do it. 

"Oh that's so much worse," she said. "You're young. If I get in trouble, I can just go to the grave!"

At that, we laughed for quite a bit. 

Yesterday when I was in for a visit, we reached an agreement whereby Olive would stay alive long enough for the election November 4 so she could vote for me.

I didn't bring that up today. 

Last weekend at the candidate training, we all wrote and practiced our stump speeches. I spoke about Aunt Olive. It went over well. So I told Olive that the majority leader of the Minnesota House of Representatives was inspired by her, which was in fact the case. At that, Aunt Olla got teary-eyed. "Oh, for goodness sakes," she said over and over. "I just can't believe it."

 

 

 

 

 

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