Monthly Archives: October 2011

Laughter is the best medicine

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It happened when I was admiring the selection at the free sample counter at theJellyBellyCenterin Pleasant Prairie,Wis.There was a family of four standing next to me — a dad, a mom, a son and a daughter.

I really hadn’t paid any attention to them until the dad, in obvious discomfort, started to gag and moan.

Curious, I looked over at him and heard his wife say, “Why would you do that?” half in question and half in disbelief.

“What did you think it was going to taste like?” she asked him, a smirk forming on her face.

Meanwhile, the little old lady working the sample counter stuck her Jelly Belly scoop into a fruity-flavored bean bin and offered the victim an alternative to the taste of bile in his mouth.

Yes, this dad — perhaps trying to impress his children — dared to try the Vomit bean from the Harry Potter Jelly Belly collection.

Needless to say, the bean was pretty much right on in flavor.

Really, how does Jelly Belly expect to make any money on a jelly bean that tastes like vomit?

Well, I have an idea … albeit a bit too late to have fun with.

Wouldn’t it have been hilarious to buy a package of the Harry Potter Jelly Belly beans — containing the flavors of grass, rotten eggs, dirt, earwax, earthworms, soap, sausage, boogers and black pepper — and put them in a candy dish in the newsroom? They would have to be mixed with the good-tasting Jelly Belly beans just to add to the suspense.

Copy editor Joe and I shared a good laugh just thinking about the myriad of reactions that could crop up from oh, say a taste of rotten eggs. I’m not sure I would ever trust a candy dish filled with Jelly Bellies again.

If you ever get in the neighborhood of southeastern Wisconsin, a trip to the JellyBellyCenteris well worth it (check them out at www.jellybelly.com). They offer free tours aboard the Jelly Belly Express Train, which we embarked on during a stop there in 2003. This time, we stopped for the Belly Flops — the malformed, perfectly-flavored Jelly Belly beans offered at steep discounts. Mom bought packages for all of the grandkids, while I saved my money for the needlework shop stops later in our vacation.

While I had a good laugh at theJellyBellyCenter, I also got the giggles in the middle of the “Lincoln’s Eyes” show in the Union Theater during our visit to the Lincoln Presidential Museum inSpringfield,Ill.

Abraham Lincoln's Tomb

The museum is well worth the admission price if you are ever in theSpringfieldarea. It’s life-like figures of Abraham Lincoln, Civil War soldiers and slave traders are incredibly detailed, and the museum’s Holavision Theater is one of only three in theUnited States, I was told.

The Holavision Theater boasts a wonderful presentation of Ghosts of the Library, but the Union Theater, equipped with mechanics under the theater seats, will have you rocking and shaking to the sounds of Civil War battle.

The film certainly isn’t one to incite laughter, however there were several rows of middle school students seated behind us.

At the point in the film where John Wilkes Booth burst in on Abraham Lincoln in Ford’s Theater and fired his fatal shot, the boom ricocheted through the theater and our rocking seats shook in response.

The theater was quiet … well, except for this one boy who must have been seated fairly close behind me.

“I think I need to go home and change my pants,” I heard him say.

I tried really, really hard not to laugh out loud … I mean, the president had just been shot. So, there I sat with my hand over my mouth, trying my best to zone back in on the story of our 16th president.

Anyway, the entire museum is fascinating, and there are several otherLincolnexhibits throughoutSpringfield, includingLincoln’s tomb in the local cemetery.

On the road with Greta

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About a week before my planned vacation was to begin, my mom asked me where we were going.

“Going? I don’t know,” was my reply. I hadn’t really thought about going anywhere. I was in the midst of stitching a hardanger table runner, the house needed a good fall clean-up and I had a stash of books stacked on the staircase that I wanted to read.

Rawley Point Light

But, the question had been asked … and the urge to travel had been sparked.

Things to see inNew Orleans,NashvilleandKentuckywere pondered, but we opted for a four-state loop that took us along the shores of Lake Michigan, into the heart ofChicagoand through corn and soybean country in centralIllinois.

In other words, it was the Lighthouse andLincolntour.

While I could plan an entire trip around lighthouses, lighthouse tours, lake walks, maritime museums and needlework shops, my parents would prefer to see other things … like the Jelly Belly Factory, corn and soybean fields and the Lincoln Presidential Library & Museum.

Port Washington Light

Motel brochures and Greta Garmin’s suggestions helped round out our 1,600-mile, five-day, four-state loop.

While I’d love to share a little bit about each of the 12 lighthouses we visited on this journey, there simply isn’t enough space. The highlights included tours of North Point Light atMilwaukeeand Old Southport Light atKenosha, both of which are quite picturesque. Other favorites were Wind Point Light,Port Washingtonand Rawley Point lights.

Prior to the journey, I’d never intended to see the Chicago Harbor Light, but after two days on the road with Greta Garmin, I was feeling like I could drive anywhere and get us out of any mess thanks to Greta’s lovely method of “recalculating.”

North Point Light

Besides, a brochure we’d found about the Navy Pier made a stop sound rather appealing. I was even thinking of taking a ride on the pier’s Ferris Wheel to see theChicagoskyline. (The Ferris Wheel wasn’t operating that day — it may have had something to do with it being a Monday in the middle of October. Nevertheless, I can confidently say I did not chicken out!)

The drive out ofChicagowas worse than the drive in. We were stuck in traffic, and some really angry guy actually jumped out of his truck in the middle of it to shout obscenities and lunge at the car next to him. We wide-eyed Minnesotans made sure our doors were locked and said a little prayer that Greta would get us safely out of the city!

Wind Point Light

It was shortly after that experience that Dad, riding in the back seat, started to ask questions about Greta, the know-it-all GPS system that directed me through inner-city traffic and along interstate highways.

He wanted to know how it worked, what direction it was taking us and … most of all, how she knew so much.

I simply shrugged and said it didn’t matter. Appreciate Greta for what she can do — put us on the right path, direct us to a nearby motel and give us an array of restaurants, from any cuisine, to choose from — all at the touch of a fingertip.

So, still sitting inChicagotraffic, I said, “It’s the Christmas gift that keeps on giving. Thanks again, Mom and Dad!”

Old Southport (Kenosha) Light

Next time, however, I say we stay out ofChicago.

Grosse Point Light

The unwelcome fishing buddy

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I have never felt the urge to take my dog, Molly, fishing with me and, after this afternoon, I’m pretty sure I won’t feel the urge again for a good, long while.

You see, I was feeling a little guilty for not spending a whole lot of time with my loveable mutt these past couple of months. I’ve been busy with work, busy with 4-H and basically, too busy being busy!

So, with another day of vacation ahead of me, and an absolutely gorgeous day to be outside, I just had to go fishing.

The car was loaded with my tackle box, fishing rods and a niece and nephew before I climbed in and took one look outside the front window of my little blue car.

There, at the front of the garage stood Miss Molly. Her tail was wagging, her tongue was hanging out and she had tears streaming down her face. (Well, alright, maybe not that last part, but she looked like a rather sad pooch with those big, brown, pleading eyes.)

Who can say “no” to a face like that?

I stepped out of the car, opened the back door and, before I could say, “Let’s go, Molly,” she had jumped up on the back seat and sat down next to niece Katie. In appreciation for the car ride, she snuck up and hit my cheek with her cold nose before the car was even out of the driveway.

Our destination was a small pond, set back in a wildlife area where I knew Molly would have plenty of space to enjoy an afternoon outing. She’s been there before, but usually we just stop down in the bunny park for her to run and, well, chase bunnies.

As we walked toward the pond, Molly leaped like a deer through the tall grass one second, and had her nose to the ground the next. She’s rather entertaining to watch … but not so entertaining when it came to me wanting to fish.

I barely had my line in the water and my chair unfolded before I realized Molly’s first attempt at being a fishing buddy wasn’t going to go well.

She had found a garter snake.

I hate (fear) snakes … all snakes!

Molly knows this, and kills them for me. (Well, at least that’s my interpretation of the “gifts” she leaves all around the farm yard.)

Snake No. 1 faced a quick death a good distance down the path from where I fished.

Snake No. 2 … and this was when I screamed the loudest … was played with like a whip by my Molly. With instant visions of her losing her death grip on the snake and it flinging through the air and landing anywhere within 10 feet of me, I screamed for her to get away from me … and then I screamed at nephew Zach to handle the situation. He’s a boy, and boys ought to be able to take care of snakes (Well, except my Uncle Eldy and cousin Chad, with whom I share my snake phobia!)

Snake No. 3 was actually left behind by Molly to twist and turn in the grass. As I was moving to a different fishing spot, I caught a glimpse of it, screamed really loud and – again – yelled at Zach to take care of the situation.

As if Molly’s snake encounters weren’t bad enough, something apparently caught her eye at the corner of the pond and she took a mad dash for it – right along the shore line. She snapped Dad’s line, caused a fish to jump straight out of the water and got herself completely wet in the process.

That’s it!

Molly went home … with Dad … in the truck.

The fading sun

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I absolutely love this time of year, when the leaves turn their beautiful shades of oranges, yellows and reds, and then fall from the trees and crunch under foot.

I like driving down country roads and seeing the combines chewing up stalks and spitting everything but those little golden nuggets of corn out the back end.

I relish the cooler evening temperatures, pumpkins and hoarding a supply of squash for the winter.

Really, the only bad things about the fall are that the sun sets too early, and those darn box elder bugs won’t leave me alone.

With the prospect of a Tuesday afternoon out of the office, I couldn’t get this blog written fast enough. I haven’t seen my pooch Molly in, I think, about three weeks — and it has been equally as long since I’ve taken the four-wheeler out for a spin.

I can’t forget the camera to capture some of the beauty found in the back pasture. Oh, the prairie flowers have all pretty much disappeared, but there’s still beauty to be found — somewhere — and I intend to find it.

By Saturday, with the start of the pheasant hunting season, my travels to the back pasture will be limited so as not to annoy the hunters next door — or somehow end up in the line of fire.

I suppose I can find something else to do instead, like rake the leaves in my back yard and let the neighbor kids jump in them.

Fall — it’s my favorite season. We won’t talk about the season that follows!

A marvelous, fabulous journey

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When a reporter has a hard time putting into words the personal thoughts, emotions and experiences of Honor Flight, it sort of puts into perspective what this trip means to those of us lucky to have accompanied World War II veterans toWashington,D.C., to view their memorial.

Even now, two days after returning from the journey, I get a lump in my throat when I think about all of the wonderful men and women I’ve met on the trio of flights I was so fortunate to be a part of.

Before the tears completely take over and I can no longer see my keyboard, I want to express my sympathy to the family of Bud Meyers, of Windom. Bud was one of the World War II heroes I interviewed prior to this final flight, and he was so looking forward to the trip. He died last Wednesday morning, and the news cast a pall on my pre-flight preparations. I felt like I’d been sucker-punched.

I didn’t know Bud like his family or friends knew him, certainly. I spent an hour — maybe two — listening to his harrowing stories of war. He landed onIwo, delivered soldiers to shore for the invasion ofOkinawaand survived a virtual kamikaze attack on land armed only with a carbine rifle and a 20-shot clip.

After all of those stories, you know what he said to me?

“It was a very interesting part of my life.”

That quote alone says a lot about the men and women who sacrificed so much so future generations could live in the land of the free.Americatruly is the home of the brave.

On Monday, I spent much of my time talking to members of the Honor Flight Southwest Minnesota committee, asking for their final thoughts — their most cherished memories — about the four flights and the 435 World War II veterans with whom they shared this journey.

That story, along with several others, will be included in a special Honor Flight edition that prints with this Saturday’s Daily Globe.

 As I ponder writing that special piece, I’d like to share with you my most cherished memory of this entire Honor Flight experience.

It began with a request from my publisher to attend a meeting of an Honor Flight committee that was forming. We traveled to Luverne on Dec. 15, 2009, to listen in on discussions about how we could raise money to take our World War II veterans toWashington,D.C., to view their memorial.

Joni and I left the meeting that night committed to publishing a feature story on a World War II veteran in our paper every week, starting on Dec. 24, and continuing until we had enough money raised for the trip.

Nineteen weeks — 19 World War II stories — later, we were in the air and bound for our nation’s capital city. I wrote all but one of the stories leading up to that first flight and had an amazing experience just visiting with veterans who are too humble to call themselves heroes. Between flights two, three and four, the Daily Globe published another 30 pre-flight feature stories on our World War II veterans. Two years, 49 feature stories and not a one of the stories we heard was the same.

It just goes to show that everyone truly does have a story to tell.

There is a sign I hung just above the doorway in my home that reads, “Home is where the story begins.”

When I bought it, I thought it was neat because I prefer to write from home, in the quiet solitude of my makeshift office.

Now, it has a different meaning — actually, a reminder — to always take the time to sit and listen to the stories of our greatest generation before they are lost forever.

All of the Honor Flight veterans will understand when I say this experience opened them up to actually talk about what they saw, what they did and how they endured the events of a world at war. I can’t recall how many times families of featured veterans came up to me after a story was in print and said, “I didn’t know that about dad,” or “He’s never shared that with me during all the years we’ve been married.”

Well, now is your chance to listen to those stories. There is no time like the present.

People have said I’m lucky to have been able to experience three journeys with Honor Flight. No one knows that more than me, and I can’t thank the Honor Flight committee enough for allowing me to be a part of such a wonderful project.

Most of all, I want to issue a thanks and a challenge to all of you. Thanks for your donations to Honor Flight, thanks for taking a Deep Freeze Dip or buying a button, thanks to the sponsors, the guardians, the medical staff and everyone else who helped in any way to make this dream come true for the 435 World War II veterans who traveled with us.

As for the challenge — please, please take the time to visit with these people. Ask them to share their stories with you — and be prepared to get lessons in geography and history — there’s nothing better than hearing stories from those who were there.

I will forever cherish the one-on-one, in-home interviews I conducted with these veterans. I can say, without a doubt, it was the highlight of my life.