A Hunk of Tin and a Running Shirt

If you think the shirt and the medal are the only rewards to running a marathon, you should think again. Getting through the 26.2 miles without shedding a tear is a memory worth savoring. Who cares if you toddle in an hour and a half after Mbarak Hussein, who won the TCM this morning in 2:13, clipping along at a 5:06 per mile average pace. Yikes! I guess it gets you done quicker.
I had a great team with me on race morning, with CO the chief driver, AN the head navigator, and the wife as head cheerleader and organizer. CN was there for sweatband selection at the race expo.

It was a warm day, with temps in the 80's by the time it was all over. Not ideal for a marathon. But I survived another one, saw some of my favorite people, and enjoyed a good weekend. Here are some photos, including the race start, two key supporters, a Ford GT we spotted on Cedar Avenue, and the sunset to our good weekend.

No Sore Foot--Will Run for Shirt

Last year a sore foot kept me out of the Twin Cities Marathon, but this year, it seems well enough to allow me to at least attemp to survive the 26.2 mile ordeal. It starts at 8:00 at the Metrodome, winds around several lakes in Minneapolis, crosses the river into St. Paul, and finishes at the capitol. I'll be glad to come down the hill on Summit, past the cathedral, and to the finish line, where I plan to get my shirt and enjoy a banana, a glass of water, a cupcake, a cup of coffee, and a long nap. I may not get the long nap.

New Blog on Health Related Topics

I'm having my students keep blogs as they do research, and I'm using a blog to guide and encourage them as they embark on a research project. It's here: http://researchinghealthtopics.blogspot.com/.

Festival of Books! Love, Ted

This weekend in SF provided lots of offerings for a book-lover, including an evening of poetry on Friday featuring Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Ted Kooser and others. Saturday night gave us a panel of four authors and action-librarian Nancy Pearl, who shepherded Pete Dexter, Marilynne Robinson, J.A. Jance, and Joseph Marshall III through a discussion of the writing profession.
It was the South Dakota Festival of Books, the premier annual gathering of literary figures in South Dakota.
The evening sparked along with the mix of writers, with irreverent Dexter teasing the sedate Robinson, and Jance countering the high-minded discussion with more practical and market elements. One treat was when Pearl told a story about falling in love on the bus with Dexter's 1995 book, The Paperboy, realizing she was blushing and needed to read the book in the privacy of her home. Dexter took the opportunity to tease and flirt. It sparked me to buy his Paris Trout and have him sign it.
Friday's gathering was a bit more sedate, with poet Lee Ann Roripaugh leading a series of readings and discussions with Kooser, Bill Holm, Patrick Hicks, and Marilyn Chin. Holm generously used his time to feature a South Dakota poet, Leo Dangel, whose poem "Farming in a Lilac Shirt" prompted my purchase of his collected poems.
One treat was being joined by my friend Kent Meyers and his wife at the reception for Kooser and Robinson. One odd moment came Friday evening after the reading, when Kooser went to sign a copy of one of his books that I'd been given as a gift. The wife had already inscribed it, so he just added his "& Love, Ted." In all, the festival was just what I'd hoped for, only now it's over.

Seeking: Coordinator of Electronic Communications

As my friend and colleague Dan points out, our employer, Dakota State University, is looking for a Coordinator of Electronic Communications. Read the position announcement here and pass the word. We're looking for one good person.

Back on the Horse

Nearly a week's worth of events have happened in the last week, so it's time for something to be said about the past six days. Friday night some friends used up, and Saturday the bathroom floor, the basement stairs, and the back door landing utilized the time, and that night we partook in an event that I'd tried twenty five years ago to do and finally got it done.
Despite the nasty thunderstorms that came through the area, I took off down to SF where the wife and her mom spent the day shopping and met up at the Washington Pavillion to see a band I'd wanted to see but failed to for years, the Red Willow Band, the best in western swing. They were just what I'd wanted. From the opening strains of Kenny Putnam fiddling on "Tying the Knot" to the late rendition of "Very Old Friend," I was a happy listener. Two new fans of RWB joined us, only to be disappointed to learn that this band had disbanded more than twenty years ago. They've still got a good fan base in the area, as the very full Pavillion demonstrated, and Monday night the concert being filmed for SD Public TV sold out. Every few years they get together for a reunion concert or two, and they were invited to play at the Vietnam Memorial in Pierre this year.

On another note, we had great company the past few days from Waynesville, NC, CB and RB. They were our hosts last summer down there and we were happy to have them here if only for a couple of days. What gentle, wonderful people. C was able to join us briefly for my last discussion of Marilynne Robinson's Gilead here in Madison, where 28 people showed up.
Now it's Wednesday, our company is gone, and life is once again back to normal.

Maybe this weekend will be a bit more quiet.

Life Just Has a Way of Getting Busy

Let me take a deep breath and think a minute. So. Friday, the Dylan concert. Cool, great music. Saturday morning, a garage sale at our house. Saturday afternoon, garage sale cleanup. Saturday evening, another book talk, with the Gourmet Book Club in Howard, discussing Marilynne Robinson's Gilead again (first time was in Platte), with me on the hotseat since the pastor was there with actual knowledge and experience backing him. Sunday morning, the half marathon in Sioux Falls (1:46:something). Not bad, fifteen minutes faster than in the Black Hills this June. Sunday, then what? Breakfast at Perkins. Then come home, rest, relax. Happiness at seeing the pile of free stuff on our curb reduced to a sign that read "Free Stuff!" I don't think I even read the paper--wasteful, wasteful. Monday, KC's birthday, my first-ever Pilates class, where I was the only male. Tuesday? I think I missed Tuesday. Maybe I did some writing Tuesday afternoon. Wednesday? The high spot I think was Jeff Dittman's chicken cookout lunch at DSU, at least until we went to SF and found a new klik-klak (what some people--uneducated) might call a folding couch, and seeing "Little Miss Sunshine," what a gas. I also got a good run in Wednesday. Today, one good class, some paper grading, some preparation time, a meeting, going to the farmer's market and scoring some great eats, then unloading the klik-klak and moving it in (thanks, TQ), then fixing the mower at TQ's, then fixing the mower at MM's. Then home, where the wife fed me a great supper and we watched some of the new "Survivor" and then admired the new clean extra bedroom, thinking of company coming next week who will take over our bed for a couple of days. Yowza. How's a guy supposed to have a deep thought? Back to grading papers.

Taking Aim at 16

Today's my youngest's birthday; he's 16, ready to go to work, drive, and pretty much do the same stuff he's been doing--hanging out with friends and family, playing games, volunteering at the zoo, and going to school. Maybe he'll take up archery again, like he was into back when he was half the age he is now.
Happy Birthday, KC!

Smuggled Photos from Bob at the Birdcage

Yes, cameras were not allowed at the Dylan concert last night, but my little bitty camera fit nicely into my pocket and I only took two pictures, one of the three women I went with and one of Junior Brown in full swing. I've got the Sioux Falls Half Marathon tomorrow morning early, so I'll have to save my commentary for later. No flash--no pics of Bob or anyone else, but memories of good music, good weather, good times, and a full moon over it all.
 

A Musical Interlude--And a Song Up for Grabs

Don Record, who served as tentmaster for the visiting Great Plains Chautauqua this summer, left me with a CD and a song on it that he was working on. I asked if I could post it to H7, and he thought that was a dandy idea. It's a song he's trying to sell, and I think it has possibilities. Here it is: "By the Time the Evening's Over." Enjoy the song, and if you have suggestions, more interest, or just want to contact Don, he spends his other life at Northern Oklahoma College in Enid, OK.

A Spotlight and an Eye on DSU

Much hard work has paid off as DSU has been named the “#1 Public comprehensive college in the Midwest," by U.S. News and World Report, beating out rival Southwest Minnesota State University, often ranked first. The article on our website is here.
A few years ago students took the opportunity when classes were cancelled to build snow people egaged in warm activities, but a new camera on campus might forestall any future attempts. Right now, it provides an attractive view of the central campus, newly remodeled with plants, sculptures, and sidewalks. Wave if you see me!

Guts, Grace, or Glück--Nobody Rides for Free

Who knows what hardships are on the minds of even the people closest to you? Sometimes friends and family will share the troubles they are facing, and you can choose to act or pray or console or hope or cross your fingers, whatever you choose to do to for people you care about in hard times. I know people facing heart surgery for their premature baby, people who have had family die recently, people with an ailing infant, people struggling with a troubled child, people watching a family member recover, people facing the prospect of difficult, life-changing decisions. And yet, for those who don't know, these same people put on faces to meet the world, going about their daily routines as though the world is a moving sidewalk for them, a piece of ripe fruit. What keeps them going? All of them are hoping for good things, but only some will get what they wish for, and there's nothing visible that helps us see what draws the line between those given the gifts they wish for, and those whose wishes are lost. They carry their burdens because that's what they have to do. My own experience? Some of both, both kinds of luck. I try to count the forms of good fortune that have come my way, keeping a good tally and being mindful, and I bow my head at the memory of losses, my own and others'. You know who you are.

Ramona Reunion and the Do-Nothing Machine

Rensch and Wolf family members gathered in Ramona yesterday for a family reunion, all the product of my whirlwind aunt's efforts to bring people together in her home town. The wife and I appeared briefly, but it looked like everyone was having a good time. It's one of those days where I only exist as Rosemary's son. A few of my uncles and aunts were there along with mom, Sister1, and a few people I knew otherwise. Family information is forthcoming. I'm looking forward to some digital stories and pictures.
One odd item was Earl Rensch's "Do-Nothing Machine," which he bought many years ago, an item featured on the Gary Owen show, he says. A video is here. It's a complicated contraption with a zillion moving parts, clicking and whirring and spinning a marble in a circular tray. It smelled a lot like sewing machine oil, but it was fun to watch.
We also had a good evening with friends and their new babe.

Little Secrets for a Small Town

It’s been a pleasant last few days enjoying the surprise of seeing friends who bore the beam of joy with their little secret, a brief trip in their future, and some longed-for togetherness. We talked about the trials and tribulations of being a family and of the transitions they were going through, while we all enjoyed a dining-out experience. They talked about what they might do on the trip ahead of them, which they were anticipating with pleasure. They told a story of a recent incident that showed some of the strain they and their young people had been going through, but they had resolved everything satisfactorily and were looking forward to smoother roads ahead, since A. was spending a day with friends and BJ and SC could go to SF unattended and free. They thought a movie sounded good, maybe another chance to dine out. They had invited us over their table when we all realized we had come to the 2^nd Street Diner for breakfast at the same time.

We were also out and about in town and ran into several people we knew, one of the joys of a small town, and we stopped by the house of other friends who were grandparents again, a bit of a surprise for them since it wasn’t due for some time.

We also got a chance to have a visit with TQ and LB on Thursday night and have a good time. So far, a good Labor Day weekend, no labor, except cooking up our eggplant beauty into a penne noodle dish for my wife, my mom, and my sister RC who didn’t even complain about my cooking.

Mechanical Marvel: Peeler, Corer, Slicer

When fall rolls around the apples tumble down, and enterprising souls can gather them in and put away the taste of summer fruit for enjoyment in the dead of winter. Or, they can simply eat what they can while the fruit is good and hope for plentiful supplies at food stores when the snow flies.
Either way, peeling, coring, and slicing apples for an apple crisp takes a little work, unless you've got one of these mechanical miracles that will do it for you with a little elbow grease.
This unit I got at a garage sale this summer for a cool dollar, along with another one I gave to my sister. It works like a champ, as you see here. Chop up the spirals, add some ingredients, and you've got a crisp that will warm your cockles on a rainy fall evening like today. Luck? Maybe. That, and a keen eye for a deal and a father-in-law with a good fruit source.

The Story about Story, Wyoming

I promised more details about my family reunion in Story, Wyoming, so here goes. The trip out and back was a big deal, my first big trip on a motorcycle, which I haven't yet climbed back on. Our trip took me out to Whitewood, SD, where other family members were gathering, and while they headed straight for Story, I headed north through Aladdin, Alva, and Hulett to Devil's Tower, a beautiful drive that ended with cruising up to the gigantic rock formation that I first visited years ago with a couple of juvenile delinquent hitchhikers. There I met my brother and his wife, and we ate at a place that offered such a deal (Come on in and eat before we both starve!) and cruised from there to Gillette, where we turned north and zipped along through desolate country at ramming speed, passed through construction projects and over gravel to finally appear in Story, a beautiful town on the edge of the mountains.
There the Moodys and the Nelsons told stories, played crazy golf, horseshoes and golf, fished in the streams, and enjoyed each others' company until Sunday afternoon when we all headed home again, some sticking around to celebrate my aunt Peggy's 80th birthday.
The golfing turned out to be more enjoyable than many people thought, with players making their own primitive clubs, then drawing for one of the many to use in the game.
Story's a beautiful place, and it was good to see my crazy redneck cousins and my siblings (all but three), but I was very glad to get home again, just in time for school to start.

A Long and (Not Always) Winding Road

My long Wyoming journey ended today after having ridden all the way from Gillette, WY, to Madison, SD, in the rain, some of it with my brother Jess and his wife Rena, who turned for home at Moorcroft, WY. The area needed the moisture; I didn't. This pic is of the crossing at the Cheyenne River out in western SD. Call it "Landscape with Motorcycle." I'll say more about the journey later. I need to dry my boots. 

Motorcycle Diaries: Ain't That a Shane

Those who are looking to South Dakota as an alternative power source had a good example of the potential yesterday as the wind came howling out of the north all evening just as I was making my motorcycle debut as a traveler. It wasn't pretty, as I spent much of the last 60 miles leaned into the wind all along the highway, cruising north along the white-capped river. I came west on 34 across central SD and crossed the river at Ft. Thompson, then up 1806, which was under construction, so I got to try the bike on rutted dirt and gravel.
My short-range tank had me worried, since I didn't gas up in Ft. Thompson and was burning through fuel heading straight into the wind. I didn't think I'd make it, so I stopped at the Goose Camp near Durkin's to try and scavenge some gas, and though the tribe's shop was open, nobody was there, but minutes later Big Shane Durkin cruised in and we got a chance to talk until Mike Ludemann pulled up. They got me topped off and I headed out.
Big Shane found great humor in the state of my saddlebags, since they had settled down on to the tailpipes and burned through the plastic bottom and burned some of the baggage. I had noticed this earlier and stopped and put out my smoldering socks and a pair of jeans that the pipe had burned through, but it took Shane to notice the comic hilarity in the situation. Thanks, Shane!
I will try to keep my sense of humor intact as I continue westward.

A Student Who Made My Day

After meetings this morning and a good lunch with colleagues, working our way into the semester's beginning gradually, I met with a student, one of my advisees, whose progress toward a degree has been spotty and lacking direction, but sometimes marked with notable success. He's trying to get enrolled and on track for completing his degree, but he's not sure about what direction to point himself. I encouraged him, working through some of the possibilities and opportunities he has before him, the promise of more money and a better life that any bachelor's degree will give him. We looked for some time at options and talked about his goals, and he seemed bouyed by the options he had before him. When he left, he told me, "You made my day."
That was enough. I had reached him in the place where he was, drew him out of that, and showed him a better way. And, with that, he had completed the circle, offering me something I wanted too. I'm ready for my next student visitor!

The Presence of Grace in Platte, South Dakota

Night came on to Platte, SD, as those of us in the back of the library, sipping coffee and savoring the novel Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, shared our views and compared versions of our reading. We talked about grace, and forgiveness, and the parable of the prodigal son. We considered the implications of predestination, or the lack of it, and how the characters in the story seek each others' aid and their understanding.
On the drive down to Platte I considered the discussion to come and therefore called my brother to wish him well as he considers returning to school at 48.
After the talk we shared some delicious peach kuchen and apple tart and I learned that one participant's daughter had been my student a few years ago, one whose essay about her drill sargeant has stayed with me. And on the way home I listened for the first time to Bob Dylan's Blonde on Blonde, playing "Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands" over again as I neared home, the spattered remains of insects decorating my windshield.
I'm left with the kindness of those who stopped on their way out of the discussion to thank me for coming, one elderly woman's graceful gesture lingering all the way home.

Summer's Last Days

Here we are on a Sunday night, just before the school year begins--not classes yet, but workshops and get-togethers, updates and new arrivals, changes and more of the same. Tomorrow begins with a breakfast for faculty and staff, then meetings.
But the weather this time of the year is my favorite--warm days and cool nights, crickets at night and cicadas during the day, the smell of harvest, the end of summer overlapping with the anticipation and hope that the new year offers. Add to that the harvest of other people's gardens, and you've got a real delight, not only fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, apples, and melons, but also a possiblity that a beauty like this might come along, the world's most beautiful eggplant, being set in a place of honor by the beautful hands of the wife.

Tomorrow we face the new school year, and I take a trip down to Platte for an evening with the Platte Latte Book Club to discuss Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson.

Gettin' with Junior Brown's Guit-Steel

Junior Brown, who's playing at the Bob Dylan concert on Sept. 8 (for which I have tickets) has been the headlights in my nighttime mirror all day. Here's a video I found of him playing with Redd Voelkert and Jimmy Vaughan live at Antone's in Austin on July 26, 2006. This was the encore, where Junior invited friends who were there to play and they joined him onstage for a 10 minute jam. Lucky lucky me!

Nothing Like Feeling Appreciated

At first we thought the perk was just free tickets to the Canaries game, and we were happy to get that, but LO! we enjoyed far more than that. First, the packet with tickets included free beer coupons, two per ticket, a coupon for a free baseball for each person, and another coupon for a program. That's not all. We also enjoyed free brats, pork sandwiches, and hot dogs and all the fixin's, including chips and drinks. Finally, since it was JB's birthday (close enough), and his daughter informed the Canaries crew, we enjoyed the singing condiments you see pictured here, accompanied by Cagey. We got birthday cake served to us from Cold Stone Creamery. Game recap is here.
It was also "Two Dead Fat Guys" day at the park, commemorating the demise of Babe Ruth and Elvis Presley on this date in history, and many Elvis impersonators were in attendance. The concession stands featured a deep-fried mashed-banana/peanut butter sandwich honoring Elvis. That's a sorry excuse for a Babe impersonator next to Cagey in the photo.
If you've never been to a minor league game, you're missing some of the most fun you can have at a game. The major leagues, college, high-school, children's and even amateur baseball take the game far more seriously than the minors do. The Canaries slogan "Fun is Good" sums up their attitude, and it shows. Antics abound, and activities run through the night. On this night, there were barrel races on bouncy stuffed ponies, dizzy-guy barrel rolling, chase the chicken (a young woman caught him and won two tickets for the Dylan concert), a kid homerun contest (hitting wiffle balls into the stands), trivia contests, and a "catch this chicken in your pants" contest. You had to be there; I've mentioned only a sampling. They played a snippet from an appropriate song for each opposing player ("Brian's Song" for Brian, "Jolly Old St. Nicholas" for Nick). But the big event was giving away a 1995 Dodge Intrepid. A woman came to the game for the fun and drove home in a new (to her) car.
And this is all during the game. It was too bad that the Canaries lost 6-2 to the St. Paul Saints, but we had a good time anyway. Thank you, First Premier Bank, for hosting DSU employees and their guests!

A Summer with Baseball

During my high school days the summers were filled with work, either on a ranch where I rode horses, fixed fence, or drove a tractor, or in town where I helped build the Stanley County Fairgrounds or did some other job. Meanwhile, many of my classmates spent a lot of time on the ballfield. Baseball has never had a great appeal to me, although one fall in Rapid City, I had a roommate, Keith Stern, from Chamberlain, who loved it, and his commentary during the game helped nurture some appreciation. But I did little other than try to catch a game in the World Series and a few games by the college teams. I did see the Royals play once in Kansas City, until this last weekend the only professional sporting event that I had been to. But this summer I've been to several softball games, this weekend's Twins game, and tonight a game at the Birdcage in Sioux Falls to see the Canaries play. What's the world coming to?

Bob at the Birdcage

Here's the skinny. I just ordered tickets for the wife and me to see Bob Dylan in Sioux Falls at the Canaries Birdcage on September 8. Come with us! But get your own tickets. Jimmie Vaughan, Junior Brown, Elana James & The Continental Two are also playing. Cool!

Mainlining the Mall

After long proclaiming that I had no desire to go to the Mall of America and truthfully stating that I had never been there, and then, after last year, saying I'd only been there once, now I have to shut my trap. I've been there three times. I've also been to a Twins game, though I've never seen them win, and I've been to an event in the Metrodome, where, apparently, the feature attraction is Joe Mauer's butt. All that, and with my first time playing Extreme Bocce, it's like I'm spinning in place with the novelty of life. Even the trip home was novel, with a big question mark hovering over the Maxima as we followed 42 west until we found 169 south, where we shopped for apples and bought fudge instead, then detoured into Minnesota Harvest territory on the trail of peaches (only to be disappointed) and emerged in St. Peter, where we cruised the campus at Gustavus Adolphus. We drove through the dark listening to MPR and finally arrived home where over two inches of rain had fallen in our absence.
I also earned the right to be called, briefly, Lord and Master, reigning supreme in the bowling category with daughter, CA, and sontwo. The former Lord and Master was reluctant to forego his title.

Apple Valley Update

Bocci ball has never seen its like with the extreme version played by some of those who claim Apple Valley as residence. Some there wait until dark, fling the little yellow ball as far as they can, over picnic tables, roadways, and trees, up hills and down ravines, and then strain their muscles to score points by heaving and miraculously having your ball land near, or even hit, the target ball (sometimes only to face confrontational discussion over which ball is nearer). I don't think the rules are exactly those proposed by the World Bocce League.

That First Taste of Sand

The new sandbox at the 4H grounds in Howard gave a few toddlers a chance to try out fun in the sand. This little guy might not have minded the flavor, but the grit in his new teeth was a shock to his system. Watching these kids struggle with their earth-moving chores was more fun than any of the scheduled events, even though there was a rodeo component to the showmanship events.

Lapping Up Profits the Talladega Way

In my last post I mentioned that we'd been to see "Talladega Nights," the new movie with Will Ferrell, and since my daughter, probably most faithful of my blog readers, asked what I'd thought of it, I told her, or tried to, and will do so here perhaps more successfully.
My problem is that I'd hoped it would successfully lampoon some of the extreme points of view taken by those we've begun to associate with the Nascar crowd (not that I think it's fair to do so). Throw in some commentary on homophobia, hard-headed religious beliefs, commercialism, declining family values, and international relations, and see how it mixes with the back-slapping, lead-foot, drinkin' and drivin', my country right or wrong crowd. But I don't think it was successfully connecting this lampooning with its audience.
Some of it I liked. Will Ferrell is a funny guy, and he's willing to go the extra mile for the laughs, putting himself and any dignity aside, as in a scene where he runs around the track clad only in his whitey tighteys and his helmet after a wreck. I laughed right along with all the little kids, just like I did when in "Elf" he similarly was silly and innocent. I've seen the "Saturday Night Live" episodes too where Ferrell plays an excellent and hilarious George Bush, and I suspect he's got some critical views of the president's stands.
But if the film is satire, that is, if it means to illustrate the weaknesses of the behaviors depicted, then I'm not sure it works. I need an example here. In one scene a gay Frenchman says he's going to break Ricky Bobby's arm if Ricky doesn't say he likes crepes, or at least thin pancakes--a reasonable compromise, says Cal, Ricky's lifelong "Shake and Bake" buddy and fellow driver. Ricky refuses, partly because the Frenchman is gay, and Jean breaks Ricky's arm. As Ricky is about to faint, he comments on how homosexuality is wrong, ending with a word to Cal: "I love you, buddy." Or words to that effect.
Get it? If it's satire, then you need to get it. You need to hear the enjambment of one kind of love and the other. But I don't think viewers did get it. It's like someone not realizing you're being sarcastic. You've got to explain, or they think you're a fool.
Anyway, I wanted this to be brief. But there were other troubles. Watching Ricky's sons badmouth their grandfather early in the movie was painful in a funny kind of way.
The wife says Ferrell was more often going for the quick and easy laugh, rather than crafting a scene that was funny and telling. I agree. But I do think there's some commentary on contemporary American culture, and I think it's worth seeing, noticing where the film complicates the issues, and yet still keeps the viewer interested.

A Walk in the Woods

It's easy to love a day like today, a cool morning, a gradually appearing sun warming into the afternoon to make all things possible, including a walk at the lake, where I brought my trusty pocket camera and took a few more pictures before the thing destructs like the cheap piece of crap it is. In the meantime, I like having a pocket camera.
The day also included church services, where PW reminded us to shake off the grudges we all bear and open our arms to our fellow strugglers. Then lunch with J, M, and DB to celebrate D's birthday tomorrow and try out M's smokin' new guitar and amp.
Then some lounging about, talking, and a walk at the lake that included some young adults poking at a dead mammal on the road for fun. Otherwise very nice, and I got a chance to show the wife the tree that didn't try to kill me after all.
Finally, we went out and saw the new Will Ferrell movie, about which I will probably have more to say later. Right now I'm trying to think more about Marilynne Robinson's book Gilead, which is incompatible with the kind of crude humor, violence, and commercialism in the film. So I'll return to that novel and let the commentary on the Nascar whoopee sit on the back burner.
 

Humping It Through the Week

The Smith-Zimmermann Museum, of which yours truly stands as board member, vice president of the Lake County Historical Society, had an excellent day today as a couple hundred people showed up for our annual auction, raising about $20,000 for our endowment. Hoo-rah! Most of the items came from Charles Wiedeman, who donated his household goods and two vehicles. Excellent weather and quality items brought out the folks who paid generously for the stuff we'd hauled out of his house and collected from area contributors.
With that done, the Society members breathed a sigh of relief, as the Chautauqua and this auction have kept us hopping recently.
What did I buy? After intense bidding, I managed to snag this cool statue of DSU's fearless leader, General William Henry Harrison Beadle. So what if it needs my crafty attention? I can now return the bust of the General to his old office, now mine.
So what else has been going on? TQ and LS came for beverages last evening, I sent off some Ebay goods that I sold, I got books ordered for classes, I sent off thank-you letters for Chautauqua volunteers and contributors, the wife and I took a trip to Sioux Falls for shopping purposes, I gave some rides on the Magna to three Japanese young men from Tamagawa University (none of whom had ridden on a motorcycle before and one of whom couldn't help squealing like a girl every time I hit the throttle), I got a couple of runs in, I visited with JS after a long day working on the auction, and I visited EJ who showed me what was new with his hot rods. Busy.

I Take My Camera Running

Okay, so they aren't great pictures. But I can stuff the camera in my shorts and nobody notices. Today the heat wave broke and it rained and everyone backed away from the knife drawers and gun cabinets and sighed in relief, happy with the long rain, the cool evening, and the crickets. And running in the rain is a treat after so much heat. I took my new little camera on my run with me this morning and snapped a few shots. In some ways the photos have a strange kind of war-zone quality, as though I were smuggling them through the mullahs in the cavity of a camel tooth, hoping the west would soon learn of the tragedy of truck wheels in the creek bed, a newly discarded TV face down in the pool of water.
How, I wonder, does someone decide, "I have this TV. I think I will throw it into the bed of the creek!" Maybe they've seen other TV's in other creeks and appreciated the concept. Maybe they'd seen other household appliances and considered, "What this creek could really use now is a TV!" So they load up their TV in the trunk of their car, bring is specially to this creek, and heave it over the fence into the water.
Maybe they've watched Letterman's crew throwing appliances off the roof of a tall building, so they hit the back alley with a satisfying smash, glass and fragments of plastic flying. So they drag this old TV out to the creek, hoist it over their heads thinking of that satisfying whollop, and then heave it over the barbed wire, only to have it plop into the muck. Maybe that's satisfying enough.
More satisfying, I suspect, than watching the corn turn brown, way too early, with the recent rain too late to save it.