Chess on the Prairie

A visit to Conner Prairie's Symphony on the Prairie isn't complete without a basket of cheese and crackers, a bottle of wine and a game of chess.

Last night we had the privilege of seeing the River City Brass Band.  This was the third year to enjoy the closing act for the season and I loved every minute of it.  From the opening number to the closing fireworks show, the night was just perfect.

The temperature was fall-like and it made for a very pleasant evening.  Light jackets and a small blanket made were in order.  I beat Ben in chess two consecutive games and I only spilled my wine once (a record for me).

After the concert we sat in the car, allowing the other guests to sit in line for 20 minutes.  That was even pleasant, listening to African music with a modern twist.  We marveled at the rhythms and harmonies.

From beginning to end, it was the perfect night.

The Summer Love Tour

There is nothing better than Garrison Keillor and Fred Newman doing their shtick.  Add Sara Watkins (Nickel Creek) and you have a real show.  And that's just what you get from the Summer Love Tour.

Under a crystal clear sky, we enjoyed the warm summer sun, beautiful prairie breeze, and good friends on the hill under the shade trees at Symphony on the Prairie last night.  The show was a perfect combination of Prairie Home Companion and old-time sing-along.

My oldest (20 years old) did mention that his demographic was not well represented in the crowd and I suppose he was correct.  Most people who come to see Keillor are of a certain generation.  I didn't see any tie-die shirts, there was more fine wine that draft beer, and only a few couples took to the dance floor (less floor and more fescue).

That said, at the end of the evening, everyone was on their feet as they applauded the talent and timing of this master showman and his crew.

As If Nothing Had Changed

Anita and I had the privilege of eating dinner with Amy (Evans) Smith and her beautiful family this weekend.

Amy was on of my youth group kids at Union Chapel Church in Muncie.  Of course, this was when I was 19 years old and Amy was only twelve.  But despite time and space, not much has changed about Amy.  Her energy for life remains the same.  Her radiating smile can still light a room.  Her soft heart is evident in the tears she sheds as she we stand around the center island of her kitchen and talk of finding meaning in life.

Of course, the Mexican food and grape salad was wonderful.  The conversation was stimulating.  Amy's husband was charming.  Her children were intelligent and witty. In all, it was the perfect evening and I was so thankful for the opportunity to catch up on old times.

As Anita and I walked to the car at the end of the night, we both commented on the strange coincidence that brought us to this moment.

What we did not know before Friday night is that Amy and her family live within a few blocks from our very dear friends.  Over the course of the past five years, we've driven right past Amy's home at least 100 times.  We've probably seen her boys on their bikes or in the front drive playing basketball.  And we never knew it.

This type of thing seems to happen all the time.  Just a few weeks ago we ran into a young lady from our College Avenue Youth Group.  She was holding her daughter on her hip, constantly and lovingly stroking the child's head.  When I saw her last, in 1996, she and her two sisters were singing a song for my going-away party at the church. (Yes, they were so glad I was leaving they threw me a party.)

I run into old co-workers at the store.  I attend church with friends from high school.  I recognize old college friends in the mall.  I saw another youth from College Avenue last night at Symphony on the Prairie.  They are everywhere!

And I think that is the point of all this.  People who were important part of life's journey live all around us.  Perhaps, if we open our eyes, people who may become an important part of life's journey live even closer.  Your neighbor for the past 10 years is helping you become who you are today.  They are shaping your heart and mind, they are changing the way you interact and react.  Your coworker in the next office is helping shape your journey in ways you may not even know, in ways you won't understand for years to come.  You may run into them at the Farmer's Market a decade later and you will suddenly be reminded of their place in your heart.

That's what happened during our evening with Amy. 

As a youth worker, all the kids are special (you are paid to say this repeatedly).  But there are always a few that hold a piece of your heart forever.  At the risk of missing someone, I would have to say that MY kids at Union Chapel were Gerald, Polly, Kathy, Carol, Trisha, and Amy.  They were the ones who stood out.  They were the ones who helped change my life.

Meeting with Amy for dinner, running into Erin at the Farmer's Market, seeing Molly at Conner Prairie was a not-so-subtle reminder of our connection to others and the power they have in our lives. That's why I am so very thankful for the gift of chance encounters, found memories, and taco dinners.  

My State Fair

Of course, you know it is time for the State Fair when the local news stations report the latest craze in deep fried foods.  There are so many to choose from.  A day at the Fair isn't complete unless someone tells you how good their particular deep fried item tasted.

While walking the main drag of booths and vendors, we saw deep fried everything:  Elephant Ears, Snickers, Brownies, Twinkies, Avocado, Pizza, Chicken, Pepsi and Butter.

But it isn't just the food that makes the fair unique.

During the night program for the marching band competition, I sat next to a young man who was a little too enthusiastic about the Winchester program.  My right ear is still ringing from the screaming during their performance.  The young man had the smell of someone who spent the day in the sun.  Actually, he smelled like he's spent several days in the sun.  His tank top allowed more skin to show than I appreciated.  Especially since we shared two seats that were made for the butts of people in the 1950's, long before the invention of the Doughnut Burger.

During a break in the night program, he returned to the 12-inch seat with a mini-drum set in a box.  It was a three-inch, metal and plastic set of drums that fit into a small box with a glass front.  As he loaded the item into its display case, he continued to tap the symbol with his finger.  I think he believed it was real.  I wasn't as impressed.  It was obvious to me that this item would show up in a yard sale next to a painting of Elvis on black velvet and a lava lamp.

During another short break, the odoriferous young man disappeared again.  This time when he returned, he reported that $50 had just been invested in a high quality, digital DVD of the night's performances.  I know that the disk cost $50 because he told me it cost $50 about 50 times.  Then he pulled out his baby drum set to admire it again.

I noticed the young man disappeared again when the air freshened.  He returned with something deep fried on a stick.  It was covered in strawberry glaze.  His eyes sparkled and a huge smile spread across his face as he admired it.  He looked like someone who was about to get their fix.  My wife, ever curious and willing to talk to strangers, leaned across me and asked, "How much was that DVD again?  And what IS that?" 

He quickly reached into a bag with his free hand and pulled out a receipt.  He held it up for all to see and proudly announced that the DVD was $50.  Actually, his words were, "Oh, Man! I spent $50 on that DVD.  Can you believe that?  What a great deal!  It has every performance on it.  It was $50 but it was worth it!"  Then he finished his response by taking a huge bite from the golden brown item on the paper doily (as if this classes up the food).  As his lips smacked together and the batter and cream filling sloshed around in his open mouth, he reported that this was a deep fried Twinkie.  "It is my third one today."  He laughed and took another bite, held up what was left on the stick and offered a taste.  I politely declined and moved to an empty seat on the other side of my wife.

Nothing is better than a day at the fair.  It is truly an Indiana experience.  Pass the deep fried butter, please?

Oh For the Good Ol' Days

Summer is for vacation, lazy days on the lake, and cooking S'mores around the fire.  This summer tops them all.

In the "good ol' days" we didn't have the luxury of so many fine foods and dry weather.  It rained a lot when I was a boy.  I don't have a memory of cooking over a fire without rain involved.  As a kid, we would cook  over a heating source generously called a fire.  Smoke filled the air as the wet wood from the fire pit worked to produce enough heat to roast the small sugary cylinder.  We used a wooden stick sharpened to a point.  The rich kids could straighten out a hanger.  Once heated through, the marshmallow would find its way on the soggy graham cracker and cold chocolate.  If you were lucky, you could eat the combination.  Usually, we just ate the chocolate and marshmallow separately and called it a night.  We would throw the graham crackers on the fire to help put out the log at the end of the evening.  We may not have eaten well, but we built character with each cook out.

Today's kids have it easy.  Today's youth vacation in luxury.  They have fire.  They have metal roasting rods.  They have marshmallows the size of a small pony.

John brought the largest marshmallows I've ever seen in my life.  If you can keep them on the roasting stick, you create a sugary high unlike any you have ever had before.  They look more like a piece of sugar cream pie than a S'more.

What happened on this vacation was nothing like my childhood memories.  In my estimation, the S'more cooking that occurred this week was a travesty.  In fact, it was just wrong.  Honestly, this is just wrong.

The kids finished supper.  They had snacked on cookies and chips all day.  There is no way they were hungry.  They couldn't have been hungry.  And yet, with the ravenous appetites of young lions at a kill, they dove into the perfectly formed S'mores with reckless abandon.

Sugar covered their chins.  Melted chocolate was smeared on their cheeks.  They reveled in the crackers, crisp and flaky.

In truth, it was just sickening to watch.  How will they ever survive in the real world if they can't even eat a S'more correctly?  I pity the young generation.

Fishin'

I love fishing.  I hate fishing.

From the first time I held a rod in my hand I've wanted to catch the huge one.  I've wanted to tell stories of the Lunker that took my line, the mammoth beast from below that I fought into the boat and the epoch struggle between man and fish.  I've dreamed restlessly of battles between the bass of legend and my own fishing skill.

The Old Man and the Sea?  He's got nothing on me compared to the fish of my dreams.  But daytime reality is cruel to most fishermen.

In reality, I spend more time untangling the bird's nest that was once my line.
In truth, I lose more hooks in low hanging tree limbs than down the throats of fish.
Honestly, when it comes to fishing, I do my best work in the frozen food isle of Kroger.  (Farm Raised Tilapia Fillets are only $2.99 this week.)

When I was a boy, my brother and I spent countless hours along the banks of the Mississinewa River, casting our lines into the muddy waters and waiting for the big one to come along.  Looking back, it is fair to say that we spent more time throwing in rocks and bottles than hauling out any fish.  But the joy of those days always brings me back to the water's edge.

In analyzing my life-long angling failure, I quickly realized that my problem is not a lack of gear...although, I believe that more is always better.

I have 17 sizes of hooks.
I have 42# of sinkers and weights.
I have enough bobbers to raise the Titanic.
Tackle boxes?  3 (1 metal, 1 soft-sided, 1 fly fishing)
Fishing poles?  9 (5 standard, 1 ultralight, 1 ice fishing, 2 fly rods)
Steal leads?  12
Lures?  You bet!  Jigs, Poppers, Propellers, Buzzers, Scoops,  Spoons, Plugs, Flies, Larva, Spinners, and Worms.
Waders.  At the ready.
Fillet Knives?  2
Fishing License?  6 copies (1 copy in each tackle box, 1 copy in my wallet, 1 in my glove box of the car, and 1 copy in the fire safe, just in case)

I've reviewed my technique and based on all the Saturday morning Bill Dance episodes, I'm doing fine.

I've varied my location...
Boat?  Fishing boats, row boats, canoes, and paddle boats.
Material?  Wood, metal, and fiberglass.  I've tried them all.
Water?  Stream, creek, crick and trickle.  Pond, puddle, pool and piddle.  River, lake, reservoir, and faucet.

But this week, for the first time in more than 40 years, I experienced the sweet success of fishing.  The bluegill and sunfish weren't huge and then didn't put up any line-breaking fight, but they filled my stringer, the frying pan, and my family's stomachs.

For the first time in a very long time, I enjoyed fishing.  A rod, a hook, and several B-moths were enough to restore my dream.

Now if you will excuse me, I need to visit Gander Mountain.  They have a huge sale on bobbers.

There's More Than Corn...But Not Much

Birthday parties come in different shapes and sizes.  In Indiana, they come in cornfields with country music playing in the background.

For those of you in east-central Indiana,  Wilson Wines provides the music, charcoal and all the wine you care to buy.  You provide the raw meat, a carry-in dish, and your favorite credit card.  Like a Methodist all-church dinner, you will find every home cooked option:  from salads and slaws to casseroles and cookies. Unlike a Methodist all-church dinner, you will find lot's of tipsy, loud Hoosier's poppin' open their 4th bottle of vino.

We first visited this Modoc oasis several years ago.  When told we would be eating at a winery, we expected a fine dining establishment.  What we discovered was a gravel drive that led past overgrown hedges up to an old farm house.  We pulled off the drive and parked in the front yard.  We followed the music past a corn silo around a pole barn and into a lively party.  Tables, wine glasses, covered dishes, and loud Jimmy Buffet cover music greeted us.  We had a really good time.

Last night's party was a little less chaotic.  Jimmy couldn't make it so the crowd was smaller.  Corn hole and Croquette were underway.  As the mid-summer sun roasted those in attendance, the attenders roasted their steaks, burgers and brats. 

The birthday boy celebrated 77 years by eating well and laughing hard.  He was surrounded by his family and received much-needed gifts:  a bicycle seat, a heavy duty back scratcher, and a watering hose.  Everything a man can desire.

It was the perfect evening.

Congratulations, Anita!

She did it!  After several long years, hours of reading and writing, nights of study, and a life-time desire, my lovely wife completed her Master's Degree.  Now she is a Master of Nursing.  I assume this means that she knows everything about it...kind of like a Master Jedi.

We threw a party and celebrated her accomplishment.  Friends and family joined us for the festivities.  It was a great time.

There was cake, ice cream, coffee, wine, and soda.  To top it all off, the World celebrated by hosting U.S. versus England world cup soccer.  They all cheered for her during halftime but you probably didn't hear it because of the commercial break.

We cheered and took turns blowing our vuvuzelas in her honor.