Nothing could stop Dave Nelson from dinÂing out with his wife, Jan, on their 55th wedÂding anniÂverÂsaÂry. Not windchill, icy roads, nor a liÂquid diet that is a wistÂful reÂmindÂer of his batÂtle against stage four bladÂder canÂcer.
It's a canÂcer docÂtors say should have takÂen him months ago.
Dave fell in love with Jan at age 14, marÂried her at 19, raised three kids with her and cherÂishÂes the noise of seven grandkids, ages 11 to 24, esÂpeÂcialÂly when they're all toÂgether at their WisÂconÂsin cabÂin, named "Lykkebo," NorÂweÂgian for "hapÂpy home."
On Jan. 10, Dave wantÂed to celeÂbrate all of that, even if he had to do it over a bowl of broth.
The low-key couÂple couldn't iÂmagÂine what hapÂpened next.
As Jan sipped champagne and dined on a salÂad and filet miÂgnon, Dave's cup runneth over with flavorful clam chowÂder, beet salÂad, wallÂeye and beef, all of it served up with a secret inÂgreÂdiÂent:
One amazÂing blender.
"PretÂty much anyÂthing can be purĂ©ed if you have the right blender," said Paul Neu, exÂecÂuÂtive sous chef at McÂCorÂmick and Schmick's in Edina. Neu was deÂlightÂed to help make the couÂple's anniÂverÂsaÂry memÂoÂraÂble.
"He nevÂer menÂtioned he was in stage four," said Neu, who creÂatÂed the menu with sous-chef-in-trainÂing, ShanÂnon Nelson (no reÂlaÂtion). "He just said he couldn't diÂgest food, but wantÂed to have the taste of it."
Jan and Dave, both 74, are not meÂdiÂa-hunÂgry peoÂple. "But this is so beÂyond what any resÂtauÂrant is exÂpectÂed to do," Jan said.
Dave nodÂded. "We wantÂed them to know how imÂportÂant this was to us," he said.
He also wants evÂerÂyÂone to know that cold, purĂ©ed beet salÂad, "was so good." He's been back twice to ordÂer it by the quart.
The couÂple met 59 years ago on a church outÂing to Luck, Wis. As luck would have it, Dave said, "the car broke down or someÂthing," which meant more time getÂting to know Jan.
AfÂter they marÂried, Jan stayed home to raise their kids, Paul, Deb and David, first in IÂoÂwa, then in Edina, and volÂunÂteered for many orÂganÂiÂzaÂtions, inÂcludÂing serÂving as presÂiÂdent of the Edina League of Women Voters. Dave beÂgan a 51-year caÂreer as a CPA. He was an avid tenÂnis playÂer. ToÂgether, they golfed, traveled the world and loved to eat out.
In 1987, they headÂed to BayÂfield, Wis., to hunt for a famÂiÂly cabÂin. They found one on a popuÂlar lake and, only later, reÂalÂized that it was loÂcatÂed in little Luck, just minÂutes from the church reÂtreat where they had met more than 30 years beÂfore.
"Is that nuts?" Jan said. "It's just crazy."
His canÂcer first was diÂagÂnosed in 2002. While bladÂder canÂcer ofÂten afÂfects smokÂers, he nevÂer was one.
When treatÂments didn't work, surÂgeons built him a "neo-bladÂder," and he went into reÂmisÂsion for nearÂly a decÂade.
In the sumÂmer of 2011, he sensed "disÂcomÂfort" in his belÂly. The canÂcer was back. The couÂple downÂsized to a conÂdo in Minnetonka a year ago.
LimÂitÂed to juicÂes and soups, and weakÂenÂing afÂter his sixth round of chemoÂtheraÂpy, Dave deÂcidÂed to stop treatÂment in OcÂtoÂber. "That's it," he told Jan. "I'm quitÂting the chemo. We're very blessed. Let it take its course. I'll live as long as I can."
DocÂtors gave him three months. He's gone six. "Still going," he says.
"This guy has passed all of our bounÂdarÂies," Jan said. Still, she addÂed, "we know we are livÂing day to day. We're doing evÂerÂyÂthing we can do to make him feel good. We try to live."
Dave gets up and dressÂes handÂsomeÂly every mornÂing, someÂtimes headÂing to the BraeÂmar Golf Course to hit balls. He and Jan still go to Orchestra Hall and the GuthÂrie.
InÂstead of preÂparÂing dinÂners for friends, they gathÂer for cofÂfee in the late mornÂing, or for a glass of wine in the afÂterÂnoon. But even "wine doesn't taste like wine" anyÂmore, Dave said. "Your taste gets so weird when you get this."
Jan jokes that, for a guy whose opÂtions are so limÂitÂed, "he sure is fussÂy."
DeÂspite that, he wantÂed one speÂcial night, a night to gift his wife with an emÂerÂald ring to thank her for 55 years of marÂriage.
A few days beÂfore their anniÂverÂsaÂry, Dave called McÂCorÂmick and Schmick's and spoke to manÂagÂer Mike Herstine. "I have this sitÂuÂaÂtion," he said. "I can only take liÂquids."
Herstine didn't hesÂiÂtate. "I'll talk to the chef," he said. "I was hapÂpy that I hapÂpened to anÂswer the phone. Fifty-five years toÂgether is pretÂty speÂcial."
TwenÂty minÂutes later, chef Neu called, which deÂlightÂed Dave. "I've nevÂer had a resÂtauÂrant call me!"
"I have a fanÂtasÂtic blender," Neu said. "I can blend anyÂthing. I can blend a steak for you."
"Oh, clam chowÂder will do," Dave said.
Their son, Paul, sent flowÂers to the table. They orÂdered champagne. As Jan enÂjoyed her filet, a rare treat for her, Dave finÂished his clam chowÂder and looked up to see a serÂver carryÂing over a tray with "three little dishÂes" for him. Cold, purĂ©ed beet salÂad, wallÂeye soufflĂ© and beef soufflĂ©.
As they dined, Herstine and Chef Paul came out to meet them. "They're a loveÂly couÂple," Herstine said. "They were so apÂpreÂciaÂtive and down to earth."
TirÂing and preÂparÂing to leave, Dave looked up to see one more surÂprise. DesÂsert was comÂing. Apple pie — purĂ©ed. "You've got to pack it up for me," he said, deÂlightÂed. "He ate it for two days," Jan said.
Many days later, they still marÂvel at strangÂers who, for one night, helped Dave reÂclaim one of life's simÂplest pleasÂures. "The fact that the peoÂple cared that much," Dave said, "made it so exÂtra speÂcial."
gail.rosenblum@startribune.com
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