A Thaw in the Tundra

 

A Thaw in the Tundra

Todd Swank's Diary Entry for February 23, 2025

We had a tough week at the Swank household—Miss Sheri’s mom, Leona, passed away. She was 93, so it wasn’t exactly shocking, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hit hard. No matter how much you prepare yourself, losing someone who has always been there still feels unreal. One day, they’re just part of your world, and the next, there’s a space that can’t be filled. While we know she’s reunited with Sheri’s dad—probably at some kind of eternal Polka dance with all their old friends—it doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier. She was loved, she will be missed, and her kindness will never be forgotten.

Of course, work was already a whirlwind—I had just landed in Chicago for a full day of customer meetings when I got the news. Because naturally, life waits for the exact moment you’re crammed in the back of an Uber, mentally prepping for a big discussion, to remind you what actually matters.

I managed to see Miss Sheri for about five minutes before hopping back on a plane to Houston, hoping for a break from the Arctic punishment of Minneapolis and Chicago. But Texas had other plans—30 degrees, cold, windy, and just enough rain to remind me that sometimes, even the weather is in on the joke.

Friday night, we had a chance to sit down with Grandma Linda, Luke, Avery, and Abby for dinner—because apparently, life moves so fast we now need to schedule quality time like we’re booking a dentist appointment. But once we were all together, it was great catching up and reminding ourselves that face-to-face conversations still exist.

The kids were incredibly thoughtful in honoring Miss Sheri’s mom. Abby gets all the credit for the beautiful flowers, but the boys did their part too, offering big hugs and some heartfelt words to their mom. In the end, it’s family that matters most.

After dinner, everyone was ready to head their separate ways, but when I reminded the kids it was Blue’s 10th birthday, they immediately rerouted for a celebration. Can’t believe he’s 10—officially a senior citizen in dog years. At this point, he’s earned the right to take up the whole couch, judge us silently, and demand extra treats just for existing.

Blue’s birthday tradition used to involve a homemade blueberry muffin, lovingly baked by Miss Sheri, but with all the chaos this year, we grabbed one from the store instead. Big mistake. Turns out, Blue has a refined palate—or at least a stomach that violently rejects mass-produced pastries. About 30 minutes later, the muffin made a dramatic comeback on the kitchen floor, proving once again that some traditions just shouldn’t be messed with.

Speaking of traditions, we always used to play Sequence when we visited Grandma Leona on the farm, so in her honor, we decided to throw down in a best-of-three battle. Miss Sheri and I came out hot, crushing Game 1 like we actually knew what we were doing. But then, the boys regrouped, took the next two, and left us questioning whether we’d just been hustled in our own house.

Surviving Minnesota’s Winter - One Timberwolves Game at a Time

 

Surviving Minnesota’s Winter - One Timberwolves Game at a Time

Todd Swank's Diary Entry for February 17, 2025

Wednesday marked 31 years since Miss Sheri and I tied the knot—a milestone that reminds me just how lucky I am that she’s stuck around this long. She’s my best friend, my partner in crime, and the only person patient enough to put up with me for over three decades. So how did we celebrate this incredible achievement? A fancy dinner? A romantic getaway? Nope—we braved the Minnesota tundra and went to a Timberwolves game, because nothing says everlasting love like yelling at referees and watching Ant try to shoot his way out of a cold streak. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Milwaukee Bucks were in town, and when Minnesota plays a team from Wisconsin, it’s always an experience. Half the arena turns into a loud, beer-fueled road game, and their fans never miss a chance to remind us of every championship they've ever won—like we somehow forgot. This game had big implications for both teams, with the Wolves trying to solidify their playoff standing and the Bucks looking to prove they’re still contenders. So, naturally, the stage was set for either a statement win or another frustrating night in the frozen abyss.

Anthony Edwards was all smiles with the Bucks pregame, which I assume means one of two things—either he was recruiting for his offseason pickup squad, or he was giving them directions to the nearest airport so they could get out of town quicker after the beatdown he was planning to deliver. Turns out, only one of those things happened.

The Bucks came into this game without their two biggest stars, Giannis Antetokounmpo and Damian Lillard, which is like a rock band showing up without their lead singer and guitarist. So naturally, I figured this was a perfect setup for the Wolves to grab an easy win. The crowd was ready, the energy was high, and all signs pointed to a feel-good night for the home team—because what could possibly go wrong?

The Timberwolves dance squad never misses a beat—unlike the team they’re hyping up. While the players were out there bricking shots, these performers were nailing every routine with the kind of precision and energy that made me wonder if they should be the ones closing out games. At least someone in Target Center knew how to execute under pressure.

The halftime performer was out here balancing on basketballs like it was just another day at the office, and honestly, it was the most consistent ball-handling we saw all night. It takes a lotta balls to do this kind of work—literally and figuratively—and given how the game was going, I half expected the Wolves to offer him a 10-day contract.

The highlight of the night wasn’t a dunk, a three-pointer, or even a questionable foul call—it was when Miss Sheri and I made it onto the big screen. For a brief moment, Target Center had no choice but to acknowledge our existence, and honestly, given how the Wolves were playing, we were probably the most exciting thing to happen all game.

Final score: Bucks 103, Timberwolves 101. A game that should’ve been a layup turned into a disaster, as the Wolves somehow lost to a Milwaukee team missing both Giannis and Dame—aka the two guys who usually do all the winning for them. Instead, we got torched by their backups, who played like they were auditioning for bigger contracts. We came in expecting a celebration, and we left wondering how, with all the advantages, the Wolves still found a way to make us question our life choices.

Saturday morning brought me to the casino for another round of high-stakes problem-solving with my buddy Orlando—because where better to debate sports, politics, business, and religion than in a room full of flashing lights and people making terrible financial decisions? No topic is off-limits, no opinion goes unchallenged, and if we ever actually solved anything, I’m sure we’d remember—assuming the slot machines didn’t wipe our memories along with our wallets.

Saturday night, it was our turn to host the monthly euchre showdown—seven other couples, cards flying, and just the right mix of competitive fire and creative profanity. The games were intense, the laughs were nonstop, and by the end of the night, some walked away with bragging rights while others were just happy they didn’t get set. Either way, a great time was had by all—unless you’re still replaying that one hand in your head at 2 a.m. wondering where it all went wrong.

@toddswank They Not Like Us! My favorite part of the Super Bowl! #serena #theynotlikeus ♬ KENDRICK LAMAR NOT LIKE US SERENA WILLIAMS DANCE - MemeScreens

Exploring Minnesota's Superior North Shore

 

Exploring Minnesota's Superior North Shore 

Todd Swank's Diary Entry for February 9, 2025

Monday night, we put on our finest hairnets and went full assembly-line mode at Feed My Starving Children, scooping rice and sealing bags like we were prepping for the apocalypse. The goal? Pack meals for kids who actually need them. It’s a simple process: show up, measure stuff, try not to spill, and pretend you’re a professional humanitarian for 2 hours. By the end, we had boxed up enough food to make a real difference, and more importantly, we learned that nothing humbles you faster than getting absolutely outclassed at scooping soy by a high school girl who wasn’t even trying.

For two hours, we scooped food into bags like we were factory workers with zero breaks.  Just when we thought we were done, some volunteer would swoop in and refill the bins like a sadistic game of Whac-A-Mole. By the end, my arm felt like I had spent the night arm-wrestling a grizzly bear, but the soreness came with a side of pride.  Turns out, the group we were with packed over 115,000 meals during our session. So yeah, I basically have the body of an old man and the work ethic of a humanitarian—just don’t ask me to lift anything today.

Wednesday night, I flew down to Kansas City to host a dinner for one of my customers, because nothing says “let’s talk AI and cloud infrastructure” like a perfectly cooked steak. We were in town for the Oracle Data and AI event the next day, but first, we tackled the real challenge—figuring out how many seafood towers it takes to impress a room full of tech pros. The conversation was incredible, covering everything from AI strategy to data platforms, and by the end of the night, we walked away with fresh ideas, solid connections, and the undeniable fact that 801 Chophouse knows how to fuel a high-performance discussion.

My hotel was across the street from Union Station, so I wandered over Thursday night for dinner and found the place decked out in full Chiefs glory, hyping up their impending dynasty with a massive "3-PEAT LOADING..." sign. Fast forward a few days, and after watching them get dismantled 40-22 in the Super Bowl, I have to wonder—did they slowly dim the lights on this thing out of respect, or did some poor worker have to rip it down at 3 a.m. while pretending not to cry?

Friday, we drove a few hours north to Two Harbors, Minnesota, because nothing says “great idea” like venturing into the frozen wilderness in February. It was cold, it was snowy, but it was beautiful—at least that’s what we kept telling ourselves as we lost feeling in our faces. We were excited for a weekend of good times with friends and some good old-fashioned critter hunting in the icy woods, because apparently, frostbite and tracking animals that are way better at surviving winter than us sounded like a solid plan.

Driving along Minnesota's North Shore, I always marvel at how they carved roads out of solid rock. Take the Silver Creek Cliff Tunnel, for instance—completed in 1994 after three years of blasting through 1,344 feet of cliff to replace a road that basically dared Lake Superior to swallow you whole. 

We stopped at Castle Danger Brewery, parked the car, and were on our way to the bar when we spotted a group of photographers standing in the snow with lenses so massive they could probably see into next week. Curiosity got the best of us, so we wandered over to see what had them locked in with the intensity of snipers. Whatever it was, it had to be something special—because if you’re willing to stand in the freezing cold for hours, either you’re witnessing something incredible or you’ve just made a series of very questionable life choices.

Turns out, it was a great gray owl—a bird so rare in these parts that even Bigfoot would ask for its autograph. Apparently, there's an irruption happening, which is a fancy way of saying these owls' dinner plans up north fell through, so they're crashing our backyard buffets. We snapped a few pictures to prove we were there and then headed into the bar, because as majestic as nature is, it doesn't serve beer.

When we came back outside 45 minutes later, the photographers had all turned their cameras in a new direction, so we wandered over to see what was up. Turns out, the owl had left the tree and landed right on one of their cameras. Pretty cool—unless you’re the guy who owns that camera. Now he’s just standing there, watching his expensive gear become an owl’s personal perch, probably debating whether retrieving it is worth being shunned by the entire birdwatching community. For all we know, he’s still there, nodding along as the others whisper, "Just let it happen, Steve."

We stayed at a nice resort with the Browns and Zitzewitzes, playing games, enjoying great meals, and laughing way too much. On Saturday, we headed to Gooseberry Falls State Park for a hike, which sounded fun until I remembered that everyone in this group is way more fit than me. While they were bounding through the snow like a North Face commercial, I was just hoping to make it back without needing a rescue sled.

As we approached the falls, I could see some water trickling under the ice, but mostly, it looked like a frozen wasteland with people scaling it like they were training for Everest. We watched the ice climbers for a bit before moving on, and at some point, I finally asked, “So when do we get to the falls?” The group casually informed me that this was the falls. In the summer, it’s a powerful, rushing cascade—right now, it’s more of a scenic reminder that nature takes the winters off too.

We went back to the townhouse for lunch, and when the group decided to head out for another hike, I made the executive decision to sit this one out rather than pretend I could keep up with their Olympic-level endurance. Fortunately, Miss Sheri took pity on me, and instead of racing through the snow, we hopped in the car for a leisurely photo tour—because why struggle up a hill when you can drive around and let the critters come to you?

Our critter hunt came up empty, but we did stumble upon a scenic overlook we’d never been to before, offering a perfect view of Split Rock Lighthouse—one of the most photographed lighthouses in Minnesota. Which makes sense, because when you stick a lighthouse on a cliff with a backdrop like that, it’s less of a landmark and more of a full-time Instagram model.

Dancing Through History in Clear Lake, Iowa

 

Dancing Through History in Clear Lake, Iowa

Todd Swank's Diary Entry for February 2, 2025

This week I spent two nights in Houston at Oracle's Data & AI Forum, a great event where I had the chance to meet with several customers and prospects. It’s clear that every company is eager to figure out how they can leverage generative AI to drive their business forward, and I’m fortunate to work for an awesome company like Oracle that delivers the powerful solutions they need to make that happen.

Friday night, we hit the road with our good friends Sue and Ron Korkowski, heading to Clear Lake, Iowa, for the Winter Dance Party. But first, we carbo-loaded at The Other Place (The OP) with pizza and sandwiches—because nothing says "ready to dance" like a belly full of melted cheese and regret.

While grabbing dinner, I ran into one of my oldest friends, Randy Chesterman. Back when I was in elementary school in Mason City, Randy worked at The Record Vault—an awesome record store back when those were still a thing. I’d walk to Regency Mall and pester him while he was trying to do his job, flipping through vinyl like I actually knew what I was looking at. Little did I know, the guy behind the counter would go on to become The Voice of North Iowa and land himself in the Iowa Rock and Roll Hall of Fame… and I was just the annoying kid in the background of his origin story.

My home town of Clear Lake, Iowa is home to the Surf Ballroom, the site of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper’s final show before the day the music died. But in true Midwest fashion, we turned tragedy into a party. The Winter Dance Party started in 1979 and has been rocking ever since, proving that in Clear Lake, the music doesn’t die—it just gets louder.

It was Sue’s idea to hit this year’s Winter Dance Party, and somehow Miss Sheri and I had never been. Since we were back in town, we went all in—right down to visiting the crash site in the middle of a frozen cornfield. Back in high school, it was just an empty field with a grim story. Now, they’ve got Buddy Holly’s giant glasses marking the spot, making it easier to find tragedy with a side of photo op.

It was freezing cold with the kind of wind that feels like it’s trying to slap some sense into you. I’d been to the crash site a few times, but I forgot how far you have to trek into the cornfield to reach it. By the time we got there, I couldn’t feel my face, but at least the memorial looked more elaborate than I remembered. Lots of tributes. Probably because people were trying to distract themselves from the frostbite.

Replicas of their most popular records were front and center, surrounded by a random assortment of oddities—some weird coins, a bunch of guitar picks, fake flowers trying their best to look alive, and an unexpected collection of sunglasses. Because when you're paying tribute to rock 'n' roll icons, nothing says respect quite like turning their crash site into a lost-and-found for accessories.

We hit up the Rockin' N Boppin' Record Show during the Winter Dance Party, where you can find everything from vinyl and vintage posters to cassette decks that probably still have mix tapes from 1987 stuck inside. Sue went to school with Bobby Vee's kids, so every time we spotted one of his albums, we made sure to shove it in her face. Judging by her smile, it worked like a charm—either that or she’s just really good at humoring us.

Krazy Kory rolled in to meet us for dinner at Prime N Wine, one of our Mason City favorites. We only had a couple of hours with him, but when you’re dining with a guy called Krazy Kory, that’s basically a full weekend’s worth of entertainment packed into one meal.

The Winter Dance Party runs for three nights, but we only needed Saturday to get our fix. The opening act? A wild group of ladies called The Midnight Cowgirls. Imagine if country, new wave, post-punk, and rockabilly had a chaotic love child, and then dressed it up in cowboy hats and glitter. They’re like the soundtrack to a rodeo that accidentally wandered into a punk rock dive bar—and somehow, it works.

Ran into Nelson Crabb, the long-time mayor of Clear Lake. Every time he sees me, he brings up that high school party where I tried to make a swift exit and ended up face-first in his rose bushes. He’s been mayor for over 20 years now, which is impressive, especially considering he’s still willing to talk to the kid who used his landscaping as a crash pad. The city’s in good hands… even if my dignity isn’t.

I always seem to run into Chris Barragy when I’m back in Clear Lake. He’s a fantastic photographer, covering all the big events—aka, the exact places I tend to show up and distract him. I’ve known his family since high school, so it’s always great to see him, even if I’m basically the human equivalent of a photo bomb while he’s trying to do his job.

Next up were Albert Lee and Jeremy Clyde—absolute legends with resumes longer than a CVS receipt. Albert’s been shredding guitars with everyone from Clapton to Emmylou Harris, and Jeremy’s got hits and acting chops to spare. But despite all that star power, their set had us feeling less like we were at a rock show and more like we were waiting for our turn at the DMV.

The Duprees hit the stage and suddenly it felt like we’d wandered into a live version of Jersey Boys. Smooth harmonies, sharp suits, and songs that made you feel like you should be slow dancing in a high school gym circa 1962. I actually enjoyed a lot of their set, but halfway through I started checking over my shoulder for a mob boss in the corner booth giving someone the nod.

Miss Sheri was floored when she turned around and saw Lynne Jensen, an old friend from her Camp Sunnyside days. One minute she’s jamming out at the Winter Dance Party, the next she’s back in her college years, reminiscing about summer camp adventures. Turns out Lynne’s moving to Clear Lake—because apparently, small-world moments come with a change of address.

Chubby Checker closed out the night, and I’ll be honest—I was expecting a nostalgic shuffle and maybe a polite wave goodbye. But no, the man’s 83 and performed like he had a time machine stashed backstage. He had the crowd twisting, shouting, and hanging on every move for 90 minutes straight without so much as a water break. I went in skeptical and came out wondering if I need to hit the gym just to keep up with Chubby.

We had way more fun at the Winter Dance Party than any of us expected. Sure, standing by the stage all night left our feet screaming for mercy, but honestly, it was worth it. By the end, we were all wondering—could this become an annual thing? I mean, if the day the music died taught us anything, it’s that you gotta enjoy the tunes while you still can.