Steve Fernlund and The Long Way Home

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 ...

Pronunciation matters to me—it signals respect for a place and its people. After last week's storm, I cringed as MPR radio hosts and local TV anchors reported on Hovland's snowfall record while continuing to mispronounce the town's name. Even at the hardware store, newcomers telling me they just moved in slipped up. Hearing Huv-land instead of Hovland grates on me, especially from the morning news. Precise pronunciation is a basic courtesy that's too often ignored. Locals pronounce it HOVE-land, rhymes with “Cove.” In the fatherland, people likely pronounce it HOOV-land, rhymes with "Move.” However, it should never be called Huv-land, MPR newsreader.  Yes, I have ties to one of Hovland’s early Swedish settlers, but this goes beyond personal history. Pronunciation shows respect, especially in my community. That broadcasters can’t get it right is baffling—they could easily check online. When those in power get it wrong, small lapses build into a broader climate of di...

I survived last Friday the 13th. I’m not superstitious, but as a man of 71, I’ve learned to respect the odds—especially since the next “day of misfortune” arrives next month. To celebrate the date and, more importantly, my son-in-law Matt’s 50th birthday, we met at Tequi Town in the bustling metropolis of Esko. Tequi Town is part of a four-restaurant chain in Minnesota called Tequila Town. Their Esko location sits across from the high school, which led to a bit of local drama last year. The Town of Thomson Board of Supervisors, wielding its authority over liquor licenses, stipulated that the exterior signage could not refer to an “intoxicating beverage” because of its proximity to the students. In a 3-2 decision, the “poobahs” of Thomson required the word “Tequila” be scrubbed from the building. Apparently, they believe seeing a word on a wall is a greater threat to youth than the beer and wine ads they see ad nauseam during every sporting event. But I digress. Finding decent Mexican f...