Author: Grandpa Wally

  • Turns Out I Wasn’t Lost

    The Unfinished Journey/ Wally Bornmann/ July 22, 2026

    I first got to thinking about superpowers when I was a kid watching George Reeves portray Superman.

    I so wanted to have X-ray vision for reasons that should be obvious when we’re talking about boys entering that time when their voices change.

    My second “I wish I had” was to be able to fly, fly far and free, and see things like how Walt had done building Disneyland — I had no illusions of ever getting there any other way.

    (Spoiler Alert — I still haven’t been there and doubt I ever will.)

    Not sure why I’m thinking about all of that just now other than because I’ve been thinking about how I’ve been a wanderer — not physically but in my thoughts for sure.

    There’s a guy who knows me just a bit who went to calling me Wandering Wally after we’d spent some time together. I rather like it.

    The thing is, I have to say I admire the heck out of folks who can focus on something with laser-like intensity. I can’t think of a time when I ever was that focused. Hell, these days if I suddenly found myself focused like that I’m pretty sure my kids would start worrying about me. Truth is I’d start worrying about me, too.

    No, laser-like focus ain’t me.

    Oh, I can get hooked on this, that, or something else every now and again but it never lasts. Sooner rather than later you can take it to the bank that I’m going to wander off to something else that catches my eye. The results of my fascination, much like my laundry, will be lying in a pile in some corner or on my computer.

    I can’t begin to list all the things that have caught my eye over the years from religion to quantum physics to buying guitars and beyond.

    (Sidenote here — I’m not convinced that religion and quantum physics aren’t two sides of the same coin.)

    So, here I sit, Wandering Wally at your service.

    ****

    There was a time I thought about buying an old school bus, getting a dog, tuning up my guitar, and wandering across the country.

    I never did.

    Instead, I did what I thought I was supposed to do.

    Today I look back and say that was one of those “Which fork do I take?” moments that show up in one’s life. Of course, not being much of a deep thinker I didn’t stop to realize I had options having just left the Navy and returning to civilian life.

    Press me on it today and I can’t tell you whether I made the right decision for myself or not.

    Fearing this will sound over-the-top egotistical I think I did the right thing for others through the years, but I’ll always wonder if I did for myself. (Someday I could see myself thinking and writing on that very subject.)

    The thing is, I took the trail I took. Even when I told myself I was on track for this or that, I never stayed there very long. Shame on me because I knew it. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was wandering and wondering about another something.

    It’s never been that nothing ever grabbed hold of me and tried to hold on. More than once something has wrapped its arms around me and I told myself that was my something.

    You want proof?

    I had a couple of things that I’d call true loves in my life. One of them was photography.

    The part of the world I grew up in wasn’t what anyone would consider the mecca of artistic achievement, at least not from what I was exposed to. Sure, there was an art teacher that brought pictures of the old masters to my grade school classroom, but they never connected with me.

    It wasn’t until I started looking at pictures in Life, National Geographic, and other photo-heavy magazines that something about photography began to catch my attention. Years later photography would become a true passion of mine.

    Music found me early in my life. In high school I found comfort in singing and playing my tenor saxophone.

    For those few years, pretty girls, playing basketball, playing that sax, and singing were who I was and what I was about.

    I’ll always believe that music could have been my life.

    The thing is, no one ever talked about what I could do with my music after I walked out those high school doors. Oh, sure, I knew there were people that sang or played instruments and made a living at it, but I didn’t have the first idea how to get out those high school doors to some stage somewhere. So, singing would become private for years and that tenor saxophone would never be played again.

    When I think about it, when I walked out of the doors of that high school for the last time, that’s when the wandering got kicked into high gear. I didn’t have a clue as to where I was going and I saw no path to walk.

    Looking back, I think not knowing put me on the trail I’ve spent my life walking.

    ****

    WARNING – Never walk into a military recruitment office unsure of where you want your journey to take you.

    ****

    A kid from a very small town in Wisconsin can be amazed by most anything.

    Anything that floated on the water, was over sixteen feet long, wasn’t made out of wood or fiberglass, and had a 5-horse Johnson outboard motor attached to it was a most impressive something.

    Welcome to Wandering Wally and the Navy.

    I ended up in the Navy because I had no idea what other options I had.

    I’d gone to college because I didn’t have a clue, and no, the University of Wisconsin at La Crosse doesn’t remember me — I bailed before the end of my first semester.

    One thing led to another, and yes I will write about all of that, but for now here I am in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean following Hurricane Camille into the North Atlantic and thinking I ain’t never seen nothin’ like this. Forty-plus-foot waves have that effect on a flatlander.

    “Ain’t no one gonna believe this,” I tell myself.

    I realize I want to show someone, my folks were pretty much my go-to audience, what I was experiencing so I figured I’d buy a camera so I could take some pictures and send them home.

    My first camera was a Kodak Instamatic camera bought at the ship’s store.

    There are all sorts of firsts in a person’s life that people do, and sometimes don’t, talk about. One of the firsts I’ll talk about is the first photographs I got back from that Kodak Instamatic camera.

    I swear I still remember standing outside the ship’s post office, tearing open the envelope with the pictures I’d taken, and being completely immersed in what I was seeing. To this day the image of two destroyers in the distance remains a photo I clearly see in my mind’s eye.

    Anyone today, I’d include myself, would have looked at that photo and at best asked, “What’s the big deal?” For me, in that moment, I might as well have just put the finishing touches on the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling.

    The physical evidence of that first photograph is long gone but what it created inside of me lingers to this day.

    Because of that photo I’d go on to find myself taking photographs of the newest Soviet Union missile destroyer in its fleet. There I was on my captain’s barge in the middle of the Mediterranean with the crew of that ship holding rifles and machine guns at the ready.

    Thing is, I only had my Pentax Spotmatic 35mm camera with a 400mm lens to point back at them.

    I’d be thought of as the ship’s photographer though I’m not sure it ever showed up in my service records.

    That’s when I knew that all I ever wanted in my life was to be a professional photographer.

    Thing was, thing is, I never had a clue as to how someone goes about doing that.

    The day would come when I was in college studying to become a photojournalist when, much like the music, there came a day when circumstances beyond my control took me away from what I was focusing on.

    I told myself I was doing the right thing leaving my dream behind and trying to become a husband and father-to-be that would provide for my family.

    In the end, the path I chose damn near killed me and yes that’s another story for another day.

    I had a direction, a focus, and then because things happen the path one thinks they’re walking becomes the one they never will walk.

    And so the wandering would begin again and never truly end.

    ****

    I’ve spent my life trying to figure out my life — the who and why of me.

    It’s not talked about much, but I suspect I’m not alone in feeling the things I feel, thinking the things I think, and wondering, “What if?”

    There’s a mixture of gratefulness for the life I’ve gotten to experience up to this point and admittedly a regret for a life I imagine I might have chosen instead. I doubt I’m unique though I can only speak for myself.

    Had I walked out of those high school doors believing I knew where I was headed, what path I would walk, I wonder if I would have ever bought a Kodak Instamatic camera and found the love for photography that I hold to this day.

    Had I walked out of Brooklyn Naval Shipyard with discharge papers in hand, bought an old school bus, got a dog, tuned up my guitar and started driving what path might have presented itself?

    Admittedly there were times when regret snuck in and the longing for an old school bus, a dog, and a tuned guitar were a part of it. The imagined picture I come up with would suit Wandering Wally well.

    The thing is that Wandering Wally found himself wandering only in his thoughts. Anyone who wants to find him can.

    These days I hide in plain sight if anyone is interested in finding me.

    These days I do my best to live honestly with the mystery.

    Until next time, keep your Unfinished Journey unforgettable.

    Happy Trails

  • Clarity Is Never All That Clear

    The Unfinished Journey/ Wally Bornmann/ July 11, 2026

    I find myself wondering about how I see things.

    How do I see the world around me, the people in it, and most often how do I see myself fitting into all of it?

    I admit that for a variety of reasons for most of my life I’ve never seen myself fitting in all well. These days I know I don’t.

    It may be that age does that to a person, I’ve never been this old before so I don’t have much insight into such things.

    What’s got me more than a little bothered is that I’m sure I don’t want to spend much time these days worrying about whether or not I fit in.

    That may be a part of getting older also for all I know.

    I still recall how in my early teenage years I was pretty damn sure I know how things worked and how I could fix everything if I got a chance.

    By the time I was heading into my twenties I had to accept there was something to that saying about when you’re young the old fart doesn’t know much but when you get a bit older yourself you’re surprised how much the old guy has learned in such a short time.

    As best I recall back in those teen days of mine it was generally assumed that anyone over thirty was well beyond helping when it came to much of anything.

    My generation was many things and full of itself was certainly one of them.

    These days I’m pleased to say I’m still doing my best to learn enough so I can say I’m as smart as the smartass I once was.

    The smartass kid I was thought I had everything figured out and could see clearly from here to infinity and beyond. The old fart I’ve become knows I have nothing truly figured out and need glasses to see beyond my nose.

    * * *

    I remember once hearing that some problems that show up in folks come from things that happened to them, usually traumatic things.

    I don’t have a clue whether that’s the case or not but I’ve never dismissed the possibility.

    When I was in third grade a friend of mine died. I knew she was sick, but I was certain the operation she was going to get was going to make her better.

    I’m pretty sure I prayed to God on that one. After that I don’t remember praying all that much.

    It was after that when my vision started getting fuzzy.

    I’ve worn glasses ever since and sometimes wonder if that was my body’s response. I was saying I don’t want to see this sort of thing ever again and so my eyes decided they’d help me out. It wasn’t anything drastic mind you, but I was only in third grade so maybe my body said a little is enough.

    Sounds weird to most folks, I get it, can’t say I buy it myself. And yet, I wonder about such things every now and then.

    It’s like how I look out beyond my front door — seems something happened that makes everyone see things just a bit fuzzy.

    I can see it now — a national “Day with Your Optometrist” with pay.

    The thing is I’m not that smartass teenager anymore and I know an eye prescription for everyone would help — but folks will still see what they see. They might think they’re seeing more clearly which would make the whole situation even worse.

    The thing is I’ve been around just about long enough to accept that what I think I’m seeing clearly, what I think others should be seeing clearly, is never how it really is. There’s always more to every story and there’s always more to see if I just take the time to look closer.

    * * *

    I’ve been wearing glasses goin’ on seventy years. Not about to start saying I’ve ever seen things clearly over all those years. Not about to claim I’m seeing things clearly today.

    One thing I will say is I sure don’t care much for what I’m seeing.

    I long ago said I see storm clouds comin’ and these days I don’t need anything more than my eyes to see they’re getting closer.

    Folks are allowing things in this country to get more messed up because everyone wants to insist there’s a simple solution to every problem we’ve got.

    Seems to me that that thinking keeps making things more complicated by the day.

    Hell, things are so damn simple to fix I’m sure there’s someone to talk to about cleaning up a green reflection pool.

    The thing is as I see them, is it’s been this thing where today what folks say they want swings one way and then tomorrow they want things some other way.

    From what I’ve seen and what I think I’m seeing things have swung more than a little one way and I’m not sure they’re done swinging. But sooner or later things are going to start swinging back the other way and there’s going to come a time when no one wants to let things swing anymore.

    So, I see storm clouds and I’m saying I don’t need my prescription checked.

    There’s a thing or two that sadden me about what I think I’m seeing.

    Most of all I’m sorry that my kids and grandkids are going to have to straighten out the mess that’s been made. None of it was their making but they’re sure enough going to have to suffer through whatever’s coming.

    Then there’s all the good folks out there that have tried the best they could. This country’s filled with amazing folks who given the chance will see to it that things get better. There are those that will do anything they can to hold those good folks down.

    I find myself asking if good can do the things that may be needed to rise above the bad.

    Honestly, I don’t have the answer, but I want to think they can.

    Then, for reasons I can’t clearly explain, I think about the fact that I’ve lived through the two hundredth and the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of this nation — will there be a three hundredth?

    * * *

    I remember praying when I was young. Marla died and I got glasses. I haven’t been much of a prayer since then.

    The thing about all of this is that with or without my glasses I see storm clouds.

    God, I pray I’m wrong.

    Until next time keep your Unfinished Journey unforgettable.

    Happy trails.

  • Carl Dahlke’s Radio Changed My Life

    The Unfinished Journey/May 30, 2026/Wally Bornmann

    Telling stories, yours or someone else’s, is something I’ve always thought we don’t do enough of.

    Lookin’ to grow your YouTube channel or increase your profit margin, well, sorry, I can’t help you.

    I’m here sharing my story and hoping I can maybe get you to where you’ll want to share yours as well.

    I sure hope you’ll let me know about it when you decide to.

    Welcome or welcome back to The Unfinished Journey.

    I’m Grandpa Wally.

    If you’ve been with me up to this point you know I’m at the Naval Training Center in Chicago, Illinois, and I’ve just been accepted into the Navy’s Blue Jacket Choir.

    You might be wondering how I found myself there in some rather elite part of the Navy instead of getting ready to march around out on the grounds all day long.

    Well, truth is I was wondering pretty much the same thing.

    That’s where this story begins.

    I’m not sure how old I was when I first heard music. I’m sure I’d listened to music most all my young life but in my case one day I heard it.

    You do understand that listening to and hearing music are two different things, right?

    Anyways, I was young, real young. We still lived in an apartment up over Billy Rabuck’s grocery store. I was playin’ around in the lot that held propane tanks on a deck raised up off the ground. The kind of place where a maybe five-year-old with an imagination could build a fort and hold off the bad guys with no problems.

    Heck, one day my friend Sonia, who was the same age and lived in another of those apartments up over Rabucks, and me found the Devil. Like I say, kids with imaginations sorta stuff. Trouble is we let the rascal go so I’m sorry for the mess we’re in these days.

    Now that I think back on it all I wonder what would have happened if we’d locked that trouble maker up and thrown the key away? One thing’s for sure, that pastor of mine would have had to find somethin’ new to worry us about.

    Well, so there I was that summer day by myself and things weren’t any different than they were most every other day.

    The Dahlke family lived on the other side of that lot. Carl was the shoe repair man in town. Come summer time he’d have the windows open and have the radio on while he worked.

    Thinkin’ back on Carl and his place he kept himself busy for sure since he didn’t only have the shoe repair thing going he also had a bait shop in his basement.

    So, the day’s warm, Carl’s got music playin’ that I can hear where I’m messin’ around at, and all of a sudden I hear music.

    I’m four, maybe five years old, and I’m just goofin’ around entertaining myself when all of a sudden I ain’t listening to some song coming from Carl’s radio, instead, I’m hearing music inside me.

    I was a kid who I promise you had no idea about anything to do with music.

    Even today, recalling that moment, I wish I could remember who was singing. For some reason, I’ve thought maybe it was Nat King Cole. Hell, I wish I could remember the song.

    But, at maybe five years old and not having ever sat around listening to someone on the radio saying, “Next we’re going to hear Nat King Cole singing “Smile,” what did I know?

    What I did know then, what I still know now, is something changed inside me.

    Anyways, who knows what it was. Maybe the song, maybe the singer, maybe the temperature or the way the wind was blowing for all I know, but something found me hearing the music and not just listening to sound coming from Carl Dahlke’s radio.

    So, maybe you’re wondering what’s the difference between listening and hearing music?

    Well, for all I know it’s different for everyone but for me listening is like the sound is just moving past you sorta like what the wind does.

    Hearing, for me, is when I feel it in my head, my bones, my guts. Hearing music makes me feel something inside and not just have it slip by on the outside.

    That moment when I heard music for the first time became the catalyst that would bring me joy and sorrow in buckets over the years.

    Lookin’ back on that moment seventy some years ago I have to admit brings up more emotions than I maybe have words for. Emotions that find me wanting to smile, laugh, cry, but most of all just shake my head in awe over.

    I sure don’t know how things work in this world but every now and again I have an opinion about some of it.

    Folks talk about something they say is a callin’. That thing that you can’t help but want to become. That thing that they might say you’re born to do and be.

    Maybe those folks are right, I’ll always tell anyone that the best I’ve got is that I know that I don’t know.

    The thing I do know is that I won’t say those folks are wrong.

    Hell, sittin’ here thinkin’ about that day more than seventy years ago I can’t help but wonder if they’re right.

    There I was, a kid on a summer day in a little Wisconsin town.

    The sound of a radio playing in the distance.

    One minute maybe I’m listening to music and the next I’m sure as hell hearing it inside me.

    What came next, well, that kid could never have imagined.

    How could that kid have imagined that one day his mom would buy him an accordion and put him in lessons because she wanted him to be the next Lawrance Welk?

    How could that kid imagine that one night, more than one actually, he’d be standing on top of the dam over the Lemonweir River, looking downstream, and singing “Fools Rush In” to his latest crush who wasn’t there?

    Or, how about standing in a room at the Naval Training Center being told I was in the Navy’s Blue Jacket Choir?

    How could that kid imagine that one day he’d be standing on a stage in New York City thinking that one of his dreams was coming true?

    How could that kid, how could I, know that what happened in that moment in that lot with Carl Dahlke’s radio playing was the universe saying, “Welcome to your life”?

    The thing is I might not have been able to use it right then but I sure wish it would have included an instruction manual when it said hello.

    Still, I’m glad Carl had a radio playing that day.

    I’m glad I was goofing around in that lot.

    And, no matter the rest of the story, I’m glad I heard music in that moment.

    Until next time, keep your Unfinished Journey unforgettable.

    Happy Trails. https://youtu.be/UvKPS2-c7hs

  • I Had a Dream in January 2020 but Then the World Stopped

    The Unfinished Journey/Wally Bornmann/05222026

    You ever think about how folks don’t tell their stories?

    I gotta tell you, it’s bugged me forever. No one I knew, parents, relatives, no one, talked about where they came from and what had happened to them along the way. They were there and that was that.

    I swear I wonder if they practiced “staying in the moment” before it became a thing.

    Well, that’s why I’m here. I’m gonna tell my story. You’re welcome to listen in. Hell, truth be told I hope you join in and share your own story.

    Folks say it’s best to start at the beginning but I’m not gonna.

    If you’d told me I’d one day be walking into a room in New York City to audition in front of folks from across the country I wouldn’t have believed you. But there I was, the first week of January 2020 and telling myself my dream was coming true.

    But, dreams are funny things — they don’t always come true.

    I tried to settle in as best I could all the while looking at the bright lights so I lightly strummed my guitar.

    My partner looked like she’d done this a thousand times before, which she probably had.

    I’d met her through my talent agent who thought that her and I would make a great couple doing stories and singing songs which is something I’d been doing on my own for years.

    We’d connected while she was on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic and I was in my palatial Casa de la TinCan estate in Phoenix, Arizona.

    Now, mere weeks later we’d met for the first time in New York City and were going to perform for folks looking for entertainment for their schools, colleges and universities, and God knows what else.

    Talk about punching above my weight class.

    I was a cowboy campfire singer and storyteller doing my thing around Arizona at resorts, cowboy gatherings, and folk festivals.

    Now, there I was getting ready to get known to a whole bunch of important folks who were going to make a dream of mine come true — I was gonna be touring the United States telling stories, singing songs, with a partner, and we were going to encourage others to go for their dreams.

    Three weeks later Covid shut down pretty much everything and my hopes of realizing my dream were left behind on a stage in New York City.

    I’m not one of those folks who I hear about that had everything fall apart in their lives and by God they bounced back better than before. Nope. I’m the guy who gets knocked down and decides the floor isn’t such a bad place to be. I mean honestly — there ain’t a whole lot farther to fall.

    There was a time when I was an almost somebody. Of course, that was in a high school with a total of about two hundred fifty kids in it. I got a few letters playing football, basketball, and baseball. For some unknown reason, got to date some of the prettiest girls around, and graduated dead center in a class of fifty.

    So, about the worst day in my life up until then was when I graduated from high school. I’d been an almost someone, I knew that, and now I didn’t have a clue who I was going to be.

    It had been a good life even when two doctors told my mom I was going to die within a year. I was told they played a basketball game in my honor — that ain’t something that happens every day.

    Oh yeah, the docs were wrong. Turns out I’ve hung around another sixty years or so. Third doc, an old-time family doctor, said it was the worst case of mononucleosis he’d ever seen.

    It had been a good life even when Glen had shoved my face in the mud one night when I was out getting nightcrawlers for fishing and a guy I thought was my friend, Dale, did nothing. Then to top it off I had to go home and explain to my mom what had happened and she got on the phone and gave Glen’s mother an ear full.

    Righteous indignation was big with my mom but then she didn’t have to go to school and face Glen the next day.

    It was a good life until that night standing there in that auditorium realizing that nothing would ever be the same again.

    So I did what any scared eighteen year old would do, got together with Bob and Scott (he had the beer), went to the graduation party and got everyone huggin’ and kissin’, went out with Bob and Scott (remember the beer?), got totally drunk, cursed at the birds as I walked up the driveway with the sun coming up, collapsed on my bed, and the next day left that good life in New Lisbon, Wisconsin for La Crosse, Wisconsin.

    I’m thinking this is a good time to mention Mary.

    Remember those pretty girls I mentioned?

    Well, for my money she was the best of the bunch.

    She was the one I could have gone to sleep next to every night and wake up next to every morning.

    Her auburn hair and blue eyes were only a part of what made her beautiful, her spirit and soul took over the minute you stopped gawking at her.

    She made me Cowboy coffee.

    She made me wish I never had to leave her.

    She made my life mean more than it ever had.

    I thought we’d marry — she said as much — and then we didn’t.

    Maybe we should leave that story for another day.

    In the end I tried going to school at the University of Wisconsin – La Crosse and failed miserably. I’d never been a good student, told myself I wanted to be an optometrist and head out west to work with folks on reservations, didn’t ask anyone what classes I should take, found myself in way over my head and did what any self-respecting poser would do, when things got tough I bailed.

    But to my credit I did leave my mark in La Crosse, well at my dad’s work anyways.

    I got a job dispatching for the trucking company my father drove for. After I’d been there for a while, every now and then when a driver was coming to go out I’d jump in that big eighteen wheeler, drive it to the fuel pumps, and fill the tanks so they didn’t have to. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t something the company wanted me doing but that never stopped me.

    So, one night, being the nice guy I am, I jumped in a truck, headed for the pumps, but pulled in too far away — the hose wouldn’t reach the outside tank.

    So, I figure I’ll pull forward, back up, and get closer.

    No big deal, right?

    The thing is I’m not backing up my car with its rear window and a clear view.

    There’s forty feet of trailer and no view of what’s behind that.

    Being clueless I figure I knew where the pumps were when I pulled ahead, they shouldn’t have moved on their own, so a slight turn of the wheel and things’ll be good.

    My first hint was when I couldn’t back up anymore.

    My second was when the wheels started spinning and nothing happened.

    No more going back and worse yet no going forward either.

    That bar on the trailer of a big rig is called a Mansfield bar, and yes, I know why.

    A pole anchored in concrete was bent over and the Mansfield bar was now behind it.

    I bet you’ve never backed over fuel pumps with an eighteen wheeler.

    I have.

    One transit station shut down for the foreseeable future.

    My dad never said a thing to me about it but I was told that out on the road he would sometimes tell the story and laugh.

    For me decision time loomed big.

    So, I’m figuring advancement within the trucking company was now at best questionable. I’d bailed on college and the draft was in my future what with me being a prime candidate.

    The Vietnam War was going full tilt and the last thing I wanted to do was go over there and sit in some rice paddy ducking bullets.

    Enter the Navy.

    Until next time keep your Unfinished Journey unforgettable.

    (Fade out singing Happy Trails)

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