Rise and Shine Otters, Spiess in the Morning broadcasting and podcasting from the spectacular studios next to the swamp in the heart of the North Star State.
Well, well… it’s June 27th. And I’ve got to say, today’s feeling like a bit of a mixtape. A little vision, a little grit, a touch of perfume in the air, and maybe a few onions sautéing somewhere in the distance.
Let’s start with the senses—because today is a feast for them.
It’s National Onion Day, and I know what you're thinking—Spiess, that’s not exactly glamorous. But here’s the truth: onions are the soulful foundation of any good dish. They're humble, hidden, layered. Kind of like a lot of us here in the land of otters. Sure, they might make you cry, but only because they’re getting to the good stuff. They soften with heat, deepen with time, and ask nothing more than to be peeled slowly and appreciated.
Now to cool off those onion tears, you might want to throw on a pair of shades, because it’s National Sunglasses Day. A symbol of cool, yes—but also a shield. Against the sun, the world, sometimes even against each other. Behind those dark lenses, we get a little space, a little mystery. From Jack Nicholson to that grizzled prospector who plays harmonica down by the river—sunglasses say, “the sun never sets when you’re cool baby.”
Then, when the day slows and the sun dips low, why not join the retirees and risk-takers for a card with five letters and a thousand tiny victories—it’s Bingo Day. That sweet sound of B-12, I-29 or O-69 (giggle giggle) being called across a room of hopeful eyes. A game where luck meets longing, and where the prize isn’t just the payout—it’s the community. The moment. The thrill that maybe, just maybe, you’re the one today.
And look who shares this day with us on the cosmic birthday roll:
Helen Keller, born in 1880. A woman who turned silence into poetry, blindness into vision, and limitation into legend. She didn’t just learn to speak—she taught the world how to listen. If ever there were proof that the human spirit is stronger than circumstance, Helen was it. A force that still humbles us.
Charles Stewart Parnell, Irish nationalist and firebrand, born in 1846. The "Uncrowned King of Ireland." A man who believed in land reform and liberty, who challenged empires with ink and oratory. His fall was dramatic—scandal and politics colliding—but the echo of his ambition still rattles the old halls of Dublin.
Fast forward to more modern dreamers—
Ross Perot, the original business-meets-politics maverick. Self-made billionaire with a Texas twang and a pointer stick. He didn’t just run for president—he carved a lane where no one saw a road. Whether you loved him or rolled your eyes, he was pure, unfiltered Americana. Charts and all.
J.J. Abrams, born today in 1966. A storyteller who takes old tales and refracts them through a new lens. Star Trek, Star Wars, Lost—he does more than write scripts; he builds worlds. Bridges nostalgia with the unknown, like a campfire ghost story told with a drone overhead.
Vera Wang, elegance in motion. She’s taken fabric and stitched it into identity, into celebration. From Olympic figure skater to fashion icon, she’s proof that reinvention is not only possible—it’s beautiful. Her gowns aren’t just dresses. They’re dreams tailored into silk.
So here we are, June 27. A day for the layered and the luminous. For shadows behind shades, and scents that vanish before you can name them. For stories that stretch across empires, galaxies, and bingo halls.
Maybe today you embrace your own layers—peel them back gently. Maybe you step into the light—but take your sunglasses, just in case. Maybe you hear B-INGO and feel that tingle of chance running up your spine.
Looking out the studio window on this fine Minnesota morning, and the fog is rolling like a secret the rivers don’t quite want to share just yet. This is Spiess in the Morning, and I want to talk to you about vision. Not the 20/20 kind, though that’s useful when you’re dodging deer on Main Street. I’m talking about the vision that sees through—the third eye kind. The kind that sees patterns where others see chaos, purpose where others see pain.
You know, ancient Egypt had a way with stories, gods, and metaphors that put most modern self-help books to shame. Take the myth of Osiris and Set—now there’s a tale rich with betrayal, rebirth, and yes... vision.
Osiris was a god-king, the bringer of civilization, the green-faced symbol of fertility and life. He was the kind of deity you’d want organizing your community potluck—orderly, generous, and wise. But Osiris had a brother, Set. And Set, well, he wasn’t the "let’s build irrigation canals together" type. He was the god of chaos, sandstorms, and desert heat. Set was the guy who shows up to the barn dance just to knock over the punch bowl and accuse everyone of hypocrisy.
Jealousy blinded Set, not physically, but spiritually. He couldn’t see the light in Osiris, only the shadow it cast on his own heart. So, like Cain and Abel, Set did the unthinkable. He tricked Osiris into a coffin, cut it up and scattered his body across Egypt like loose change.
But here’s where vision comes in—true, mythic vision. Because Osiris wasn’t finished. You can’t kill a god of life with chaos. Isis, his devoted wife—herself a goddess of magic and perception—gathered his parts. Piece by piece. Heart, bones, flesh. And through her love and rituals, she resurrected him. But Osiris didn't return to rule the earth. He became ruler of the underworld, the great judge of the dead, the one who sees what the living cannot.
Now, that’s vision. That’s the third eye. To die, to see beyond death, and to become something more—not despite the journey into darkness, but because of it.
Horus, the son of Osiris and Isis, carries on the symbol of vision. He’s depicted with the falcon head, bird of prey—keen eyes that scan the horizon for destiny. His left eye, the moon; his right eye, the sun. His “Eye of Horus” became a symbol of protection, insight, and restored wholeness. But here’s the kicker: in his battle with Set, Horus loses that eye. Torn out. But eventually it’s healed. Restored.
Because in myth, as in life, the loss of sight can be the beginning of vision.
You see, the third eye isn’t about having an extra retina. It’s about perception. Depth. Seeing beyond surface. Horus’ eye—sometimes cracked, sometimes bleeding—is still a symbol of divine clarity. That bird of prey doesn’t blink in the storm; it sees the storm for what it is.
And as for Set? He never quite wins. You can’t truly destroy a god. Osiris lives on—not just in myth, but in that place where endings become beginnings, where decay feeds the soil, and the unseen worlds whisper their secrets to those quiet enough to hear.
So maybe vision isn’t about avoiding the underworld. Maybe it’s about traveling through it and coming back wiser. With a different kind of sight.
We got some cosmic vibrations cued up for those flying above the fray this morning. But first—take a moment. Close your eyes. And see what opens.
This is Spiess in the Morning... keep watchin’ the skies—and the space inside.
Campfire story time otters, Hope you're slathered in citronella and divine patience, folks—because it’s mosquito season again. The Great Minnesota Aerial Ballet of biters and buzzing whispers. Tiny bloodsuckers with the heart of a lion and the appetite of a glutton.
While you continue scratching and swatting under the northern twilight—these winged parasites are more than meets the eye. No, mosquitoes are part of an older story. A campfire story stitched together with shadows and blood, passed down by firelight and memory.
In some Native legends—Yupik, Tlingit, and even across the old continent in Lapland—they say mosquitoes aren’t just bugs. No sir. They’re spirits. Spirits of the dead or damned, come back in insect form, hungry for the life essence they lost. They whisper that long ago, a giant cannibal roamed the land, drinking blood. When he was killed, his body broke apart into millions of little pieces—and each one flew off, becoming a mosquito. A thousand mini-vampires.
Let’s throw another log on this fire.
Speaking of vampires... those infamous nightwalkers in the long black coats have their own tangled mythology. You’ve got your Romanian Strigoi, your Slavic Nosferatu, even Chinese Jiangshi hopping after souls like a slow-motion martial arts film. But dig a little deeper in the apocryphal corners of biblical lore, and you find something even more curious.
Cain. Yes, that Cain—keeper of the cursed mark, brother-slayer, exile of Eden. Some stories, especially in Jewish folklore and early Christian mysticism, link Cain to the first vampire. Marked not just to wander, but to thirst. Forever. Never to die, never to find peace, feeding off the blood of others. Maybe not with fangs at first, but with a hunger that echoes through centuries. In some versions, it was Cain’s punishment—to live eternally with the memory of his brother's blood still fresh on his hands. Literal blood guilt. Immortality as a sentence, not a blessing.
So what if every mosquito is a tiny echo of that curse? What if the buzzing around your ear is the soft, incessant whisper of original sin? A winged reminder of the blood we spill and the debt we carry. Cain's descendants in micro-form, buzzing through the dusk, seeking penance, or maybe just a snack.
You laugh—but mythology’s funny like that. It connects dots that science leaves scattered. It gives poetry to pestilence. Meaning to madness.
So the next time you're out by the river and you feel that little sting—don’t just swat blindly. Maybe tip your hat to the ancestors. To the forgotten gods, the cursed brothers, the dead giants. To Cain, cursed to wander. And to the legends that say even blood has memory.
Plus it makes a damn good campfire story.
Spiess in the Morning here, guiding you gently into another one of those long, golden hours where the sun’s not quite sure if it wants to rise or take a nap on the horizon.
Now, I don’t know if it’s the smell of the spruce coming into the spectacular studios next to the swamp, or the sound of loons echoing off the water last night, but I’ve been drifting in that soft current of memory. You know the one—summers at the lake. Maybe you had your own: splinters on the dock, sunburned noses, cold watermelon on aluminum lawn chairs. First crushes and last dives before the storm rolled in. All those moments suspended like minnows in amber.
But here’s the thing, folks. Those memories? They’re not just for scrapbooks and stories told around a crackling fire. They’re kindling. They're primers. You take that moment when your dad taught you how to skip stones—how to angle your hand, how to feel the rhythm of the throw—and maybe today, you’re teaching your kid how to cast a fly rod or how to hold their balance on a paddleboard.
Same lake of life. Different ripples.
It’s tempting to try and recreate the past. Reheat it like old coffee. But that’s not what we’re meant to do. No, those memories—they're not blueprints to rebuild yesterday. They’re sparks. The kind that flicker in the dry brush of today and light up something entirely new.
But here's the awareness part, and it’s a delicate one: you’ve got to let the new moment be new. You’ve got to resist the urge to compare every sky to that one sky when the fireworks lit up the bay, or every canoe ride to that one where you swore the heron was guiding you home. If you're always measuring, you’re never discovering. And that, my friends, is how nostalgia turns into a trap instead of a torch.
So maybe this summer, when you’re standing at the edge of the water—different lake, same kind of stillness—let yourself feel it. Let that memory come. Let it breathe in you. And then? Let it hand off the baton to the moment you're in. Because who knows? Maybe that old dockside laughter is just the echo that gives your next adventure the rhythm it needs to begin.
This is Spiess in the Morning, reminding you that time isn’t linear—it’s a spiral. And every time around, you get the chance to dance to an old tune with new steps. Keep your feet wet and your heart open. Otter and out.
The OtterTalk media network – Doing our best to keep the small town smiles alive, fish tales told and the coffee percolating.
CLICK HERE FOR SPECIAL PARAMOUNT PLUS PARTNERSHIP PAGE
OTTER TALK COMMUNITY CALENDAR
Kate’s Korner Antiques & Collectables is NOW OPEN in Elizabeth! Located across the street from the liquor store on Hwy 59, Kate’s Korner is a must stop and see. If you see the flags flapping in the wind, she’s open and ready to serve your nostalgic needs.
Paul’s Farm Fresh Eggs - $3/dozen - call or text 218-205-7779 (The Greater Elizabeth Area)
Abbie’s Farm Fresh Eggs - $9 for 30 eggs - washed or unwashed - call or text 320-349-0942 (The Greater Morris Area)
IBC Totes for sale - Endless uses for these totes from firewood storage to rainwater catcher to stacking two for an outdoor shower. Pick up encouraged, delivery available. Food grade are $100 each and non-food grade are $65 each. Call 218-639-1116
The Shoreline Bowling Alley in Battle Lake has open bowling All Summer Long. Call 218-864-5265 for more info or stop by 505 N Lake Ave, Battle Lake, MN.
The Bookmobile has books, movies & magazines to check out, but the Bookmobile and member libraries also offer a wide variety of electronic resources including Ebooks, downloadable audiobooks, streaming movies, TV and music, and a wide variety of educational databases and distance learning resources.
The Bookmobile stops across from the Parkers Prairie Post Office every other Wednesday throughout the year. You can find the Bookmobile there from 3 pm to 4 pm.
The Bookmobile stops in Elizabeth, only this stop isn’t at the community center or the public park, rather it’s a private house. Next stop is July 3 in Elizabeth and it’s a block north of the C-Store on the gravel road, or 206 N Pelican Street, for you GPS folk.
Check out more Bookmobile towns by clicking here
If you have a community event for the Community Bulletin Board, email studio@ottertalk.media
Want Otter Talk to highlight a local musician or upcoming gig? Email studio@ottertalk.media
Happy Friday Everyone! Feel free to like, share and or comment!
Please tune in Monday for more local lakes area tunes, totally tubular tales, and some small-town smiles.
Know someone who might enjoy today’s program? Give a gift subscription or share it on!
Have some news? How about an idea for the show? Email studio@ottertalk.media
Share this post