Royalty

A beautifully perched Monarch at the Kankakee River State Park from this summer. Every time I stop to take on the wildflowers, I'm amazed at how delicate these amazing floating creatures are.

Sweet Landing

This busy little fella was checking out the gorgeous purple blooms along the bank of the Kankakee River this summer.

Watchful Gaze

This photo was an exercise in patience. He was definitely watching as I spent fifteen minutes creeping closer and closer along the bank of the pond. A few seconds after this shot, he chirped at me and vanished under the water. So long green sir.

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We left England and are now headed over to Wales for stop #5 on our global food trip.

Welsh Cakes

Despite how they might look, these are not breakfast pancakes as you may know them, they are a bit more like a hearty, lightly sweet dessert than anything. You can still have them with breakfast, just don't expect buttermilk pancakes to drown with maple syrup. I was a little excited to make this because I seem to really be partial to dark fruit and berries like blackberries or currants. Currants are an awesome accent (I love the flavor in a good strong black tea) and they aren't difficult to find.

Again, I referenced two recipes that took different approaches. One was pretty much straight-forward batter, and the other called for caster sugar and lard...so of course I went with the lardy one. I didn't have any caster sugar, so I made some. The process is very simple, dump granulated sugar in the blender, set to medium high, pulse until powdery. Do not confuse this with powdered sugar!

2 cups all purpose flour
1/3 cup caster sugar (not powdered)
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp ground mace
1/4 tsp of salt
1/8 tsp ground cinnamon
2 oz chilled lard
2 oz chilled butter
1 beaten egg
1/2 cup dried currants
cold milk - a couple Tbsp
granulated sugar for coating

Notes

• Sources of inspiration: Most of the process and planning comes from The Daring Gourmet, but I also referenced King Arthur flour.

• Some recipes use Nutmeg, but Mace is traditional. I might have used a hint more.

• Currants can be found with the raisins at your supermarket. Sun-Maid makes some that I have seen fairly frequently, but I bought mine in bulk at Whole Foods.

• Chill the lard first for sure. It makes it way easier to mix into the flour.

Process

• Mix the flour, caster sugar, salt, baking powder, cinnamon and mace in a bowl.

• Mix in chilled butter and lard until it is a coarse, crumbly texture.

• Stir in currants.

• Add egg, and enough milk to mix and make a soft, smooth dough.

  

• Wrap dough, refrigerate for 30 minutes.

• Roll out chilled dough to 1/4 in. thick.

• Cut into 3-4 in. rounds.

• Hot buttered pan.

  

• Fry for a few minutes per side til golden brown.

• Coat with granulated sugar.

• Cool and eat.

  

Results and Adjustments

These little cakes were amazing. It was surprised how many of them I wanted to eat right out of the pan. A few notes to make them better. Don't roll out the dough too thinly, you want enough for a nice thick cake. Cook over a slightly cooler burner. It is a bit easy to burn these guys because of the fine sugar in the mix. I cooked them a bit higher than medium, so my net result was a quickly cooked crust...close to burning...then the inside was every so slightly under-done. The cakes that I cooked slower had a far better consistency and looked incredible.

Don't be stingy with the granulated sugar coating, it makes them look great and gives them a fun extra crunch. Cook them in butter...not oil, just because it is better. Spice mix was pretty good, and the mace gives them an interesting flavor. If anything I would probably bump up the cinnamon a little bit, but only slightly. Maybe a drop of vanilla.

How to eat them? Plain is great! I tried a couple different things and think that melted butter is good, but trying with fruit jam seemed to be my favorite way to enjoy them. We had a nice blueberry jam that turned out the best.

So, what's next? I have another dish to try from Wales; cheese and leeks, what could go wrong?

We are still in England and making Pork Pie for the next item on our global food trip.

Pork Pie

I seem to recall a lot of references to (actual) meat pies from literature and stories about England that I read or saw when I was growing up. But none of them really stuck in my head that actually talked about how to make them, at least that I have seen and can remember anyway. There are pot pies that we seem to make a lot in the US, but they seem more like meat accented vegetable pies rather than a hefty meat pie. Pork seemed to be the go-to for these kinds of pies and I found a few traditional looking recipes that were the template for this.

I had a few challenges and firsts on this one. I had never used lard in a recipe before, never made a hot water pastry, never used gelatin outside of Jell-O stuff, and never added a fully cooked item to another fully cooked item to complete a recipe. That last one is a bit vague, but will make sense if you go through the whole thing. It was also a little surprising to me that, despite all the hot prep, this is supposed to be served cold.

# EXTRA EQUIPMENT #
small funnel
small jars for pastry forms
string or twine

# PASTRY #
7 oz water
5 1/2 Tbsp butter
2 3/4 oz lard
16 oz all purpose flour
pinch salt
1 beaten egg
1 tsp vegetable oil

# MEAT #
6 oz pork shoulder
3 oz pork belly
1/4 tsp ground black pepper
1/4 tsp ground mace
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg 
1 egg 
Pinch salt

# FILLING #
1/2 envelope of gelatin
1 cup of ham broth
1/4 teaspoon white pepper

Notes

• Sources of inspiration: The Spruce Eats and Saveur

• The two examples above are fairly different approaches. One is mostly meat, the other is meat and vegetable mix. Pick if you want to have one or the other first.

• Seems like there are lots of options for the pork to use in this dish. I went with shoulder and pork belly. Well actually, shoulder and uncured bacon.

• I minced up the meat by hand with 2 knives. This isn't required, but I really wanted to do the 2 handed knife wielding trick.

• Hot pastry was actually kinda fun to work with.

• A point on the jars or forms for the pastry. I used Ball canning jars with a fancy design on the side. That was stupid. When you form the dough up around the sides of the jar and chill it like you are supposed to, the dough loves to stick to all those pretty designs. Use a smooth jar.

• Original recipe I followed called for sheets of gelatin. I couldn't find that and I went with Knox unflavored envelopes.

• This is supposed to be served cold. The gelatin needs to set!

Process

• Pastry

  • Water, butter and lard into a saucepan.

  • Heat to a very low boil.

  • Mix flour, egg and salt in a heat-safe bowl.

  • Add in the heated water, butter and lard.

  • Mix and then knead on a floured surface til smooth.

  • Divide dough - 1/3 set aside, covered.

  • Roll out the 2/3 to 1/4 inch think.

  • Cut 6 inch circles.

  • Oil the outside of the jars.

  • Place jar in the center of the circle and form the dough into a bowl around the base. Repeat for other circles.

  • Wrap dough with a strip of wax paper and tie a string around to hold the dough in place.

  • Put the forms into the fridge.

    

• Fill the pastry

  • Preheat oven to 325.

  • Mince the meat however you see fit. I chopped mine with 2 knives.

  • Mix meat and spices in a bowl.

  • Add meat mix to the chilled pastry. Don't fill all the way.

  • Cut lids to fit the tops from the remaining dough.

  • Seal lids by crimping into the pastry wall tightly.

  • Poke a small hole in the top of the pie (to fit your funnel).

  • Prepare an egg wash - beat the egg, add a bit of salt.

  • Wash the pastries thoroughly.

  • Bake for 50-60 minutes.

  • Cooking is done when pork at center is 175.

    

• Broth gelatin

  • Follow instructions to prepare gelatin.

  • Prepare and add ham broth and season with white pepper.

  • Add a pinch of salt if needed.

  • Let the mixture cool somewhat.

  • Pour the liquid into the pies using a funnel.

  • Leave the pie to cool and gelatin set.

• Something else: I decided to make a side to go with the pies.

  • 3 large carrots

  • 2 Tbsp butter

  • A couple pinches of smoked salt

  • 1/2 tsp brown sugar

  • 1/4 tsp crushed fennel

  • 1/4 tsp lime juice

  • 1/4 tsp black pepper

  • Saute all the above until carrots are almost soft

    

    

Results and Adjustments

Almost all of my changes would be in the process.
Use smoother jars so the dough doesn't stick. Also, letting the pies cool is actually a pretty important step. I poured warm gelatin/broth into hot pies. The result is that it spilled out of the pies and leaked through weak spots and seams. Some of the pies held it ok, but then I tried to pull them up off of the cookie sheet and I broke the bottoms...so a bunch leaked out that way. The cookie sheet probably should have been greased a bit better too.

Truth be told, I kinda freaked out a little bit when I cut into the first pie. As you can see from the photo, the pork is quite pink. I'm not really sure why mine ended up that way, but I can confirm that the temperature was at least 160, which should be more than enough. The pink really threw me off, but after I was calmed by the wife, I went ahead with claiming a success.

Let the pies cool! They are designed to be eaten cold and it is practically required in order for the gelatin to set correctly.

The taste was great! Somehow very comforting and satisfying. Some of the best, soft dough I have ever tasted. Thanks pork fat. The leftovers were awesome as well, and the wife counts this as the favorite so far.

So, what's next? We are done with England now, so it is time to move on to somewhere else in the UK. Wales.

We unfortunately had to leave Ireland behind on our global food trip, but we have made just a quick hop over the Irish Sea to arrive in England. Once again, I started off where others had already done research and I looked up some compilation lists of food that are thought of as uniquely English. I pulled out a couple things that I thought would be a bit of a challenge and wouldn't be completely cliche. A few things do come to mind when thinking of English food, but since I said we want to steer away from cliche, at least a little bit, we won't be doing fish n' chips.

Toad in the Hole

Toad in the Hole to a lot of people, mostly American people, is simply toast with the center cut out and a cooked egg inside. However, it seems that Toad in the Hole is very different to our friends across the pond. When it comes to having things the English way, it turns out to be a two-for-one deal. It is basically a Yorkshire pudding that has a bunch of bangers that are nestled into the middle of it. If you saw my last post on Ireland, you'd know that a banger is a very specific kind of sausage that I sought out for Dublin Coddle, so I decided to use them again here. I'm not sure if I'll offend anyone using Irish branded bangers in an English dish, but I'm sure that I'm not the first to do so!

I looked up a few recipes on this dish specifically, and on Yorkshire pudding in general. There seemed to be a lot of options for seasoning, but there are very definite ideas about how to get the pudding to behave correctly. I picked one recipe to follow for the methods, and did a mashup of ideas for the seasoning. I always seem to find recipes, and then don't follow them. So here is mine for you not to follow!

6 bangers
I cup of all purpose flour
1 cup (just shy) of milk, with a few Tbsp of cream to make 1 cup
3 eggs beaten
1/4 tsp sugar
1/8 tsp ground mustard
1/8 tsp nutmeg
1/4 tsp thyme
1/4 tsp rosemary
1 Tbsp beef Better than Bouillon - straight out of the jar 

Notes

• Sources of inspiration: Simply Recipes, Great British Chefs, The BBC, and The Daring Gourmet, 

• Same thoughts as a previous recipe about the bangers. You can use other sausage, but to be traditional, you should use sausages with rusk in them.

• Rising of the pudding is super important, so get a deep dish.

• The pot I used was deep, but wasn't really very wide, so my proportion was a bit off. Adjust the number of sausages to fit the pan

• I'm sure there are lots of things I did wrong if I wanted a perfect Yorkshire pudding, so follow those better instructions from someone with experience!

Process

• Make the batter

  • Whisk flour, sugar, mustard, nutmeg, thyme and rosemary

  • Add beaten eggs, milk/cream, and Better Than Bouillon

  • Whisk until smooth

  • Leave batter to set for at least 30 minutes

• Brown bangers in buttered or oiled pan

• Prep baking dish

  • Casserole or deep baking dish

  • Oil the inside to let the pudding rise easily - I used safflower

  • Preheat oiled dish at 425

• Add bangers to dish and put back in the oven for 5 minutes

• Add batter

  • Pull hot dish from oven

  • Pour batter in hot dish around the bangers. It should almost cover the sausages.

    

    

• Put the dish back in the oven for 20-30 minutes

  • The pudding should start rising in a few minutes

  • Watch til the top of the puddings gets a nice golden brown

• The pudding will settle as it cools, but it is best served hot

  

Adjustments

So, if I am making this again, what would I do differently? I don't know that I would change too much. I was honestly a bit surprised I was able to get the pudding to rise so nicely on my first try. The spices and bouillon I added made the color of the batter darker, and I think it would be prettier if it were a light batter...however, that means less flavor. I think I would have increased most of the spices a bit if I were going to try something different. But honestly, it seemed quite good as is.

One thing that I totally forgot to do was add fresh rosemary sprinkled on top of the pudding. It would have made added a nice fresh flavor, and I as kinda annoyed that I missed it. I would try a wider pan, like a baking dish that wasn't as deep, but would allow me to spread out the bangers a bit more. But flavor-wise, it was awesome.

As I was investigating this dish, it seemed like it wasn't something that you had just by itself. If you have Toad in the Hole, you need to have it with onion gravy. So, now we need to find a good onion gravy!

Onion Gravy

I didn't have to go very far to find some recipes for onion gravy since it seems to be one of the more popular things to eat with it. one of them even had a recipe attached to the Toad in the Hole recipe.

1 onion 
1 clove of garlic
A couple Tbsp butter for saute
2 Tbsp all purpose flour
2 Tbsp cooking sherry
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce
2 cups beef broth (Better than Bouillon made to instructions)\
Fresh ground black pepper

Notes

• Sources of inspiration: The Daring Gourmet and Allrecipes

• Use white onions. I used a red one, and it was way too big and the slices didn't disappear into the gravy. Flavor was good though.

• Worcestershire sauce is fantastic in this.

• Don't use broth that is too salty...taste it as you go!

Process

• Slice garlic and onion thinly

  • Saute in saucepan with butter until translucent

• Add sherry, Worcestershire and flour to the pan and stir until mixed evenly

• Add beef broth

• Increase heat

• Stir until thickened

• Add pepper

• Bring heat to low and simmer for 3-4 minutes

  

Results and Adjustments

Overall, I think the dish was a big success. The onion gravy goes great with the Toad in the Hole and when we sat down to eat, I scarfed it down. Definitely would add the rosemary, and use white onions in the gravy, other than that...I approve!

So, what's next? More England!
Another popular English thing is a meat pie, so, we have to give that a shot!

If you need the back-story please see my first post. But to catch you up quickly, I'm cooking my way around the world through a global food trip.

Last post we kicked off with our first destination, Dublin, Ireland and this is dish number two on the visit. For the first dish of the trip, I was talking about barmbrack, but I also wanted to do something a bit more substantial than a bread. Stews with meat and potatoes are a pretty commonly mentioned item in best-of lists for Ireland. A few lists mentioned coddle and I hadn't heard of it before, but it showed up several times, so it seemed like a no-brainer to try.

Dublin Coddle

Coddle is basically a one pot stew. There are a lot of stews and one pot creations designed for the crock pot, but Coddle is a dutch oven dish. There are a few things about it that make it uniquely Irish but I could easily see this as an Americanized crock pot meal as well. Here's the list of ingredients that are designed to cook the Irish way.

1 lb of bangers
1 lb of rashers (Irish bacon)
8 medium Russet potatoes
2 white onions
32 oz ham stock
4 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped
Ground pepper, a lot if you like it, or light to season
Salt, only if your bacon or broth isn't salty

Notes

• This time I got a lot of inspiration and guidance from Irish American Mom, but I also referenced Genius Kitchen and House of Nash Eats

• This dish is all about good meats. You need two things Irish bangers and rashers, or Irish bacon.

• Irish bangers are a very specific kind of beef/pork sausage with a rusk filling...basically twice-baked breadcrumbs.

  • The slang "bangers" refers to the they way they burst open when they are cooked.

  • You can't find them everywhere, but there is a great Irish market in Tinley Park called Winston's Market that has them and they are quite good.

  • Don't overcook them in the pot or they get mushy!

• Irish bacon is its own thing too.

  • American bacon=belly, Canadian bacon=loin, Irish bacon=back.

  • American bacon is cured and smoked, Irish bacon is brined.

  • Also, it is not super easy to find, I again recommend Winston's Market.

  • You want fat...fat is good!

• Ham stock. This stuff is magic! I've had beef, chicken, vegetable, etc. but never ham. Get it! I found LB Jamison's ham soup base at Meijer.

• I kinda guessed on pan sizes and it was almost too much for my dutch oven. Have a big one on hand or halve the recipe.

Process

• Cut:

  • Rashers into 1 in strips

  • Onions into 1/2 in rings

  • Potatoes into chunks

• Brown bangers in butter

• Layer:

  • In order, onions, rashers, bangers, potatoes, salt/pepper, parsley

  • Repeat to make 2 layers

• Pour in the broth

• Heat to boil

• Lower heat to simmer, covered for 2-3 hours or until potatoes are soft

One thing that is pretty obvious from the photo above, this is not a pretty dish. The browned sausages and parsley improve the appearance a little bit, but honestly, looks don't really matter. Once you start to eat it, you won't really care what it looks like. The browned banger sausages have a unique flavor that is much milder than Italian, Polish or sage sausage. The rashers cook down and the fat renders into the ham broth. The potatoes and onions soak up all that flavor as it simmers away. Serve it in a bowl with the broth, like a stew, or just eat the meat and potatoes. Either way, it's great. Leftovers are pretty amazing too and it seems to maybe get even a bit better for round two...and three if you make as big of a batch as I did.

Adjustments

So, if I am making this again, what would I do differently? A bit smaller size for sure, I barely got everything in the pot and the lid on. Fresh parsley...I actually used dried and I'm sure it would have tasted better fresh, and it would have been a bit more pretty to look at. I think I cooked it too long. The bangers get a bit mushy if they cook too long, and I think that is something that you need to monitor. I'd say cook until the potatoes are soft, and not longer.

So, what's next? There is a lot more to do in Ireland, but I'm headed to England next. Yes, that is still the UK, but there is a lot of different stuff to try across the UK, so we'll be making several stops before we stray too far.

If you need the back-story please see my first post. But to catch you up quickly, I'm cooking my way around the world through a global food trip.

My first destination is Dublin, Ireland...or thereabouts. What does everyone think of when they think Irish food? Right...mint ice cream.  Nonono, it is really corned beef and cabbage...but that would be wrong too. Believe it or not, most Irish people don't really eat corned beef and cabbage, for some reason that is an American Irish thing. Sure, they serve it in Ireland when you go to visit, but it is mostly for the tourists. My searches led me far and wide for my first dishes and I saw a lot of traditional Irish stuff like breads and stews, but not really much around corned beef at all. Cabbage makes it into stews for sure, along with plenty of potatoes but the US St. Patrick's day staple is not as common where people seem to expect. The general specialties seemed to be fish, stew and bread, so it made sense to pick something from those general categories to get started. How about we start basic...bread!

Barmbrack

Fruitcakes seem to be the butt of a lot of jokes around Christmas in the US, but I'm pretty convinced that the fruitcakes we see at the holidays now are the Taco Bell Waffle Taco of fruited desserts. Somewhere back in time, there used to be amazing fruit breads, but the side trip down the stuff-everything-possible-into-a-decadent-cake road has seen ingenuity process most of the delicious out of it. No offence if you love fruitcake...but I think the audience there is small. The fruit bread I found from Ireland didn't seem to be anything like the fruitcakes of your imagination, and the result was anything but, so don't bail on me yet.

I found a lot of mentions of barmbrack (or just brack), which is a leavened and lightly spiced dough with citrus and currants. It seems like barmbrack is mostly made around Halloween for celebrations and they even like to hide little treasures baked inside like gold rings or trinkets! I saw a bunch of mentions of it, and even saw it listed as a quintessential Irish recipe, so thought I'd give it a whirl. Here's the list of ingredients.

5 cups all purpose flour
2 eggs
1/4 tsp kosher salt
3.5 oz. (about 2/3 cup) Thompson raisins 
3.5 oz. (about 1 cup) black currants
8 oz. strong, fresh brewed black tea
1/4 cup unsalted softened butter
1 tbsp dried yeast
1.5 cups water (100 degrees F)
1/4 cup sugar (for dough)
1 tsp sugar (for yeast)
Zest of 1 lemon
Zest of 1 orange
1 tsp mixed spice (see below for formula)

Notes

• I'm not going through all the steps because it is done more artfully on my main source The Spruce Eats. I also borrowed ideas from The Irish Times, The Guardian, and the
  Penn State Extension Philadelphia Master Gardeners for reference.

• The main adjustments I made to The Spruce Eats recipe were 1) adding currants, 2) soaking fruit in tea 3) zest in place of candied peel and 4) adding spices to the dough.

• Citrus zest was a replacement for candied peel, mostly because I didn't have it, and it turned out to be a great substitution.

• Currants and raisins are common, but I also saw other fruits used like cherries and blueberries.

• I used a good strong tea, Bewley's Dublin Morning.

• It is important that the tea is hot for soaking the fruit.

• I let the dark fruit soak in the tea for an hour, but would have been way better if it were 4 or 6.

• Mixed spice is a blend of some common baking spices that seems to be referenced a lot in the UK. See the Daring Gourmet for the formula I used.

  • 2 tsp allspice

  • 3 tsp cinnamon

  • 2 tsp nutmeg

  • 3/4 tsp mace

  • 1 tsp ground cloves

  • 1 tsp ground coriander

  • 1 tsp ground ginger

• I had no mace for my attempt, so I think the spice balance was slightly off.

Other than the tea soaked fruit, spices and citrus zest, this ended up being similar to several other yeast breads I had made in the past. As soon as the dough starts to form, the leavened aroma fills the kitchen and it creates a ton of anticipation. When the baking was done, I wanted to cut right into it. But I restrained myself and let it cool.

The recipe makes two pretty decent sized loves of Barmbrack like these I photographed here, recently out of the oven, but cooled and freshly buttered. The citrus flavor is light and mild, and the dark fruit flavor comes through in small bursts with just a hint of the rich tea. It is pretty good plain but is downright fantastic when it is lightly toasted with butter. In fact, that is exactly how we ate most of it. This is an undoubted hit right out of the gate, and will definitely be making it again.

Adjustments

So, if I am making this again, what would I do differently? Not a whole lot really. I do think that the spice ratio was probably a little off, and I'd like to see how it works with mace. Maybe a bit too much allspice. The currants and raisins were very good, but I might even add a bit more of them, and/or possibly some other kinds of dark dried fruit. The tea soak was really interesting and it gave the fruit a deep, rich flavor, even so, I would let that soak a couple more hours. The last thing I'd do, not that it was in many of the sources, but maybe I'd add a drop or two of vanilla.

So, what's next? I still have one more Ireland dish so maybe one recipe per post? Not sure yet of the long term plan, but the short term plan is Dublin Coddle next.

The Genesis of The Idea

Everyone loves a vacation. It is certainly one of my favorite things in the whole wide world. In my mind, I am super adventurous in the places I want to see and am a big-time world traveler. But the reality is that I am so much less than that and I barely ever get past the idea stage. The romanticism of taking a world adventure sounds fantastic in my head, but then I think about stupid stuff like...having money to do it. I do love going somewhere new to explore and try new things, but I am also somehow left earthbound with practical and sometimes self-imposed roadblocks.

I went to Ireland with my sister over 15 years ago and have been talking about going back ever since. Every year, I find myself thinking that this will finally be the summer that I get to go back...maybe. But, it never happens and I just keep dreaming. This past year, my wife and I did get past the talking-about-vacation stage, and actually planned some things ahead of time, but the furthest we got for a world trip was Galena, IL.

Now, not that there is anything wrong with Galena! It is a fine place visit, has great history, and scenery (I still need to share some pictures from there), and I intend to go back...likely several times...but it isn't quite Ireland, or Norway, or Laos is it? There is always a deeper hunger to travel someplace really far away, take some time to live in someone else's shoes; see their part of the world and appreciate the things that they see every day. Like...food. I do love food. Perhaps there is some way to see and experience another part of the world, without actually going anywhere. The answer was obviously through eating! This idea started formulating in my brain well over a year ago, but took until now to turn into a full plan. Yeah, I am a little slow.

I have always loved to cook but I get bored with the same old things, so I don't do it as often as I would like. In order to keep myself interested, my original idea was to take a cookbook and go through the whole thing, making every dish as described. But then I thought of Julie & Julia and about 17,000 other blogs and decided that concept had probably been done to death. Plus I couldn't decide on a cookbook that would hold my interest without getting bogged down in doing 11 versions of tuna casserole or 83 ways to cook lima beans, yes, that is an actual cookbook.

The Almost Trip

So this quasi-ambitious thought just kinda sat in the back of my head and I kept revisiting it now and then to see if I would actually do something about it. Sometime this past month, in between Christmas revels, I got one of those promotional emails, that I usually ignore, from Scientific American (great publication...you should read it!). The email was about their summer Bright Horizons 38 science cruise where you could learn about cool science stuff while going to visit extra-cool history stuff! This sounded very interesting, so I read on. 13 days of a cruise starting in Amsterdam, then Dover, then to Scotland; Inverness, Glasgow and Edinburgh on to Belfast, Liverpool, then Dublin.
Are you kiddin' me? I could learn great information, see incredible places, and get to try all kinds of great food in these places. This sounded like my kind of trip, a cruise that I don't have to plan. I could try haggis and real shepherds pie!

I clicked on the booking and estimating tool.

• Number of passengers? 2, because wife.

• Cabin type? Sunset Verandah vs. Interior, because I'm not a complete animal!

• Attending Seminars? Yes, because science.

• Nights in Hotel Before and After? Well...I want to be cheap, but it makes sense to take 1 night each to prep and recover respectively.

• Calculate price? Yes please...click.

• $13,708...food not included, and I still would need to book flights to Amsterdam.

My scientific shepherds pie and historical haggis dreams died a swift and painful death with that simple mouse click. I am WAY too cheap to be paying that much for a vacation. It brought me back to reality on booking big trips, but it did start me thinking about grouping travel differently, and looking at a couple travel plan websites I never saw before. A few mental detours later, I came up with a new idea for world travel, that while much less science-y and tactile, would be a whole lot cheaper to pull off.

The Flight Plan

If I "can't" fly to visit Ireland, Scotland and the others, maybe I could at least eat some food from there. Every great journey begins with a single step, and I began by stepping into my kitchen to grab a cookbook. The trip was short because I didn't really find much listed in the index under "Irish", so I went back to the web and started doing some research. In no time, I found a slough of recipes from Ireland, Scotland, Netherlands, and more. But, I didn't really have it organized in any meaningful way. Perhaps it would make sense to organize the recipes as if visiting different regions on an actual trip! That's when I went back to the flight planning web sites and mapped out a 10 city trip. But why stop at 10 cities? I got ambitious and plugged a bunch more info into a nifty site and started plotting a semi-logical, country hopping flight path. Eventually, I had a daunting, glorious, utterly implausible, chain of stops across ALL the countries in the world.

Some of these countries obviously have more regions, more people and more cuisines than others, so we couldn't just make one stop in places like, France, Italy, China and India. It was pretty clear we'd have to have multiple stops in quite a few places. I added a few extra hops to pick up additional regions and by the time I was done, I had a total of 262 entries in my increasingly detailed Excel spreadsheet. Just for fun, I used the site to estimate the cost for two plane tickets to all these places. I think it is safe to say that the rough cost of $170,000 was a bit out of reach, but imagine how many ingredients that could buy! For now, I'll stick with my imaginary world trip through cooking.

The Rules...sort of

I know that I'll never be able to do justice to the food for people that know better, but it would be an adventure to try! There needs to be a few basic ground rules, and I'm sure to make some of this up as I go, but here we go.

1. Make at least one thing from every country.

   • If possible, make things that might go together in a meal.

   • Add more meals or "stops" where needed to cover cool stuff.

2. Follow a path that would make a logical trip from country to country.

   • This is relative and I'm going for best effort.

   • I'll bounce back and forth a little bit to make it varied.

3. Be brave!

   • If I can get adventurous ingredients, I will use them.

   • Even consider using mushrooms.

4. Try to go traditional instead of cliche.

   • This might be a little hard, some cultures have ancient traditions and some are more recent. I'll try to pick good representatives.

   • Sometimes things are cliche because they are good!

   • I will do a bunch of research (can we say Google?), but I'll try to be quick too. Otherwise, I know I'll get bogged down in searches.

5. Give credit

   • I am sure others have done this before, so props to them!

   • I will credit all the sources I can. I'm certainly not inventing this.

6. Give it my best shot.

   • I'm going to screw up these foods. But the adventure is in the attempt, and trying new things.

   • I might not be able to get some of the exact ingredients, but I'll get as close as I can.

   • Realistically, I am going to tweak some ingredients and swap some stuff around. But I'll try to keep it based on the real thing.

   • No offense meant to any purists.

The Start of It

So, where to first? I am going to start where I would likely start a real world adventure, Ireland of course. It is also a good place to start for ingredient familiarity as well as realism. From there, I'll hang around the British Isles for a bit, then swing across Iceland, Greenland and Canada before heading over to Russia.

I don't have a fixed schedule, but I am going to try for at least one dish a week. Assuming my plan doesn't break down somewhere that calls for seal meat or insects of some kind, I'm going to be at this for a while.

I know this project isn't going to have a huge audience, and If you read this far, thanks Mom. I'll keep you posted.

So now I'm off to the Emerald Island, for some Barmbrack and Dublin Coddle. Don't know what that is? Tune in next week ;-)

Our local representative race is a classic example of sleazy politics at its best. We've had endless campaigning with focus on personal attacks over substance on television ads, endless YouTube ads, nightly phone solicitation, door to door campaigning, radio spots, and particularly annoying attack mailers sent in bulk. I started collecting the mailers early since this race was very nasty in the last cycle and I anticipated nothing less this time around. I missed a few at the beginning, but my collection of insulting, vapid drivel in snail mail was soon the envy of...well...no one. As of November 7, I had collected 85 separate pieces of attack mailers that were sent to my house in an unceasing flow. Barely a day went by in the past 45 days where we didn't receive at least one, but sometimes up to four pieces per day. The race is so nasty, it has gotten party headquarters heavily involved and gotten national attention. A recent editorial piece by USA Today picked one of the TV/YouTube spots as one of the five worst political ads in the country. Way to show that Illinois pride ladies. As if we need more reasons to show how awful Illinois and its politics are.

Most of the time, we aren't home during the prime door-to-door hours, so I know we missed a few choreographed visits, but I was home for one. My doorbell rang one night at about 6:45, just moments after I sat down on the couch to have my dinner and watch anything that was on TV. With an exasperated sigh, I shook off my I-just-got-home-from-work-now-leave-me-alone face, and I opened the door to what I thought would be a girl scout cookie sales pitch. To my surprise, the solicitor at the door was our state representative, Kate Cloonen, telling me how important it was to get out and talk with people in her district and find out what issues mattered to them. I'll admit that as I held the storm door open and leaned on the door frame listening to her talk, I was at a momentary loss. Here I was expecting to be reluctantly charmed by a fumbling young entrepreneur, aided by the bewitching spell of Thin Mints, and instead I was greeted by rehearsed, superficial pandering. I tried to recover while she finished her greeting and introductory prelude. She handed me a familiar political flyer and my sourness returned in a flash. 

When dealing with rehearsed or scripted salesmen at work, I have learned an invaluable lesson in combating their manipulation; do something they don't expect. It can be quite funny to hear the equivalent of "does not compute" in their silence or stammering. I saw my opening with the politician when she asked me "So what issues are important to you?" Her assistant held his pen and clipboard at the ready to scribble something that would likely never be read, and I held up the flyer in front of me and said, "I just want these to stop!" They both looked at me blankly for a second and then tried to get clarification on my puzzling statement. "You mean the pamphlets?" In my head I heard, "Well, allow me to retort!" I then launched into a deft soliloquy on the evils of negative smear campaigning and the long-dead virtue of honor among statesmen in an environment that crushes the common man. It would have been pretty cool if that was what actually happened, but I honestly don't remember exactly what I said. There were words like "disgusting attacks" and "insulting oversimplifications" and "offensive volume", but I'm not sure what order they came out of my mouth so it could have been completely incoherent. Something must have been intelligible because she hesitantly reasoned that I should check to see who sent the mailing since they don't have control over all the mail that comes out. They could, however, make sure that nothing more came directly from her campaign. The assistant gave me an earnest nod, as if he were my buddy about to do me a solid, and they agreed with each other that they would certainly do what they can to make sure I didn't receive any more political ads. In reality, I'm sure they were recoiling at the thought of further discussion and looking for any way out, so as they both visibly retreated, I accepted their tepid offer and they quickly left.  

Looking back, my encounter with my representation was a bit of a lost opportunity. It may have been the leftover angst of dinner interrupted, but I thought later that I could have actually discussed the problem with her, brought up tangible concerns and proposed solutions. Later that evening, I began to write an email to Kate Cloonen to express some of these thoughts, but my cynicism won out and I abandoned the email in frustration. The critic in me decided it would have made no difference if we had shared a genuine conversation or not. I have learned that politicians say anything to get elected, and I was sure my opinion would have been written off as soon as my vote was in a column...either column. Not that I think the interaction would have been much different had her opponent, Lindsay Parkhurst visited my house, but she has yet to be elected and prove my cynical theories. Judging from the volume of negative garbage I have received from her side, I expect nothing less than a politician. I'm not totally cynical I suppose, it very well could be that Cloonen and Parkhurst are both nice, decent, well-meaning ladies and it is the system or their party is to blame for the nasty demeanor. But that doesn't represent me, and that they would allow it to happen in their name is disgusting.

My disgust in general at politicians is that they constantly underestimate us. They think we are stupid enough to believe their statements and fall for their carefully framed tricks. And you know what? It works. Americans feed this beast by consuming and believing the one-sided arguments. But I don't think it is stupidity. Instead, confirmation bias is to blame. We only hear what we want to hear, and believe what we already think is true. If you hate Politician A and Politician B says something awful about Politician A, you tend believe Politician B, even if it is an outright lie, or if B is a disgusting person themselves. B sends out floods of negative ads confirming bias in all directions and everyone gets all fired up to vote. B wins and deduces that negative campaigning works. This is your fault! If you hate the negativity, don't feed the cycle! Think for yourself and don't parrot others opinions. And as much as you hate it, really listen to other opinions, you don't have the monopoly on "right".

A simple concept that most people seem to forget, is that when someone is elected, they are supposed represent ALL of their district, city, state or country, not just the portion of the electorate that voted for them. I think that is especially important for this year's Presidential race. It is an idea that I am sure both major candidates will forget the moment the winner takes office, but it is equally applicable to you the voter. Accept the results, don't threaten moving to Canada, it is all a bit silly. The great thing about our country is that if something is broken, we can try again the next cycle and someone else gets to try their ideas. Talking heads excel at whipping people up to think that their world is going to end if the opposition gets in power. That kind of thought creates fanatics. Use reason instead. Believe it or not, you can say, "That's a fantastic idea! There is not even the slightest chance in the world I am voting for you, but...great idea!" You can actually say that sentence and not devolve into a brawl over who "won" your debate. Just once I would like to hear a reasonable discussion about Hillary and Trump without hearing about fascism or socialism or the end of America, or moving to Canada. They are nice people up North, why send our bitter, angry people there?

One terrible aspect to our elections is that the common voter feels as though they have no real choice in a two-party system. To give back some choice, wouldn't it stir some stew to have "None of These Jokers" as an option on the ballot? Imagine how many votes that option would receive for President this year! Plus, it would be very satisfying to hear a news anchor announce a forecast: "And we can now officially call the state of New Hampshire for None of These Jokers." Have the NoTJ vote mean a vote of no confidence, if NoTJ actually wins, the person that gets the next most votes gets to be President or Governor or Mayor, but only for a year, or in a temporary fashion until we get someone we actually want. We'd certainly avoid some of the messes we find ourselves in now. The idea worked in the movie Brewster's Millions as "None of the Above." And while I'm at it, why are we voting on Tuesday?! Shouldn't this be a weekend, where it is easier for people to "rock the vote?" At the very least, make it a holiday so no one has an excuse to not vote. The old idea for voting on Tuesday was designed to accommodate a day of travel after Sunday to be able to reach polling places, how many people do you think would vote now if they had to drive for a day beforehand? I also have opinions on the electoral college, third-party candidates, term-limits and districting, but I'm tired of thinking about politics...tomorrow is a celebration day, go out and vote so they all shut up faster! 

Sometimes things come last minute, other times it takes a bit of planning. For me, I find that I manage to make it a little bit of both. Last weekend I had a Saturday full of plans. The biggest project was repairing my mower that had a bit of trouble at the end of my previous lawn care session when it somehow decided to completely rip a wheel loose from the deck! A little investigation and I found that one of the other wheels was ready to do the same. All the parts needed to be purchased for repair before I could start, so a trip to Menards or Lowes was first on the list. The repair itself would involve some steel sawing, drilling and bolting, so I figured a good couple hours for the full repair plus a blade sharpening while I had things apart. After repairing the mower, the grass was obviously waiting to be cut, so that would take a good hour and a half or two. I had some minor fence repair that had been bugging me, so that was another half hour. Clean out of the gutters would take another hour, if I tacked on sweeping up the sidewalk afterward. A bit of raking, some tree trimming, some minor deck repair, some garage clean up, a few other odds and ends, and I was looking at a full 8 hours so I knew I needed to get started if I expected to get some laundry done too. Of course before starting all this, there is the requisite moment where I stand in front of the refrigerator with the door open and absent-mindedly stare at the stock of food while pondering what there possibly could be to eat. I happened to open the freezer and saw several packages of meat waiting for their turn to be used, and I had the bright idea that brisket would be just the thing for later. "I'll smoke some brisket today!" I foolishly said to myself as I threw the 2 lb package into the fridge to thaw. Yes, I know. Did I really think that frozen brisket was going to thaw by the afternoon just by putting it in the fridge? Well, I suppose I did at the time, but I didn't give it the required amount of thought, I had stuff to do! Needless to say, the thawing time wasn't nearly sufficient, and I still had frozen brisket by the end of the day. Not to mention, I had a few leftover items from my to-do list that I didn't get done as well. But, I did have a fully wheeled mower and a fully cut lawn. Thursday came around and the brisket was still sitting in the fridge. It was getting to the point where it needed to be used, but I kept forgetting. At 7:50 am that morning I remembered, and determined it HAD to be used that day. I needed to leave for work, but how can you cook a brisket without a good rub!? I grabbed the brisket out of the fridge and tore off the packaging...meat still looked good. Time to make the rub. I threw together some ingredients and coated the meat generously before covering it back up and shoving it back in the fridge. I wouldn't make work by 8:00 like I was supposed to, but the rub was made.

Rub Mix Measurements are VERY approximate 1/2 c brown sugar 2 tsp ground black pepper 2 tsp salt 1/4 tsp cayenne pepper 1/4 tsp cocoa powder Rub into meat vigorously and completely cover brisket on all sides. Set in fridge for 8 hours.

Now with the rub in place, the plan should be to smoke the same day right? Of course! However, I worked late and didn't get home until about 7:00 pm. The smoker hadn't been used for a while, so I needed to do a little setup. I finally had the flames going and heating up the box a little bit after 7:30. Usually, I like to go for low and slow, so I got the smoker up to about 220 degrees and a batch of apple wood chips in the smoker box. Brisket, in, fat side up, middle rack. Off and on I checked in on the meat for the next couple hours. When the apple chips were used up, I added a couple helpings of peach chips until the meat reached about 140 degrees. At that point I was going to let it go smokeless until 180 degrees. But now it needed a good mopping of additional flavor.

Mid-Smoke Baste 2 tbsp butter 2 tbsp black raspberry jam 2 tbsp water 1 tsp orange marmalade 1/2 tsp lemon juice 1/2 tsp lime juice Melt butter, add other ingredients. Warm in microwave and stir until all ingredients mix evenly.

At this point in the process it was getting quite late. I had to leave early in the morning, but this was important to get right. I basted the brisket once and turned it fat side down for the next 45 minutes at 250 degrees. Then another basting and back to fat side up for another 45 minutes at...300, because honestly, I did need to get to bed. Once the internal temperature was 180 degrees, I took it out to rest on the kitchen counter til it was cool enough to slice, then cool enough to put in the fridge. I finally finished at 1:30 am, and had some glorious smokey goodness. This weekend I wanted to use some of that glorious meat in another application; slow-cooked chili. Most of the time when I am cooking, I don't use hard-set recepies and go from a general idea, then pick elements here and there that feel right to go with it. I wasn't under pressure to get this meal completed, so I took my time and thought out the ingredients.

Slow Cook Brisket Chili 5 strips of smoked bacon Cook up the bacon in a frying pan until it is just shy of crispy. Remove bacon and set aside.

1/2 c. chopped celery 1 c. chopped red pepper 1 1/2 c. chopped red onion 5 cloves garlic, chopped.

Sweat the vegetables minus the garlic in the hot pan with the bacon fat until onions are almost translucent. Add the chopped garlic on top and continue cooking for several minutes.

In large crock pot add: 2 tbsp olive oil 28 oz can (1) crushed tomatoes 27 oz can (1) red kidney beans 15 oz can (2) black beans 16 oz can (1) cannellini beans 12 oz can (1) tomato paste 6 oz smoked brisket, chunked or cubed 5 slices of bacon (cooked above) chopped 2 tbsp chili powder 2 tbsp oregano 1 tbsp ground black pepper 1 tsp cumin 1 tsp ground mustard 6 ground allspice berries 1/2 tsp hickory smoke flavor 1/2 tsp cayenne pepper 2 tbsp Better Than Bouillon, Beef 2 cups water 1 cup apple juice or apple cider (optional) Vegetables and garlic (cooked above)

If I had it available, I would have added: 1 tsp ground fennel seed

Set crock pot on high, uncovered for about an hour. Covered on high for another hour. Then covered on low for another 4-5 hours. Total of 6-7 hours in the crock pot...stirring occasionally.

So what was the end result of a messy mix of some half-baked planning and some reckless spontaneity? Hopefully a bunch of halfway decent meals. I got some positive reviews from the wife, and she had the suggestion that I share...so...here ya go! Unfortunately, I didn't take any pictures of the process, so you will just have to imagine how tasty it looks.

There is no shortage of unhappy detours and rockslides for us to endure on the roughly hewn mountain trail of life, but the intense despair and emptiness of grief never seems like a path that anyone truly chooses to take and never feels anywhere close to good. When someone is assailed by the emotions and emptiness of a devastating loss, it is difficult to articulate comfort or support in any meaningful way. We stammer condolence, but words alone cannot express the depths of sympathy required to ease the pain. We reach out to hug or hold, but arms cannot replace the presence or protection that was taken away. We see the loss, we share in the loss, but no one can repair it. We feel truly helpless, but we still must assist somehow, so we try. A card, a flower, a plate of meat and cheese, none of these things actually help, but we are desperate to show we care somehow. We shuffle awkwardly through a line to ineffectually whisper some comfort-like words that are received in equal awkwardness and punctuated with a trembling handshake or embrace. We solemnly move through the line with eyes averted, internally chastising ourselves for the words not coming out quite right, for sounding trite and hollow like a glitter greeting card.

On the other side, the bereaved are struggling for composure, sometimes in shock but still trying to stand strong. They accept the words, the cards, the plates of meat and cheese with a conflicting smile that approaches gratitude, but guiltily skulks away from any emotion that feels inordinately too early or disrespectful to entertain. Nothing feels appropriate, so everything feels inappropriate and uncomfortable. All spoken and written words ring hollow out of no one's fault but the complete inadequacy of our language to convey the breadth of emotion that builds and seeps from the corners of our eyes. No one knows what to say, no one knows how to reply.

Everyone handles sorrow in their own way and it is usually difficult for us to see our own limit and see it in the same hue of light that is seen by our friends, family and neighbors. However, one common element that remains the same under any shade of light is the feeling that grief is awful, and we would rather stay happy, or at least comfortable, rather than deal with that painful emptiness.  We block memories from our minds, bottle up our emotions and build walls around our hearts to protect ourselves at all costs from experiencing that harm. Those defenses are different for each person and they significantly alter the fragile facade of recovery. We can sometimes succeed in keeping the pain behind as we bravely attempt to stagger forward, but its creeping shadow lurks low and close, waiting for the vulnerability of solitude, biding its time to viciously clutch at our heels.

A sudden strike upsets the delicately constructed balance and we crumble to the floor amidst the dusty rubble of our carefully fashioned defenses. A storm of tearful memories rises up from the cloudy blue into a swirling rage, releasing its fury at gale force and battering our soul with relentless blows. When the storm finally subsides, we're left alone and defeated in a gloomy puddle of brokenness and despair. At that darkest moment, in that full devastation, is it possible to feel anything but completely helpless and shattered? It is a strange thing to feel not mourning but to feel comfort in the midst of unspeakable pain, but that pain should confirm what you already know...this matters to me. Feel the good that is now amplified from the mourning of its absence. Feel the calm privilege of having had the opportunity of holding anyone or anything so dearly that it matters to you so. Feel not the loss, but feel the beautiful fullness of all that you were given for a time.

One day you will reluctantly find yourself on a hill of cold stones in the crisp winter air as the wind flutters coats and crunchy leaves and distant notes of Taps. Time will be a dark and murky bog, and your heart will hang heavy in your chest. Though it doesn't seem possible, don't feel alone. Stand close in those moments as the final words of the final memorials are shared. Feel peace in stillness of the final prayer. This pain, this loss, shows what you've already gained.

Hold close...to what you have and were given.

Hold close...how much this matters to you.

Generally, I don't really like to talk about my job, much less write about it. I've always been warned...don't ever cross the streams, that would be bad. But it's a little bit unavoidable in this topic, so there's that. I understand the pain more than a fork in the eye, I've spent a great deal of time on both sides of those types of calls. There is the side where I've been the tech support person on the phone trying to impart some sort of arcane wisdom from the dark reaches of cyberspace to help solve why a mouse pointer keeps changing into an hourglass. Those conversations can be left for another time. This little anecdote is about the other side, my own calls into tech support.

Over the years I've been through it all on IT support calls. Quick and painless ones or long drawn-out multiple hour-long affairs. Some conversations that proved very helpful, others that you wonder if they have ever even seen a computer. And I have heard hold music, far, far more than my fair share of hold music. Minutes, hours, days and weeks of hold music. Hold while they talk to their boss, hold while they look up your question, hold before anyone will actually even start talking to you. I've even been put on hold for an hour and a half to wait for the next available technician with 23 other calls ahead of me, only to be disconnected when finally reaching the very end of the queue.

When most people complain about their experience on a tech support call, they inevitably mention they were connected to someone in India that didn't know what they were talking about. My experience with off-shore tech support is a bit different. First of all, on some topics, I've found some of the Indian tech support agents to be the most knowledgeable that I've come across. I've spoken to engineering agents and teams of agents from India that write and explain code that would make the heads of their US counterparts just spin in bewilderment. I've also spoken with agents from Poland, Russia, Ukraine, Germany, India, Pakistan, Hong Kong, Japan, Indonesia, France, and Italy, as well as others from Ireland, Scotland, Wales, England, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the US. These are just the ones I remember off the top of my head and were just the ones I had bothered to ask about location. I am sure that if I dug deeper, there would be many other countries represented in my pool of experience as well. No matter where the agent is from, there is one thing I have found in common with all of the techs of all nationalities. The good ones make sure that you both understand each other.

There is a Kilimanjaro of vital information that can be lost in translation and it doesn't matter if the language is nationality-based, or jargon-based. Whether someone is speaking in Urdu or in tech acronyms, they first must make sure that the person listening actually comprehends the words being said. This concept can get tricky when one is speaking a language that is actually their second language. This is also where your internal translator can get a workout when trying to filter what you hear into what you understand.

Most of the time, I am fine with comprehending accented English. It can be kinda fun to guess where a person is from based on the inflections and words they pronounce. Even though I find the conversation still works, I do find myself having to work a little harder at comprehending the words I am hearing.  My brain chugs a little as it spends time re-verifying that I heard correctly, and I can see where that would be mental tripping hazard for a lot of people. I can also see how that trip up could cause instant frustrations and bias when encountering the same sounds again. This whole idea became very clear to me one day after I had a particularly challenging hour long troubleshooting conference call with four pretty smart people all working to solve a problem together. All four people just happened to be from different continents speaking with their own accented English. I honestly had a little bit of a headache when I hung up, it was exhausting, and all I was really doing was internally translating variations of English!

A stunning illustration of how much extra work your brain is forced through when processing accented English comes when you see how an automatic message transcription service translates a technical call from a person speaking English as a second language.  I just so happen to have some great exhibits where the results speak for themselves.  There shouldn't be much background needed on the problem being solved, and I won't say which country the tech was from.

After working for several hours on some ongoing issues one day in the relatively recent past, we took a break from our phone call for my helper to do some research.  He called back some time later and left a message for me.  My messaging service translated the following:

Call #1

Eric Riley from the social and support team calling in regards to an incident so that it really sure what this means. So hoping ... that there will be a you that the hotel H A ... you can come home and is for candy supposed to supposed to be so please it's urgent ... I wanted to confirm this notification press onto any means of a little bit. Thank you have a nice day

It seemed to start off pretty well there at first, but you can see that it quickly went downhill. I knew in great detail what he was supposed to be calling about but I couldn't even come close to figuring out what that text implied he was saying. It really didn't get much better than that either. The issues continued and I received several more calls from the same company. The next message I got on this problem was from a different agent...

Call #2

Yeah hi Denise this is louis from Microsoft in supposed been calling in regards to in case the last week we will be sleeping so hopefully ... I e of the do this via the Internet and phone is giving us the just wondered who is about on this case you do because I am suspended pending snow storm ... please let us know how you wanted to close to do this is thank you.

At least we got a company name out of that one! Over the next couple of days I received a few more messages on the same support issue from 2 different support agents, with varying degrees of translation success.

Call #3

Hey hi this is louise from Microsoft into for the call is in regards to a new this severely sure we will ... you just been tied off all food inc. if you know the proposal template in this case. Thank you any line is that nobody.

Call #4

Yeah hi could ... I was hoping this is for this ... So hopefully just wanted to discuss this issue ... selfish and wondered were doing on this is ... for the defer those belts that is listed you as part of the dentist office there but if you do the whole beach and wonderful to this message. So Beach ... she's on the Fulton. Please take me to work with me please two donation's love..

Call #5

Hey how you please visit with from Microsoft me supposed to be this is in regards to Juanita supposed to be open the same we have received a non issue will continue to investigate and I will be do that you had it in time and open each of Alan and ... I was hoping for me to just ... that she said he's only do it and send the other two phone calls from your side as want to the city to make it sounds good? But I have been off so please let me know how you wanted to thank you this is Willy.

Call #6

Yeah hi liz this is Lee from Microsoft beautiful in this call is in regards to an interest in either insurable. If anything's couple of days ... you had ... ovations from the back and say they can support those for sex and the city. So just wanted to check over the issues is what I did know talk. I was not any minute not want anything just wanted to call and thank you in advanced.

By the way, at no point were these conversations ever actually interacting with anyone named Louise, Liz, Lee, Juanita, Denise, Fulton or Willy.  I've known more than a few techs that shortened their given name so that it would seem more pronounceable for Americans, but the name Willy was never one of them.

I was able to call these agents back and we eventually worked through our technical difficulties, but I did find myself amazed that we were able to collaborate at all through our linguistic difficulties. It helped me be more appreciative of what the human brain can comprehend and interpret. Think of your brain doing those same translations the next time you call in and get Raj from India. I would bet you are translating his instructions a lot better than the hopeless text above! Think of what Raj's brain is having to sift through as well, I bet his is doing more work than yours, never mind the cultural differences.  Sure, both your brains will make some mistakes, it will be frustrating, and you might get a bit of a headache.  But think about how cool it is that you can even communicate with each other at all...and remember, Raj probably has a headache from listening to you too!

A thing I have learned after years of attempted photography is that people perceive you differently when you are holding what they consider a "real" camera and related equipment. I suppose it is one of those collectively learned reactions that is spawned from generations of ingrained association of big cameras with some sort of media outlet. But even without a "PRESS" card tucked under the band of your rumpled, felt fedora, there is an undeniable reaction that a lot of people have to seeing someone carrying a big hunk of photographic equipment. Sometimes that reaction is simply an extra glance or two your way, other times it is a cautious stare. Whether the thought going across their mind at the time is, "Ooo, I wonder who he is photographing for!" or, "Who does this guy think he is?!", is a little hard to tell. Quite often though,  people tend to feel the need to acknowledge further.

"Gettin' some good shots?" is by far the number one friendly ice breaker. I never really know what to say to this question. Do they really want to hear me discuss the how the glare right now is messing with my ability to see the correct focal point quickly, causing me to delay every shot a moment or two while I compensate, thus missing the perfect shot by a couple milliseconds? And, on top of that, did they also want to know that I forgot my extra battery so right now I'm not even checking the display, which means I am rationing my shutter clicks because I know at any moment, nothing will happen when I press the button?  I am quite sure that is not what they want. What is a good shot anyway? I could scroll with you through the 300 I just took and say "I guess I like this one ... so yes I got one good shot". But that isn't really what they are looking for either.  Most of the time, I think people just want to acknowledge that they see you, and see what you are doing. Sometimes, even want to feel a part of it. They just don't know how to express that feeling. I have yet to hear "Camera huh? Is it yours?" But I don't think I would be surprised if I do sometime. I feel as though I understand that feeling of wanting to be involved, so as much as possible I try to respond in kind, but be brief. My typical response to the "good shots" question is as much of a warm smile as I can manage and "Oh, I'm tryin'!" followed by a comment on the weather, or the event, or how many people there are around, or how pretty the sunset is tonight. At that point both parties are usually satisfied with their level of involvement, and I go on about my business.

So that brings up another thing I have learned. If you want to meet new people, walk around carrying a big camera. I don't care if you don't even know how to use it, people will talk to you out of the blue and assume you really know what you are doing, or at least are doing something really important. For an extreme introvert like myself, this can be a little bit terrifying, and for the highly self-critical amateur photographer in me, this can be, well ... even more terrifying. It would be rather nice to be paid by the number of times I heard "Are you with the paper?". It wouldn't make me rich, but I could probably buy a fairly decent lens! I have never said, "Yes" to those questions, but I'm sure people would be quite chatty if I did.

If there isn't a connection to the paper or to National Geographic, I think that occasionally people have a hard time computing what you could possibly be spending time taking pictures of.  Sometimes I imagine the thought process of someone trying to work out the object of my camera's attention. There is nothing obvious that indicates the cave-man-ish "I was here" in your shot, you aren't pointing at people, that certainly isn't food and you are focusing way too intently. What could possibly be that cool?

My wife and I were exploring some towns and sights in Northern Michigan when I had my full day of illuminating interactions. For the first encounter on my interesting day I found myself standing along the edge of a quiet street, looking at how the sand from the beach of nearby Lake Michigan glistened in the sun as it laid in stark contrast against the slowly melting black asphalt.  I followed the edge of the street looking at the different formations of the grains of sand and I came upon a iron manhole cover. The sand had piled up a little along its edge and I thought this was the perfect setup for a black and white photo.  I swung my camera around and moved in to find the perfect angle, adjusting my height up and down, focusing, snapping a few shots.  While I was snapping away, out of the corner of my ear I heard footsteps crunching the gravel on the asphalt as a man crossed the street a dozen yards away. I glanced up and he bellowed "Did you lose your keys?" 

It was a bit comical, but I really didn't know how to reply with anything other than the obvious. "No," I chuckled, "just taking some pictures."  Did I really look like I was looking for my keys? I wondered a moment or two just how I might be conveying that scenario since I wasn't standing near a car and had a camera pressed up to my face. Perhaps this was something he had experienced in the past. Maybe I did drop my keys and not notice, I actually even checked to see if there was a hole in my pocket that might have made it look like I dropped my keys. Nope ... keys still there. He smiled and shuffled on, and I went back to my sandy manhole.

A couple hours later, I was walking through an area of the sleepy town that was adorned with several quaint shops, the kind that have been standing since your grandfather was born. Over the years their different owners have come and gone, and they used to sell grain or lumber, until people stopped buying those things and wanted T-shirts and coffee mugs instead. I found one shop that stood two stories tall near a giant shade tree.  A small flower garden nearby was being tended by a thin, greying lady who was arranging some petunias closer to the store entrance. An electronic ding-dong sounded from a device clipped to her pants pocket and she hustled from the garden to greet the new customers just walking into the front door.  As she passed by me I smiled at her and she cheerfully said, "Hello, nice day today!"

I wandered the flower garden for a minute or two, camera at the ready. But, I kept looking at the shop itself and how majestically old it appeared. The recent coat of yellow paint glinted brightly in the sun, but there were areas where you could see decades of paint jobs chipped away down to the siding.  Standing at the right angle, you could see small sections of the paint peeling away and hanging down in gentle curls away from the straight lines of clapboard. Zooming in with my lens, I focused on finding curly rinds of yellow paint and I started snapping a few shots.  

The shopkeeper came back out of the store to tend the garden again, but she stopped nearby and tried to focus on what I was photographing. "What kind of pictures are you taking?" she asked, seeming a bit bewildered. "Oh, I'm taking a few shots of the paint peels up on the siding." As soon as I said that, I thought that it sounded a bit odd. "Oh," she said shaking her head a little bit, "they're supposed to be scraping that all away and painting it right." She commented as she walked towards the garden "It was supposed be done this spring, but they didn't do it again. Who knows, maybe it costs too much, I don't think they'll be painting again this year."  Clearly she got the wrong idea of why I was taking the picture. I thought what I saw was beauty, but that seemed too difficult to explain successfully in the moment.

In another town, we made our way to the beach as the sun was starting to hang low in the western sky.  Scores of people were standing and watching the sun slowly slip between the clouds and behind a silvery, glistening

stretch of Lake Michigan. I started hauling my gear out of the car and made my way down to the water to capture the silhouettes of figures walking across the concrete breakwater at the mouth of the harbor. I snapped dozens of shots, attempting to catch the intense orange glow beaming from behind the dark figures.  The sun was setting quickly, so I did not linger. I slung my camera bag over my back, propped my tripod on my shoulder and started briskly walking down the deserted, thin strip of beach between the tall beach grass and the cool lake waves.

Glancing up a few minutes into my walk, I saw a couple sitting in beach chairs at the edge of the beach grass ahead of me that I had not noticed previously. They were facing towards the disappearing sun with its orange aura happily reflecting off their skin. There were barely three feet of sand between the waves and their beach chairs, and I'd be walking right in front of their glowy entertainment ... interaction was inevitable! I scrolled through a few things that might be said, but I didn't have much time until I was right in front of them. "'Scuse me," I tried to say in a way that implied an attempt at being as unobtrusive as possible, as if somehow on command my body suddenly became a bit more transparent. "Gettin' some good shots?!" came the familiar greeting. "Oh, I'm tryin'!", I replied to the man without even thinking, "it's a great night isn't it?" I glanced over without breaking my stride. I saw him point enthusiastically at the sinking sun, "I'm guessing you saw that?!" I chuckled a little and replied "It's a little hard to miss tonight eh? Very pretty!"

My destination was a small beacon structure on the very end of the concrete breakwater at the mouth of the harbor. From this point I could frame the distant lighthouse against the backdrop of the sunset and maybe catch some passing boat traffic at the same time. I set up my tripod and framed the scene, then just waited for the sun to set a little further and hopefully not be obscured by the thick, stormy clouds at the edge of the horizon. As I waited, I could hear the low rumble of slow-trolling boats coming up the narrow waterway to make their way onto the lake. They are required to move very slowly in this section of the harbor, so slowly that I was picking up on the conversation that two boat owners were having as they converged, heading in the same direction. They amicably quizzed each other on their vitals for the few minutes they had in each other's relative company. "What year is yours?", "What's her horsepower?" and "When did you first get the bug?" Questions and answers that I couldn't relate to, but both captains used as shorthand to become fast friends in passing. They parted ways after a few moments with a "Good Luck" and a friendly wave.

One of the boats was turning towards my camera's field of view fifty yards out. The captain was barely visible on the deck through the dusk of evening as he floated by, but I could see we made something akin to eye contact. He waved to me cheerfully and I waved back. "Am I going to ruin your shot?" he hollered to me across the water.

This was new! I have had people do all sorts of strange things to get out of my way, or completely ignore me and get in my way, when they see me shooting (usually, they do the exact opposite of what you hope they will, but that is another story). I had never actually had a vehicle of any sort offer to literally change course for one of my shots. "No not at all," I hollered back. "Go right on ahead!"  The boat glided beautifully into frame between the lighthouse and the horizon, as he floated by I fired off several "ruined" shots.

Earlier the same day, we were driving through a vast park with gorgeous open spaces punctuated by majestic expanses of trees. I was driving, but still watching the sides of the road to soak in as much of the scenery as I could. We passed by a large stretch of pine trees and I slowed the car suddenly, coming to a stop on the gravel-strewn shoulder as I flipped on the hazards. I checked the rearview and saw no cars, so I hopped out and grabbed my camera gear. I tossed a casual "I'll just be a couple minutes" to my wife and I waded into the waist-high grass at the side of the road. I stood a few yards off the road, assessing the view. I took a few shots, crouched down and took a few more.  I could hear a car approaching, slowing down, slowing more and passing by our car at a crawl. Glancing over my shoulder I could clearly see the passenger's curiosity as to what I had found.  Another two cars repeated the maneuver as I snapped away.

Another car approached and slowed noticeably, coming to a stop right behind me. Taking another look over my shoulder I was greeted by four curious faces. The passenger window rolled down and a young man hanging over the side. "What do you see?!" He asked in somewhat of a shouted whisper of excitement.  "Oh! Just trees!" I replied enthusiastically. The look on his face was a bit hard to describe. A combination of  disappointed, bewilderment and a dash of annoyance.  He sat back in his seat a little as he said, "Oh, OK".  For some reason, when I saw that reaction, I felt the need to say, "Sorry." They hesitated a moment or two, then the window rolled up, the car drove away, and I went back to my treeful forest.

Although the chronology is ever so slightly skewed via artistic license, this

episode completed my interesting day full of perspectives on the world. I don't quite know how to most effectively bend the "forest for the trees" cliche to fit my experience that day, but I think if I tried, it wouldn't quite match the uniqueness of what actually happened. Why did I say sorry to that young man? Part of me was sad about his disappointment in not experiencing the exciting thing that he imagined was out there. Part was also sad that I assumed that he wouldn't have the same level of excitement or appreciation for the beauty I saw in the trees just standing against the light. Later, I was mostly sad because I assumed correctly, he couldn't see it, at least not in the moment. I like to think that as they drove away, maybe from a different angle, he saw what I saw.

The beauty in those trees, that boat, that paint, that sand, it is there for everyone to see, they just need to be seen differently.

A waitress (not our own) was passing by, carrying a stainless steel pitcher. She stopped by our table, gesturing with the pitcher towards my one-third filled glass of tea in the universal gesture of "would you like a refill?". She supplemented her motion with the fairly simple question "you had regular tea, right?"  Believe it or not, I froze for a moment while I had to process her question. I verbally stumbled for a moment, and then replied in a way that she didn't understand at all.  But before I get into that, I need to supply a little back-story.

Unbeknown to me previous to this fated evening, Lone Star had augmented their menu of drinks to include several fancy flavored iced teas.  As our waiter was running through the list of flavors, I practically pounced when his list reached "Blackberry". I didn't really care what else was on the list, I would float away on a river of blackberry iced tea and would be unnaturally happy for doing so. On hearing the list of flavors, my wife, also pleased by the options, changed her drink order from water to Prickly Pear Iced Tea. I will freely admit, prickly pear cactus as a flavor was quite intriguing to me, but not enough for me to change my order. Besides, it would be very simple just to try a little of my dinner-mate's drink without losing any precious blackberry.

As dinner went on, I was provided with an additional glass of my chosen beverage before even half of my wife's was gone. By the time the meal arrived, hers was also ready for a refill. A manager that brought the meal noticed the empty prickly pear glass and said she'd get it filled right away. However, our waiter efficiently noticed the same thing as well and in no time at all, my wife had two new glasses of prickly pear iced tea that she could never possibly finish. Being the chivalrous gentleman that I am, I kindly offered to help with one glass and we both spent the remainder of the meal happily sipping on the cactus flavored goodness.

This brings us back to my moment of mental incapacitation. When the kind waitress stopped by to pose her question and fill my glass with tea, my brain tried to determine what the correct answer was and it had an hour-glass moment. The simple question of "you had regular tea, right?" shouldn't really be that difficult to answer, but I might as well have had a "Loading..." sign over my head like a lagging computer.

I ordered blackberry tea, so that is technically what I had. But, I switched and was now drinking my wife's extra prickly pear tea. I never really ordered it and our waiter didn't know I switched, and she wasn't our waitress. How were either of them to know? On the other hand, I could have just had her fill it up with regular tea at this point and drank that instead.  In reality, this girl didn't really care what I ordered, she saw an empty glass and thought she had the right stuff, so she was going to fill it. Why was I hesitating? Trying to pick the "correct answer" was more difficult than I anticipated. So what were my options here?

1. Answer directly: "No, thanks though!"

2. Answer directly but tell her what I actually had ordered: "No thanks, I ordered blackberry tea""

3. Answer directly but tell her what was in my glass: "No thanks, I have prickly pear tea""

4. Answer her implied question of "do you want me to pour this in your glass?": "Yes thanks!""

5. Answer her implied question, but explain anyway: "Yes! I had a different flavor, but regular is fine.""

6. Answer the larger question if I actually wanted any more to drink: "No thanks, I've had enough""

So there are six options...and each one could have led with a positive or a negative response, so that's twelve.  The way my brain works, I had to pick the "correct" one. I had to pick the one answer that was the most precise.  The problem was, they were all fairly similar, if spoken correctly. She stood there patiently as the gears of my mental engine clicked, sputtered and coughed. I turned the key and cranked the cranial starter again and again as the minutes ticked by, the poor girl's arm weakening and lowering from the weight of holding the full pitcher as I stumbled through my intellectual stall.   Ok. It wasn't really that bad, but it is pretty crazy how long a couple seconds can feel in that kind of scenario.

Of course what really happened is that I paused thoughtfully for a moment, selected the right answer and calmly replied. Right? Nope. I panicked. "Uhmmm......" I eloquently replied, "I had the cactus one" "The what?!" At that moment, I realized that it was very possible that this poor girl probably had no idea that prickly pear was supposed to be a cactus flavor instead of some sweet tree fruit. I had fumbled, but I tried to recover. "The prickly cactus tea..." Blank stare. Another fumble. "Err...the prickly pear cactus tea" She paused, very bewildered, clearly wondering what I was really drinking. "Um...I don't know what that is..." She sheepishly shuffled away.

If I hadn't been a complete socially inept buffoon and had I selected any of the other twelve answers, we could have avoided some unpleasant awkwardness, and we both could have gone on happily with our respective days.  Somehow though, I had managed to pick the thirteenth option from the list...the one that makes practically no sense at all. A mild case of internal panic kept me from just being conversational and answering a simple question.

I know others can relate to that feeling as well, but I seem to have a close personal relationship with the awkward, paralytic pause over the inconsequential.  I need time to process!  Is it a matter of being slow?  Is my cpu missing a core or duo?  Or am I just getting old? Actually I know it's not age since I have been this way ever since I can remember. I remember thoughtfully filling out long essay questions on tests with simply six or seven words.  Each word carefully chosen to say exactly enough to be correct, but not an extra word more.  Precision should be efficient!

Precision in conversation though can be quite annoying. The pause for thought breaks up the flow and can be awkward. For some reason, I feel the need to divine exactly the correct words. Typically I don't find them, so it comes out awkward anyway! You'd think at some point I'd try to give up on precision and just say stuff. You might think that is what I'm doing here by writing this, but, no. You'd actually be laughing at how long ago "the other day" (from the start of this story) has turned into....so, I won't tell you. I'll give you a hint though, it wasn't this week.

One day I hope to master this thing you humans call "conversation".  Clearly I still have a bit to learn.  Latest lesson: when someone offers to refill your tea, just say "yes".

I kicked the leaves along the path today The morning cool and crispy air Filled my chest and chased my breath away Faded gleams of warm and fair

The sun hung low inside the darkened sky Shadows sighed of trees soon bare The fog of frost soon filled my eyes Longing for the loss of care

Let me explain...

My family and I were hypothetically standing around in an open field, discussing our upcoming theoretic existence together...a metaphysical plain of sorts. It was a bright and sunny day and fairly early on in things, as I recall. We had a lovely time being with each other but had come to a lull in our conversation because we were at a bit of a loss as to what should come next. It was at that point we were joined by another who looked every bit the part of one that might have the answers - quite possibly all of them - but not likely to share.  The newcomer to our group appeared to have news.

     "Hi there!"

     "That’s Life," one of the more knowledgeable of us said to the rest of the group.

     "Say, I'm just going around providing a bundle of some basic things for folks out here and I have some other stuff with me that I'm going to just give away," Life announced casually while reaching out to hand us something. "I've got a whole bunch of these," Life continued, "and you were all just hanging out right here, so...here ya go!"

I looked down at what was in my hands. A small pile of Lemons.

     "What are we supposed to do with these?" said one. His query came quickly but was far too late; Life had already moved on. Some other souls in different parts of the field were even now looking into their hands, wondering what to make of their own existential handout.

We looked around at each other, holding our little piles of yellow and befuddlement, wondering what were possibly supposed to do.

Clearly they were meant as a gift, but what kind of a gift are Lemons?

Most of us were thinking much the same thing;  "I'm pretty sure I didn't really want to have Lemons, ever."  That sentiment played on mentally for some time before anyone spoke.

     "I bet we could probably pass them off to somebody," some body said.

     "We should try to figure out what to do with them. We are kinda stuck with them..." I said to everyone, and no one in particular.

     Others said, "Screw that! I don't want Lemons, I want Apples!"

     "I do too!" I replied. "That would be very nice, but we don't have any, so we'll need to make the best of it. You do have Lemons right there in your hands!"

     "No. I don't think so.  I want Apples and I'm going to go get some. I think I see an Apple tree way down in that valley. You coming with?"

     "I really don't think that's an Apple tree.   What if you get out there and it's just a small Oak?"

     "Well, then we will have Acorns. We're going!" they said, dropping a few of their Lemons on the ground, but somewhat incongruously keeping the rest.

I watched them stride away towards the indeterminate speck of a tree while others stayed with me.  I spent some time looking over my Lemons.  None of the citrus were in great shape.  They were small, a little soft, and a couple appeared to have bruises.  I was still pondering my situation when I noticed a big chunk of the remaining souls had wandered off aimlessly, practically tripping over Lemons spilled all over the ground. They appeared to be quite optically bothered. They were sniffling and mumbling to themselves incoherently, but they could barely be heard over their petulance.

No time to worry about them.

The others who kept their Lemons were already trying to find a way to relieve them of their tart juices.  I watched for a while to evaluate their process, but didn't really learn a great deal.  There wasn't much of a process. Just smash the things and collect the juice.  Before I knew it, there were other people coming by to offer suggestions, and containers full of the stuff were everywhere in no time at all. They were madly mixing and shaking and stirring, and spilling a little here or there. It all seemed quite promising, but it looked like that method was pretty well covered.  There had to be a better way.

Going off on my own a ways, I put my Lemons in a little pile and sat there evaluating them and the most precise way to create something worthwhile. I was setting my mind to extracting the most glorious possible thing that could come from this sour pile.  Who knows how much time passed, but after several promising, albeit ultimately faulty ideas, I finally had a plan, and it was a good one.   I kept to myself, took my time and very carefully manipulated the fruit, using only the most precise tools I could locate. I kept my focus on the task in front of me. I was very careful to not spill a drop as I collected flawless, pulp-free juice in crystal carafes.  After painstakingly collecting, I experimented with the extract to create the most perfect Lemonade possible.  It was far from easy, but in time, I had a stunning nectar with the perfect balance of sweet versus tart, a hint of blackberry essence, a whiff of fresh mint and perfect wedge of Lemon on the frosted glass with just a sprinkle of coarse sugar.  I was so proud and couldn't wait to share my creation with any soul that I came across.

When I looked up from my creations, so much had changed. Everything was very different.

On one side, I saw a large industrial warehouse bustling with activity.  People were serving customers and stacking crates. Trucks were loaded and unloaded and new ones were arriving every few minutes.  A huge sign along the path to the warehouse advertised Lemon flavored drink mix and Lemon juice by the barrel.

To the other side I saw a massive orchard covering the whole valley, with a stream of people coming and going, picking Apples, making Applesauce and happily eating fresh Apple pie.

I watched for a while, marveling at the industries that were sprouting in the field around me, but I started to feel like I was missing out. I had this beautiful drink that I created and I was sure people would love it, but instead, they were flocking everywhere except to where I was.  Standing there with my pretty Lemonade in my hand, I wondered  why I hadn't done something different with my Lemons or hunted down Apples when I had the chance.  I didn't understand where I could have missed these other, clearly superior, options.  Who knows how much time passed as I pondered the people, the paths, the future and the fruit.  Well after the "right" time, I looked down at the drink in my hand and I made a decision.  The weather had changed by the time this decision came, but it arrived nonetheless.

*   *   *

The air is cold and the rain is losing its fight against the snow.  This precipitation battle doesn't deter the delivery trucks on one side, or the steady stream of people on the other.  The smell of spices and crackling wood is wafting now from the direction of the Apples...hot cider still brings a crowd!  Cinching my scarf up tight, I pull my hat down a little further and hunker down by my own little fire.  It's too late to change events; it isn't a season for Lemonade now. When was the last time you saw a Lemonade stand at Christmas?  What they want is something inviting, something comforting, something cozy. I watch the crowds of people scurry by on their way to the welcoming promise of warm pie and cider, the vision of happiness practically projecting over their heads in a soft haloic gleam.   I put my feet up to warm by the fire and I bash my straw against the minty crust of ice forming on the top of my drink every few minutes.   Now and then I take slow careful sips of my Lemony liquid, savoring the complex flavor as it melts.

Watching... Waiting patiently... ...for summer to finally return.

Since my family met the above criteria, and since we were an especially wiggly lot, work for us started at an early age. My laboring career began at the age of 11 and throughout my wonder years consisted of a wide array of different jobs and tasks, and almost all of them were outdoor manual labor. I worked for multiple employers, on an as-needed basis, and most often, on or around farms. Some jobs were not fun, some of them were...for at least the first 20 minutes. Jobs such as baling hay or straw, repairing fences, cutting, splitting and stacking firewood, mowing lots of yards, raking leaves, cleaning barns, filling the clean barn with stacked hay, emptying the barn of hay to feed to cattle, and "walking beans".

For those of you that have not had the privilege of walking beans, I can briefly explain. "Walking beans" is basically weeding a really big garden. Of course, nobody actually likes weeds, but a farmer despises weeds. The pesky plants grow in their crops and steal nutrients, compete for sunlight and water and they just plain look ugly in a nice pretty field of row after row of neatly planted crops. After the growing season they don't stop being a nuisance; they get tangled in the desirable plants and jam harvesting equipment, adding debris to the harvested grain and lowering the sale price. All of these features of weeds make them particularly loathsome in soybean fields. They are a pain in multiple ways and the farmer wants them out, so somehow he has to weed this huge garden.

These days there are all kinds of chemicals and treatments that can be put on the field that will kill almost all the weeds for an entire season. They are dispatched with a quick spray or two from one of those monster machines you may have found yourself stuck behind on the country back roads. But, back in my day (am I old enough to say that yet?!), most of the chemicals were just becoming popularized and they were still expensive enough to consider other, cheaper alternatives. For a time, I was that cheaper alternative.

The process of walking beans is quite simple. Start at one side of the field; count out 2, 3, or 4 rows; and start walking down that row armed with your weed killing implement of choice. My personal favorite weed slaying companion was a corn knife, an 18 inch, super-sharp machete. While walking through the field with your dangerous weapon, the idea is to cut, kill or pull all of the weeds in your set number of rows on either side (without killing any bean plants) as you walk all the way to the opposite end of the field. Count out 2, 3, or 4 rows past the ones just cleared, and walk back down the field again killing more of the dastardly weeds.

Repeat... Repeat... Repeat...

Soybeans Ready for Harvest

Over the years, my brothers and I walked beans in fields all over the county, racking up literally thousands of acres of soybeans cleared of weeds and miles and miles of uneven ground trodden beneath our dusty boots. All of this travel had to start with a first step, and that first step was taken in a bean field alongside a couple of my brothers and sisters when I was 11 years old.

It was an already hot morning in late June and we were trying to get to the field before it turned into an unbearable summer day. We rode in the farmer's van up to the edge of the field and tumbled out, ready to attack the weeds. But this was the first day, so we needed some guidance from the owner of the field and provider of the work.

We gathered around while he gave us some brief words of instruction. Hank was a rather quiet but upbeat man in his late-fifties, with a slower and more deliberate demeanor, but with plenty of life left in the tank. He had thinning silvery hair and walked with a bit of a hitch in his gait. I never knew what caused his limp, but to hear him tell it, I am certain it was quite the story! And quite a storyteller he was! I always liked watching him spin a yarn, embellishing and polishing until it was perfect. He lost himself in the telling, and it never mattered if you heard the story before. Hank seemed like he was spinning a yarn now, he had a big smile on his face as he told us what fun we'd be having today. However, his words were laden with sarcasm, as we were about to find out.

Hank prepared to ration out the weed dispatching weapons to each member of my familial squad while he gave the last bits of instructions. He opened the back door of the van and there were the tools. Stacked in the back of the van were freshly sharpened corn knives, brand new weed hooks, and an awesome looking weed sickle (which was actually nothing more than a tooth from a sickle bar mower bolted to a rough cut shaft of cottonwood...you may not be able to picture that, but trust me, it looked wicked). I watched as all of the coolest, or to be more accurate, the more dangerous tools were handed out to everyone but me. No corn knife for me, no weed hook, and no weed sickle, I was handed a garden hoe. Looking back, I know this was a very smart move by Hank, but at the time I was bummed and a bit jealous.

Hank counted out rows of young bean plants for the placement of each walker and after I was ushered to my assigned spot, we started down our first wave of attack. I confidently strode out into the field seeing my first weedy victim, a pigweed, a hundred feet down the row I was walking. I hacked at the plant in front of me and it tumbled down as the hoe kicked up small clods of dirt. This was kinda fun! On to the next one! It did not take long to find the next target a row over, I ran up to it and hacked at it wildly. The weed fell over and a few bean plants fell with it. I couldn't exactly paste them back together, so I ignored the mangled bean plants and just moved on to the next intended victim.

It wasn't long before the fun of hacking in the dirt with a garden hoe started to turn dull and quite tiresome. The glee of finding the new weeds was replaced by annoyance that there were just so many of them. If it was possible, I was getting a little more careless. I had been knocking over more than a few bean plants and was sharply critiqued by my sister at the end of one round. "You can't go killing all the beans like that, slow down! Weren't you paying attention to what Hank said?" Apparently I was not. And, it wasn't the only thing I had missed. I replied that I would be more careful, and I did try. But as the day wore on, I started getting preoccupied by something else entirely - finishing my row first!

There must not have been enough thrill anymore in walking back and forth on a hot, humid day whacking at some plants but not others. I had to create a game that apparently only I was playing. The rules were simple. Whoever got to the end of the field first on that round did the best job, and therefore was the winner. I wanted to do the best and I kept getting to the end of my row first, but no one seemed to celebrate my bean walking domination. I was also missing something slightly important. That's right, weeds. My sister stopped me and scolded me...again. "What are you doing? Hank is having clean up behind you and get all the weeds you are missing!"

At first I didn't believe her. I was doing great, I was finishing first! But on the next round when I was ahead again, just to check, I took a look back behind me. There was Hank, leaning over and cutting down a weed fairly close to my row...was that mine? I walked on some more...another look back. This time, there was no doubt, about 100 yards back, Hank was leaning down into the very row I was walking in and cutting down a weed that I should have practically tripped over. It hit me quickly; here I was playing a game with a job I was assigned while I made this man five times my age do double the work. I was embarrassed.

To be fair, I was only 11, and I don't believe that Hank really expected that much out of me. But that was kind of the point to my embarrassment; he did not expect much and I was living up to that low expectation. Wasn't I taught to do the best job I could? Is it fair to play a game out of something I'm getting paid for? Am I going to hell for making an "old man" do my work for me? Ok, I didn't really think that last one at the time, but I was feeling bad, especially when he was finishing last because of my missed weeds. I resolved to do better.

Rather than run, I slowed down. I tried not to indiscriminately demolish all plants around each weed. My goal changed from getting to the end of the row first, to getting all of my own weeds. My goal was to keep Hank from cleaning up after me. By the end of the job, I had improved markedly, and even got a compliment on how well I had done. It was a lot of work, but I really felt like I had accomplished something. Rather than be off in my own world, achieving accomplishments that existed only in my own head, I had lived up to and surpassed expectations of my ability. It felt great, and really made an impression on me.

Many years have passed since then, but I do like to think that the experience helped me grow a little, and helped shape my attitude in approaching my work. Although I don't keep this specific memory in the front of my mind at all times, every now and then I feel myself metaphorically looking back over my shoulder...just to make sure that no one is having to get my weeds.

It was summer, and my wife an I traveled down to Peoria Illinois for my brother's medical school graduation. It was a great day and I was very proud of my formerly little brother on his big day. He had worked very hard for years to get through medical school, and it was great to see him pass this significant milestone. After the graduation ceremonies, the family spent time in the hotel restaurant and lounge area talking, eating and having a generally great time. In the middle of our evening, a tornado warning interrupted our celebration and the hotel staff whisked us off to a conference room to wait out the demon wind. In the end, the storms came and passed with lots of bark, and luckily, not much bite. All the excitement from the celebration and predicted doom of storm was more than we could possibly handle, and figured it was time we adjourned for the evening to spend time with our beloved sleep.

Back in our room, we began unpacking all of the things that we pretend to be a necessity for an arduous two-day journey 110 miles from home. Creature comforts that we, never quite successfully, attempt to transport from from our home-life and inject into the fabricated reality of a hotel room. After making as much of a temporary home as possible out of 350 square feet, I turned my attention to the very practiced art of the bedtime routine. Of course, this routine relies heavily on the not-so-artful practice of packing with foresight. Very quickly, an error in the forethought process was uncovered: a missing container for my contact lenses. Normally this wouldn't be much of an issue except for the detail that the contact container was for my Clear Care lens solution.

If you are not a contact wearer, the name of this solution may mean nothing to you, but allow me to explain. One type of contact cleaning method uses two solutions. Step number one uses a mix of chemicals that remove enzymes on the lenses, and the second step uses another solution to rinse and neutralize the harsh cleaning chemicals that you use in step one. Clear Care is a one-step hydrogen peroxide based liquid that reacts in a special container over 6 hours to clean the lenses and, in the process, break down the hydrogen peroxide into oxygen and water. I'm sure you noticed the choice of the words "special container".

Yes, it is THAT special container that I had so brilliantly left out of my "packing with foresight". But, being the prepared, resourceful and ingenuous Eagle Scout that I am...no hold on, that should actually be Dr. Eagle Scout...and perhaps more important, it is not actually me, but my freshly graduated brother. So to rephrase with even more accuracy: being the tired, unprepared former b-average college science major that I am, I started to formulate a plan for getting this contact solution to work without it's so-called special container!

Step one, figure out how this solution works. Here was how my brain broke it down: Clear Care is based on a low percentage solution of hydrogen peroxide. Hydrogen peroxide is sensitive to exposure to light and oxygen and will break down quickly when in the presence of one or both. So, therefore if this is a low percentage solution, and it is exposed to air overnight and then sunlight in the morning, it should break down some of its potency and should have a similar effect as using the special container...right?

Let me state at this point, that I'm normally not prone to this type of dangerous experimentation, but exhaustion was creeping in quickly, and I just wanted sleep. I wasn't really thinking about how smart this was, and I wasn't really thinking about...well I can stop there...I wasn't really thinking. I pondered the wisdom of my idea for only a moment or two and then spent a significantly longer amount of time than that mumbling aloud about how silly it was to forget an item so simple. No matter, on to step two. I grabbed a clean hotel glass, squirted in an eighth inch of Clear Care liquid, and dropped in my sight-saving discs. This whole process took a frighteningly short amount of time to clumsily rush through. At this point, it was easy to stumble on to step three: collapse on the bed and fall asleep to whatever fascinating, albeit mildly blurry program that was playing on the History Channel.

After sleeping in for a sufficient amount of time to clear a foggy thought process, we awoke to a bright and sunny morning. It was at this point where I began to question the wisdom of my eye care plan of the previous evening. I rehashed the logic in my mind, and I had a nagging doubt if this was going to work correctly. However, I had convinced myself the night before and I was not dissuaded so easily. I approached my contacts with only slightly hesitant confidence. I fished the first disc out of the crystal clear liquid in the drinking glass where it had been lazily floating all night. I placed the contact on the tip of my finger as I stood in front of the mirror and paused a moment. "Well, here it goes!" I placed it in my eye.

It is a little difficult to describe what happened next since the descriptive timing is very skewed compared to how much time actually elapsed. It seemed as though about 10 seconds passed as I waited for my vision to adjust to the contact, but in actuality it was more like a tenth of a second before I started to feel that something may be wrong. And when I say that I could feel that something "may" be wrong, I mean that I became very disturbed by the sort of hyena-type howl filling the hotel room, while simultaneously feeling as though I had somehow managed to place only my left eye in the path of a shooting jet of molten lava. I concede that it would be very difficult to imagine what the searing pain of a volcano vomiting directly into your eye could feel like, but I still contend that it would be about as equally comfortable as what I was feeling at that moment as I hopped up and down in front of the bathroom mirror.

I believe a total of 2 seconds of jumping and howling had passed before I started frantically clawing at my eye to attempt removal of the shard of flame sticking in my cornea. At first I could not overcome my eye's seemingly sensible instinct to clamp the eyelid shut to protect itself, but it was too late for protecting and was now just in the way, it had to come out! I finally managed to pry my eye open through the pain, but now I had difficulty actually holding still long enough to stick my fingers in to pull out the contact. Removal attempt one failed miserably, more hopping ensued. Attempt two failed, as did attempts three through ten. It seemed as though it was not only sticking on and melting my eyeball, but was burning a hole right through my head to the back of my skull.

After many painful attempts, I was finally able to wrest the offending circle of silicone from my eye and I practically threw it onto the counter expecting some sort of relief. In more ways than one, I was sorely disappointed. I did know that one of the worst things to do was rub my eye, but the temptation was impossible to resist, and to be perfectly honest, I didn't think at the time that It'd do much more damage than a magma bath. I was conscious enough to stop rubbing and remember that the best thing to help in this case was an eye wash. A little luck! The hotel had one of those high arc faucets in the small, cramped counter space that passed for a kitchenette. This gave me just enough room to stick my head in the sink and have my eye directly under the flow of water. Although the wash provided some abatement in the pain, having my body doubled over the counter with my head under a running faucet was far from my ideal way to start the day.

After about ten minutes of running water directly on my eyeball, I felt safe to retreat from the sink. At this point I felt immensely relieved, but far from comfortable. My eye was sore and throbbing a strange combination of numbness from the cold water and menthol-like burning from the caustic liquid. I could feel the veins in my eye bulging and rubbing against my eyelids, which were tender from some twenty minutes of prying, and now the whole side of my head was wet and dripping cold water down my shirt.

Then, I looked in the mirror. What I saw looking back at me was a little frightening. There was no "white" of my eye anymore, it was now completely red. I don't mean "ow, I got an eyelash stuck in my eye and now I need some Visene" red. I mean full-on "oh my God call a priest, we have a total Exorcist possession and I can see Satan glowing in his eyes!" red. Really...it was freaky.

I was still hurting, but after a quick trip to Wal-mart for an eye wash kit, and some more rinsing under the handy-dandy hotel room faucet, the danger was gone. The rest of the day was spent trying to hide my eye by holding it closed, wearing a baseball hat down low, wearing dark sunglasses, anything to shield my satan-eye. I had to tell the whole story several times to the rest of the family...which fortunately for me, contains several health care professionals. A couple of examinations inevitably ensued to ensure that there was no serious damage...after which everyone was free to laugh at the situation. Other than my bruised ego, there was no long term damage.

Every now and then I look back on this experience and seriously question my sanity. The packaging of Clear Care is now a little more jarring in its warnings about how to NOT use their product, and it is possible that it may have helped me avoid that painful experience. But I have to be completely honest, it's also possible that I would have done the exact same thing. It is a little hard to say, but my little bout of ingenuity might have even over-powered the bolder and stronger warnings of impending liquid doom. And there is where the moral of the story arises. Even if you're not using a Red Ryder bb gun, be careful, you can still shoot your eye out!

I have to admit that quite a few people may not like The Artist (2011), and that's really too bad.

This is a movie that has a number of issues that conspire to keep it out of the year's "most popular" lists.  It's first "problem" is that it is black and white.  Who wants to see a black and white movie these days?  It just feels so...old!  The next issue, no one in the States knows the lead actor or actress. Sure, there are some recognizable faces in the cast, but where is the star power?  But, perhaps its biggest issue is this: it is a silent film. Say what!? That's right, a silent movie! Most movie-goers will be shrugging at the concept and instead plunking down their cash (more likely, their credit card) to see a big time action movie, with big time stars, than to see this film. It almost seems like a tragedy to me because I loved this movie. So much so that I thought I would break my self-imposed embargo on writing film reviews to come up with some words to describe just how much it impressed me.

I really did love everything about this film.  So many times I see movies and it's fairly easy to nit-pick about things that I think should be changed or improved somehow, less of _this_ and more of _that_, a better way to tell the story, a better choice of actors.  Although it usually doesn't prevent me from enjoying movies, it is a fun exercise to dream up ways to tweak things, even in great movies, just to make it better. With The Artist, I wouldn't change a thing.

The film is not a parody, and neither is it an insolent exercise in snobbish self-importance.  It is a loving homage to the history of cinema told in the wrapper of a charming story that stands on it's own beyond it's tribute.  The arc of the story is familiar, as is the story's setting of a silent film star (played by Jean Dujardin) at his peak of popularity in 1927, but perched on the verge of irrelevance in the emerging era of "talkies". The way the director (Michel Hazanavicius) shares this familiar story, however, feels fresh and original.  He deftly uses the quintessential old-school Hollywood style, shots and techniques as tools to tell the story and not as a gimmick for laughs.  At the same time, this isn't a film that takes itself too seriously...it is presented with a wink to the audience as if to say "Yeah I know! Isn't this fun?".

The Artist IS fun.  It is a lighthearted comedy that occasionally pricks your heart with a sharp pin. There are a great many laughs, but it is one of those stories where you find yourself a bit surprised at how much you connected...you really feel for the characters. Everything about this film makes you feel like you are watching a film made in the glory days of early cinema.  Even the sparse dialogue cards in the film fit right in with the overall mood, although most of the time, the cards are only required to drive home a specific point.  From start to finish this movie entertains smartly, and never treats the audience as if they need their hand held or the actions explained.  The filmmakers understand very well how the images on the screen communicate to the audience.

With an incredible eye for the beauty of black and white, the scenes are staged in a way that can only be described as art. A few scenes really stand out for their beauty, but at almost any moment you could stop the film and it would be a frame-able photo or poster. The rest of the cast are perfectly chosen (including: Bérénice Bejo, John Goodman, James Cromwell and Penelope Ann Miller) and I would have a difficult time imagining others in their roles. Even the music throughout the film is used in a way that compliments the film rather than telling the audience what to feel, by itself a rare accomplishment these days. It is not as easy as it sounds to have all these elements work together to create a mood or a moment in a film, yet throughout,  The Artist makes it seem like the work was effortless.

It is fairly certain that if you are not already interested in seeing this film, my words will do no more than vanish into the morass of critique and commentary that plagues the Internet and numbs brains worldwide.

And that's OK.

In a way this is just a very wordy "Like" button to acknowledge the creativity of a great film, and a simple wish that it gets the armloads of Oscar nominations and other accolades that it deserves.

You can't see it, but I am raising my hand.  I love music.  Music is pervasive in our culture so it is easy to say that everyone loves music to some degree.  However, I think some groups of people react very differently to music.  I'm definitely in the analytical-emotional-romanticizing group of music lovers.  Music can sometimes affect me in very interesting ways.  I can hear a clip of instrumental music or a popular song and I can have an instant emotional reaction. It can suddenly revive a long forgotten memory, it can make me happy and content or it can unflinchingly break my heart.  As important as it is to me to have that connection to the music itself, I find it is even much more profound when combined with lyrics that have real substance.

Thanks Dan.

What got me started on this train of thought was posts by Dan Hasletine from Jars of Clay.  I have been following him on Twitter for some time and he just started posting on his blog about lyrics he has written and is re-visiting their meaning or, what they have come to mean.  He asked his fans to come up with lyrics they are interested in knowing about and I was very excited to post a reply.  I started to mind-scroll through the Jars of Clay songs that I admired and I kept getting stuck.  I couldn't pick one!  But what I found more interesting is that I did not really consider any whole song, instead I focused on bits of lyrics that paint a picture.

Grasping the meaning in an entire song is sometimes easier for me than in a specific subset of its words, which is probably why I find small parts of songs so intriguing.   (A whole photography project of mine is based on of small portions of lyrics -- blatant plug-in the photo to the right).  I kept focusing on some of those brilliant bits of writing from Jars of Clay songs and visualizing the scene.  Imagining the event that inspired the eloquence, I get very distinct pictures, sometimes without knowing  exactly what they mean.  Sometimes I just don't care about their exact meaning because I know I feel a very specific way when I read or hear words like these:

• They don't see behind the lights, or the painted backgrounds, they just like to see you fall.

• If I was not so weak. If I was not so cold. If I was not so scared of being broken...growing old.

• A flower for your vanity, a penny for your thoughts.

• This picture I've painted...it looks like my heart or what still remains.

• You feel a lot like the good guy, but do you know why, everything's so blue?

• Fearful tears are running down, the pain you've laid don't speak a sound.

• I have no fear of drowning, it's the breathing that's taking all this work.

• Trying to jump away from rock that keeps on spreading, for solace in the shift of the sinking sand

• It takes more than your saline eyes...to make things right.

• Flowers through the asphalt, diamonds in the pockets of your eyes...turn your face and hide.

• If the wind should shake this house apart, the cradle hits the ground with a broken heart.

• Weddings, boats and alibis, all drift away....and a mother cries.

• Said and done I stand alone amongst remains of a life I should not own.

These are just some lyrics that I love from Jars of Clay.  Lyrics where I would love to know, not so much the meaning, but the source of inspiration, the story behind the moment of vision.   I haven't used a Jars  song as a photo inspiration yet...but I certainly plan on it!  Even without knowing the story or inspiration behind these and other lyrics, there is no denying the power the words have and the images and emotions that they can stir.   Music is amazing.

Thanks for the stories and inspirations, the words that paint the pictures in our heads, and for the great music that stirs emotion.

P.S. - Memorable Jars Event

I had several opportunities to see Jars of Clay in concert but somehow missed them, or was not able to go.  It disappointed me, but good things do come!  My first Jars concert was at Twin City Bible Church in Urbana IL in December of 2000.  My brother was a student at the University of Illinois and he got one ticket to a special unplugged concert but didn't know the band, so he offered it to me.  There couldn't have been more than a couple hundred seats available and was it an amazing acoustic concert with audience requests, and great stories.  One of those events I'll always remember.  I even got to talk with Dan at the end of the show.  I didn't have anything for him to sign but stood in line anyway just to say something (and somehow that ended up including mentioning U2 in concert).  All around, it was very inspiring and hearing their music in that type of venue was all the more memorable.  Thanks again :-)

Let me elaborate a little, just in case you don't know who you are yet:

You are elected politicians.  We are the people you serve.  I think I may need to re-emphasize that.   You serve us.   Your job is designed to be one that deals with the unpleasantness of leading a group of people that do not always agree on the best course of action.   Your job is not a vehicle to expand your power, establish manipulative influence or  build a platform for personal gain.  Yet time after time, this is what we see.  We hear your promises, and we want to believe them.  We want things better, and we want you to help us.  We believe you, we vote for you, and time after time we feel lied to.   This should not be interpreted as me saying that I think all politicians are liars.   Actually, quite to the contrary.  I believe quite a number of politicians really do want to help and do not intentionally lie in ads or in their message.  The key word in that last sentence is "intentionally".  The unfortunate reality is that despite intent, after the flurry of  campaigning is over, people inevitably feel let down.

The cycle right now is beginning again.  Election day has come and gone, and suddenly my phone is quiet.  Over the past several weeks, my phone would ring eight times a night with "urgent" (recorded) messages about how important it was to vote for fill-in-the-blank candidate.  "Your vote is important!".  This does not make me feel like you care about me, the voter.  Honestly, it feels like winning is the only objective, and that is why my vote is important to you.  With winning as the only objective, ceaseless intensely personal negative attack ads flood the airwaves to convince voters how evil the opponent is.   This is where I really get upset with you.  You obviously think we are all dumb enough to believe these petty attacks and that we will change our allegiance  because you call someone a name, or scare us about loosing something we know.  It's deemed OK to say almost anything you want, even if it is speculation, because you think we believe it.

You obviously think of us all in the same way.  We are the dumb masses and you have to trick us in order to win.  Then, you wonder why people are upset!  Obviously, some people are affected by the mean attacks, or the "reminders" to vote, but certainly not all of us.  The problem with people in your jobs is that you treat us as "them" and not as "us".  STOP putting us into categories of friend or foe.  We are all Americans, and we want honest people we can trust.   Currently, we do not trust you.  And we will not trust you until you stop thinking of us as stupid masses...as demographics, and start thinking of us...ALL of us, as "the people".  Not only as "the people" that are looking to you for guidance, but as "the people" who give you your jobs, and pay for all that you spend.

We really aren't as stupid as you think, and no matter what, you do still work for us.