What are you drinkin?

For some reason while waiting for breakfast to arrive, the word "pop" raced across my mind. Now I was sitting in Indiana where I remember at some time in the past, someone asked me to pick up "pop"; but they meant "diet coke". If you have read any amount of my stuff, you will know that I am one of those people who try to use words that mean what they mean. In this day when that concept has been tossed aside, I find myself at odds quite a lot of the time. (That means "often".) I had just last week lamented while reading a scientific article how the piece would have been much more clear if they had paid attention to the words they used. (I need to take a disclaimer here). I do know that I am not an English Scholar and most likely use many words incorrectly, but I'm tryin..
I have probably written before about one of my major pet peeves, "Worsened"... I didn't like it before it became an accepted word and I still don't. Now I hear it on world wide newscasts. I believe the more descriptive and correct term would be "became more severe".... In my protest, I often say  it became "worser"... Funny  thing is that as I write this, even my spell checker accepts worsened.... It's a conspiracy I tell you. Well, I have now taken you down another one of my classic rabbit trails; where was I?
So my introduction to the Hoosier pop meaning coke in this case, while in Illinois it is soda, in the 40s and 50s "soda pop" and in the south according to Jerry Clower; (here's a link for those who don't know Jerry although this story isn't the one to which I refer.,) Jerry Clower utube Jerry talks about Marcell who had been cuttin pulpwood yelled through the screen door at the station: "Hand me one of them knee high sody waters"  so here is yet another name for the beverage. Did you actually follow that? You ARE good!  As I find quite often; when I went searching for definitions, I found that I didn't really need to finish this post because it has already been done by many. However, I persist too much anyway, so I'll give you those links for a better understanding: It appears that "pop" is more of a British term and considered "old fashioned" in the USA POP , while "Soda" may be more "up to date" (as incorrect as it may be) You will see that the correct term is actually "soft drink" in deference to "hard drinks" which are alcoholic. SODA. I, however, must disagree with "hard drinks" being necessarily alcoholic. The advertisers (another group of low lifes in my book) have successfully convinced our youth (I am now 70) that energy comes in a little can or bottle. I will try to keep this short, but what a scam. Every time I see a commercial of some big hunk taking that little red and yellow, black and blue (those colors should tell you something)  in their fingertips, I picture my little sister at her little red and white table and chairs having a tea party with her dolls and picking up that tiny cup in her fingertips. (another trail). I know that I am also not a physiology major, but my goodness what are these people thinking? There are those who can't function until  they have drugged themselves with caffeine to start their day. Maybe so, but after you have worn your body and mind to a frazzle, the thought of downing some concoction to "give you energy" to make it through the rest of the day???? I can see those poor little adrenal glands gasping as the chemicals wring out the last drop. Anyone who has been with a 2-4 year old after a "sugar high" knows that effect. Is that the way we want our minds to function while trying to finish a task??? Now we have a generation becoming (becoming?) hooked on energy. Go out to the bar and order up a pitcher of vodka and Red Bull???? And be responsible for what happens? I don't think so. A few months ago I witnessed an 8 year old boy begging his mom for money so he could go to the station to get an energy drink?????? I bout tossed my cookies. I'll let that one drop; I think you get that message.
Well one more rant about stimulants. TV and Radio. Probably my age, but I am really sick of the idea that to make the broadcast "interesting" they feel they must play that driving "music" in the background. From "reality" shows to even olympic trials there is hype, hype, hype... with that background noise to keep you "up".... While watching Michael Phelps dominate again I found myself edging nearly off the couch til we turned on the mute for some reason and actually settled back in my seat. No wonder people feel they need energy; the TV (and radio too) just draws the energy from you. Noise, noise Here is one definition of the word; Notice that even on the website, there is "visual noise".... what to do???? NOISE DEFINED

Now that I have laid everyone else low regarding the drink of choice, I must confess that if you see me around, you will find me with my trusty gaudy Bubba Keg full of unsweetened tea... Not necessarily iced tea, but it is tea. I must try the decaf version to see if I too am hooked on the stimulant. OK OK, I know; why not water????) You're absolutely correct. (Notice I said correct, not right; in my business "right" has another meaning relative to "left". But in the other context I would be "left" out if I were "wrong". LOL; Which is another issue; when we started texting, I was sending LOL meaning Lots of Love.... Boy did I ruffle some feathers with that mistake.
 Another trip back to the stimulants; when I got my CPAP, I found that the best stimulant was SLEEP. Not too much, but enough to allow the body to replenish for the next day. I have now confused myself and lost about 3 trains of thought that came up and went during this posting. I'll leave you with some images to ponder.

Cutting the Cheese

For some reason this morning while fixing lunch including a new cheese (to me) that I picked up at Whole Foods (another new experience for me), I was cutting that cheese and notice that I was releasing an odor; pleasant in this case. Viola!!! Aha!!! It hit me. Since childhood I have known that phrase that would pop out when someone passed gas, flatuated, farted, had an oh oh... etc. "Who Cut the Cheese". I had stumbled onto the meaning and origin of that phrase.... So, not one to let it go at that, I thought I should "look it up".. Here's one site: Phrases.org. I found it interesting that at the end, they talked about my discovery, but spend a lot of space on stuff that makes not sense to me, including a suggestion that it began in the US between 1965 and 1970. I know that is wrong. I'm old enough to know better.
Another site also quotes this American Regional English Dictionary on the 1965 reference. ChaCHa
Then I find that some guy named Jim Dawson actually wrote a book on the subject: Dawson Book
So I guess there is no need for me continue with this. Need Birthday gift suggestions anyone? How about a coffee table book for those dead times in conversation????
I haven't read the book, but until I do, I will stand by my discovery and believe the phrase actually came from someone preparing a meal and cutting odiferous cheese while someone nearby noticed the smell and made the remark. In the days before refrigeration that account was surely rather common. I expect it then morphed to the present day use when someone couldn't hold their wind and was ratted out by another with a rather keen sniffer.

Cheese 
If you have no idea of which I speak, here's your cultural enlightenment for today.
Confederate Railroad

And for more culture. analyze what is really going on in this series of photos centered around Prince Phillip.

And another memory sparked

Riding my bike to breakfast in the crisp morning Indiana air reminded me of the morning dip about this time of year at 4H camp. I attended the Kosciusko County Indiana 4H camp pretty much every year from the time I was 11 to 20. I started as a green little snot-nosed kid and ended up a junior counselor and counselor. Many memories from what seemed to be summer long events in the early years, when in fact were 3 day camps. I made many friends there although at the point I can only remember a few: Phil Nelson from Mentone, Carol Emmons from Warsaw stand out.
It is amazing how perspective changes. In the early years, the camp was held at Lake McClure which according to internet sources is now called "McClure's Lake".. Maybe that was the name back then, but we called it Lake McClure. I can remember packing up and making that long drive to the wilderness where my folks dropped me (and later my sister and me) off for what seemed to be the whole summer in the early days. Not only was the perspective of time off a bit, but the trip also was not quite the trek I had imagined. As I found out after I grew up, maybe at 16 or 17) it was apparently all of about 6-8 miles from home. See the Google Earth image below with the path traced in yellow. We lived about 3 miles north east of Silver Lake and Lake McClure is a bit further to the northwest. Speaking of Lakes, it still seems strange to me that most kids today, especially around where we live now only think of swimming in "Cement Ponds" as Jethro called them on Beverly Hillbillies. Kosciusko County, Indiana boasted of 97 lakes and I think we swam in most of them. There was nothing more refreshing after a hard day of working in the hot sun than jumping off the end of the pier into the Lake. Silver Lake and Hill Lake were our favorites; probably because they were so close. McClure's Lake is also one of those Natural Lakes of Kosciusko county. I did a little search and came up with a partial listing of only 58 lakes on this cools site about Indiana's clean lakes program. Kosciusko County Lakes  I mention the refreshing feeling of jumping into the lake, but need to go back to the original feeling that stimulated this post. At 6:30 AM in early June that morning air is downright cold. At that time the refreshing cool water actually felt warm. The cold part was running to the pier, tossing your towel aside and jumping in the air as well as the more severe chill when you came out and grabbed the towel to get dry as soon as possible. Ah, you were AWAKE... Before you start yelling about the cruel counselors who made us endure that torture, I must tell you that the Morning Dip was voluntary. The lazy butts who passed it up would sit at 7am breakfast half asleep while the "dippers" were chattering away about the dip and the day to come.
I have to admit that the name of the lake wasn't at the forefront of my memory, so I went Googling to find it. Google Earth showed me that although the 4H camp had moved out somewhere during my mid teens, there is still a camp operating on that site; a conservation camp. Here's the link. WOW!!! Camp Mollenhour Same lake, different kids and updated facilities. When we were there there was a large (huge to an 11-year-old) hall built into the hill where we ate downstairs and had classes, meetings, etc. upstairs. East of that were the meeting grounds with girls cabins on the north and boys on the south. Both were surrounded by large trees. The cabins were pretty much as you might see as the barracks in GI Jane or other such military movies with bunks lining the walls and large flaps covering the screened "windows". The cross breeze was heavenly til you had to jump out of bed in the morning and run to the lake for the dip. A favorite thing to do in the middle of the night was to wait til the counselor was asleep, then sneak out of the cabin and go drop the flaps on other cabins (especially girl's cabins). If you did it well, in a coordinated manner, the silence of night would be broken by the large "slap, slap, slap" of a number of flaps hitting the cabin walls as the props were jerked away. Of course as you ran back to your cabin, you would be met at the door by your cabin counselor in his skivies and a scowl. The small detention or duty was worth the adventure. Along with meetings and classes there were crafts. I remember the agonizing process of choosing which craft to go for each year. One year I made a red and white woven plastic belt which during our first year of marriage was used to hold the passenger side door shut on our yellow 1956 Crown Victoria. What a site that was. Aside from the fashion statement it wasn't a problem because the car had bench seats and Georgia hardly ever sat on the right 1/3 of the seat (giggle giggle)...
Before I leave the "chilly morning" theme, I should mention that during those days except when away from home, I hardly ever wore a shirt after 9am. I typically wore a white T-shirt to do the morning chores, then off it came til late at night. If I was extremely careful, I could wear the same shirt several days in a row before I got tomato juice or something else. (See post of August 10, 2011; Ode to the Vine Ripened Tomato).
I mentioned above that the 4H camp moved during my later teen years. That move was to a more modern facility with concrete "outhouses" and showers along with other updated amenities. Although it was nicer there were the complaints about the increase in camp fees and for those of us in southern Kosciusko County, the longer drive. Silver Lake and Lake McClure are in they southern most townships of the county while the new camp was at Dewart Lake in the northern part of the county. You can find Dewart on the Kosciusko County Lakes link above. It was at that camp that I did my Elvis impersonation as an entry in the annual talent show. I'm sure it was terrible with the out of tune twangy guitar and most likely off key singing. I'm thinking I did "You Ain't Nuthin But a Hound Dog"... but not sure. Bad singing, bad guitar, but I thought I had the "look". I'll end this post with pictures. The long drive to the wilderness of Lake McClure; me with a couple of my 4H pigs, my ducktail hair do, and my 4H trophies. I had piles of 4H ribbons from those 11 years in the club, but they didn't make the transition to my adult life. I still have not mastered the art of posting pictures in this blog, so won't guarantee the order;

Map to Lake McClure

Regional Cuisine

Chicken Fried

Country Fried

Swiss Steak

Years ago while living in Georgia, I remember a colleague from Lubbock, Texas (who looked like Buddy Holly)(you make the connection)..... was raving about "Chicken Fried Steak". My Hoosier head went spinning. I somehow got the description that it was steak fried like Chicken. Sounded like Swiss Steak to me, but maybe more crispy. So I went about my business over the years feeling like those crazy Texans had a weird way to describe that food. A few years ago, the Zack Brown Band (Aren't they from Georgia????) came out with their hit song "Chicken Fried" Chicken Fried Lyrics  Don't know how I missed that during the years we lived in Georgia. Fast forward to last fall in Gas City, Indiana (yes, back in Hoosierland). I'm sitting at breakfast at the B&B and gazing at the "Daily Special" on the chalkboard. There I see "Country Fried Steak".... Hmmmmm So I asked Deb to explain, telling her I knew about Chicken Fried Steak, so what was the difference? She had never heard of Chicken Fried (so she said), but her description of "Country Fried" sounded very close, in fact the same. Well, I couldn't leave it there, so went on yet another internet hunt. Apparently I wasn't the only one with that question as I found several descriptions. I'll post one here, but basically although some feel it is the same thing cooked in different localities, Chicken Fried supposedly is more crispy and is usually served with white gravy while Country Fried is served with brown gravy. Country-Fried-Steak-Versus-Chicken-Fried-Steak.  Sounds a lot like a crispy version of Swiss Steak. I felt rather smug now that I had unraveled yet another mystery. Recently at the B&B enjoying my breakfast, I glance up at the "Daily Special" board to see; "Chicken Steak". I about spit out my crispy fried potatoes with onions (what a waste that would have been). Before you health nuts crawl all over me for my choice.... I only get a 1/2 order, OK???? With ONE egg and ONE piece of toast. (and sausage links??) When Deb came to refill my coffee cup, I had to ask.... Seems Chicken Steak is a piece of breaded chicken breast.   Maybe we should call it "Steak Fried Chicken"??? 

Just a nice little story

A year ago this week, we were driving from home to Corvallis, OR and met a nasty storm in Lincoln, NE. At home they had around 20 inches of snow. So different from this week. Yesterday the weather was so nice that I decided that rather than driving the mile and a half to the post office, I should ride the bicycle. Nearly the entire bike route is on a concrete bike path that picks up in our addition, just around the corner, crosses 2 bridges, and dumps me out on Main Street. All but about a quarter mile is visible from the road. (This will mean something later.)
I decided to tuck the extra garage door opener in my pocket so it would be easier to get back in when I returned. I set out, enjoying the gorgeous weather and feeling good about the exercise for my knee (and the rest of my body). Arrived at the post office to pick up the mail being held because I had planned to be gone. My departure was delayed, so I wanted to pick up any held mail before paying bills. The only piece of mail was the water bill.
I finished my business there and headed out for home. As I crossed the second bridge I remembered passing a young man buried in his electronic device and earbuds. I decided to drop by the pharmacy to check on a couple of prescriptions before going back home. Having the good feeling of exercise and accomplishment, I arrived at home and reached for the garage door opener, but it wasn't there. Panic hit immediately. I pictured some unscrupulous person finding the opener and driving up and down the streets pushing the button til a door opened. I had carried a backpack for the mail, but it wasn't there. That opener was no where. The logical next move would have been to get back on the bike and retrace my route. I really wasn't up to that. The alternative was to get in the car and retrace as much as possible. I followed my route to the trail and found nothing. However, as I turned around and headed for the pharmacy, I saw that young man walking in our neighborhood. I pulled up beside him and said "Sir..... Sir"... Now I tend to bristle when younger folks call me "Sir" cause it feels old, however I couldn't think of anything else to call him. I guess I could have said "young man".... but that would have really made me feel old. I did get his attention and he smiled and asked what I needed. I explained that I had passed him earlier on my bike and lost my garage door opener. He said that he hadn't seen it, but if I would give him my number he would keep an eye out on his trip back to town.
I went on to the pharmacy and asked Jodi if I had dropped it in there. Negatory (Sorry I had to use that. That's from CJ McCall's trucking "songs". ) I went on to the post office. As I drove along, I scanned as much of the bike path as possible, taking care to not run into anyone or anything on the road. Asked Patty at the post office and left my number there. As I got back in the car to continue my search, my phone rang. I need to insert here that earlier, my prayer was, "Lord, here I am needing your help again. You know where the opener is and I ask that you would let me know where it is." I didn't recognize the number on my phone, but answered it. I think he said his name was Mike, but he was the guy I had talked to earlier. He had my opener. I thanked him and thanked God and we set a place to meet.
He was walking on that part of the path that was hidden from the highway and streets when a young lady pushing a stroller said, "did you lose a garage door opener".. He said, "No, but I know whose it is."... As I was heading to the post office, I saw this young lady and almost stopped to ask her about the opener, but there really wasn't a good place for me to pull over near her. Those who know me, know that I much prefer the country or small town to city dwelling. This little story illustrates my reasoning. I am so thankful for honest helpful people.
Another interesting little piece of this story is why that young man was walking. He was somewhat ill and was home from work because of that. In addition, he was trying to train for a 5K run on Saturday, but because of the illness decided to take an extended walk instead.
Then I think of the orchestration God used to answer my prayer. All of this was set in motion before I had even dropped the opener. This young man and I had noticed each other as I passed him earlier. As I was looking for the opener, he was right there where I couldn't miss him. When the young lady found the opener, there he was ready to take the baton and pass it on. That's my little story about a scare and salvation. Just in case I bored you and wasted your time, here's a link to help you understand the small town mentality.

http://vevo.ly/i07fHO

What's wrong with this picture?

I know you might think the oddity is that there is a fish swimming down the highway. I gleaned this picture via my friend Becki's comment on a picture posted on facebook by one of her friends in Oregon January 20 during their torrential rains. You literary folks can have fun with that sentence. Well that's not the strange thing I want to talk about. It's February and Georgia and I are in the Midwest. If you've followed this blog, you will know that it was started in January 2008 as we set out for our first ever trip to the Pacific Northwest; Corvallis, Oregon to be exact. Since that time, each year, we have spent February and part of March helping out and seeing the sights at and around Oregon State University. Many of the posts on this blog describe the amazing sights, people, and eating establishments we encountered either on our way to and from OSU or during our stints there. This summer after I had regained function of my right leg following knee replacement, I checked in to see what was up at OSU to find that they had hired their second radiologist and would no longer require my services. Although we were happy for them in this quest for acquiring perminant faculty, we were saddened that our fairy tale had come to an end.
We developed good relationships with Dave who manages the Corvallis Depot Suites where we stayed in Corvallis, Sherry and Juli who handled the fiscal issues at OSU, Dr. Cebra, who afforded us the opportunity, the IT folks who put up with my loss of memory and other inane requests. Too many faculty and staff members at vetmed to mention made us feel at home in their shop, especially those in imaging as well as 5 classes of graduate OSU veterinarians. This included renewing relationships with several former Illinois veterinarians who are/were at OSU.  In addition we made neet contacts with the folks at New Morning Bakery, Cirello's Pizza, the Lodge at Suttle Lake, and the couple in that cute little house along the track in Corvallis. (Seems her name may be Laura???
Although we hope to visit again, "just for fun", we're also hopeful that both of the Radiologists at OSU will be invited to give papers at the same time at some international conference, so we can be invited to fill in.
However, Dave; feel free to consider the stuff we left in your Speeder Shed as your own. Also, I hope the benches by the door remind you of us each time you lay something on them so you can lock or unlock the door.  Dr. Steiger, consider the teaching material on the web site as your own.
Our biggest lament is that we never got to see the Painted Hills of Eastern Oregon. http://paintedhillsvacation.com/  We came so close on our last trip, but had to make a quick trip and felt it was not feasible to swing by there. I'm sure there are other equally wonderful places we've missed, but we really got to see a lot of them. We thank all the folks in the Corvallis area as well as those along the way for some fantastic experiences, and for making us feel at home. Thank You, Thank You, Thank You!!!

Random thoughts again

Tony's BLT

OK, let's start this with a little reminder of an earlier post about the Tomato and BLT. Saturday after returning to Gas City from a great day of visiting, I watched an interesting show with "the girls". It was about wonderful and outlandish sandwiches. I was taken by the "Ultimate BLT" served at Tony's I-75 Restaurant in Birch Run, Michigan. As you look at the picture of Tony's BLT, you should notice that something seems to be missing (or covered).... Does look tasty!!! If it looks good to you, here's a blog that may interest you.  http://baconation.blogspot.com/

Back to my visits on Saturday. For the first time since, I think last spring, I got to go visit with my sister. Sadly her husband was out of town to a Lion's Club meeting for the day, but we talked, laughed and ate the remains of her wonderful Beef, Barley, soup... mmm good. It does seem that as the years go by, we find ourselves agreeing on more issues and values.  That sibling relationship is rich and valuable. There are many things that can come along in life to strain those relationships, but they are so valuable and worth preserving.

From there, I finally made connection with Art and Pat Windmiller. Art was the high school coach when we, the class of 1960 were in "junior high". I remember him most as the coach and in "study hall", although he also taught math.Our class has reconnected with them in the past few years and it is really great tht this reconnection has occurred.  Don't remember if I have posted this before, but we have another connection in that their son Bob played baseball and basketball at the University of Illinois in the late 60's (while we were at the University of Georgia).  I was met almost immediately with a cup of coffee and a tray full of local Heyerly's "rolls"... some fantastic "donuts". Couldn't find a website, but if find yourself south of Ft. Wayne, Indiana, it must be worth a stop. Here's a link: http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/148/928222/restaurant/Fort-Wayne/Heyerly-Bakery-Ossian. Ossian is south on State Road 1. If you happen to know who Art and Pat Windmiller are, I advise you to look them up also. They aren't difficult to find and it is so worth your while to spend some time renewing that old relationship. We talked about folks we knew in Silver Lake, Basketball in Silver Lake, colleges and even the Pacers. (Pat's apparently a devout Pacer's fan, but they had the Illinois/ Nebraska game on the TV while we visited and she was pulling for Nebraska... What's up with that. There I was retired from the University of Illinois after 30 + years, and their own son played for the U of I and she was cheering for Nebraska.... Hmmmm. Oh well. "we" won. Funny thing is that the game was really in the background as we visited. When I started this paragraph I said that he was "the" coach.... Not the basketball coach, the football coach.... etc. You see there were 25 people who graduated from SLHS in 1960. In our class maybe 5 or 6 guys were involved in sports. I'm sure it was similar when Art was coaching there. Those few guys were the basketball, baseball, track, and cross country teams. Weren't enough to field a football or tennis team. I think I did this "big fish in a little pond" theory before, so won't go there again. The point is that for guys in multiple sports you didn't have the coaches fighting over them cause they were the same coach. Notice I said "guys"... sad to say that at that time sports were primarily a "guy thing"..
We talked a little about WW II which of course I only can relate to through movies, books and conversation with those who "were there". Reminded me of an interview I had just heard on WDWS radio. A local "Mahomet" man, Kevin Brooks, had collaborated on a book called Glider Infantryman about their experiences riding gliders behind enemy lines at Normandy. Wow. What little we know. Here's a link for that: http://www.amazon.com/Glider-Infantryman-Williams-Ford-University-Military/dp/1603444246. Art was one of the guys who "patched" up folks. I can imagine the anguish in working feverishly to save a life or a limb, nourished by cigaretttes and coffee and little sleep. OK.   Not my story!!!

One new Doggie Door

Sunday I got to use my new "double saw" or "dual saw"  http://www.dualsaw.com/ that the kids got me for Christmas to cut the hole to make a "doggie door" in our nephew's garage so their dog could sleep inside and poop outside. Took me longer that it probably should have, but although I forgot to take pictures before covering my handiwork with the plastic strips, I think it turned out pretty good. During the process, I was reminded of a sermon our family heard years ago at Center EUB church north of Silver Lake for a Christmas or New Year, or something. I need to take this opportunity to highlight again the significance of EUB. I grew up in the local Evangelical United Bretheren Church. Georgia grew up in the Methodist Church. In the year 1963, these 2 demoninations joined and became the United Methodist Church. Why is this significant? Because that was the year that Georgia and I became Mr. and Mrs. Kneller. How's that for a divine union? Back to the story.  This older visiting minister gave a sermon. Not sure how it related to Christmas or New Year or Christianity as a matter of fact, but the message was "if you don't have what you want; use what you've got".... That simple little message has stayed with me for all those years. So how does it relate to the doggie door???? Although I have learned to bring tools when I come here, I never seem to have exactly the right tool for the situation. I did make do with what I had, but when it came to fastening the plastic (Stair Tread covers) to the frame I had built, I was at a loss. I had bought a box of screws to put the wood together, but didn't think about not having 4 hands to hold the plastic while I screwed the wooden frame over it. I looked through my tools and supplies and finally found a package of glazing points. Now if you don't know what they are, you'll have to look them up yourself. I needed something that would hold the plastic to the back of the wood until I could secure the whole assembly to the garage. I stuck one of the points in the plastic, pounded it down, then flattened it and "viola" or as I used to think it was; "walla".... It worked!!! I had what I needed!
I think that's enough rambling for now.