An Unorthodox Christmas

A white Christmas ... a new(er) car ... and the grill (note:
the fire isn't as close to my car as it looks in this photo).

I need a white Christmas.

I don’t think it has anything to do with childhood memories, or even falling prey to Hallmark Channel overload (I watched 13 Christmas movies this year) during which every movie has a snowy Christmas Eve scene thirty seconds after everything has been resolved.

Okay, maybe subconsciously childhood memories or perfect movie endings have shaped my desires, but thankfully we had a snowstorm last Thursday, so I got my white Christmas. We even had a little snow on Christmas Eve, so maybe I am trapped inside a Hallmark movie.

Other than the snow and a few other instances, this Christmas was a bit unorthodox for me. Not in a bad way. Just in the truest sense of the word – it broke with convention.

It started last week when my mini-van was dying. I’m not really a mini-van sort of guy, but at the time I bought it, it was the best vehicle on the lot in my price range. So I became a soccer single guy (doesn’t quite roll off your tongue like “soccer mom,” does it?). But it’s been sputtering over the past month or so and the perpetual check engine light wasn’t just for Christmas decoration. So, I traded the mini-van for a new(er) Ford Focus with a warranty.

When I drove it off the lot a day after the snowstorm, evening was setting in. The melting snow was turning to ice and that’s never a good time to drive a new(er) car for the first time. I was also late for a Christmas party. And I had to drive across town to pick up a friend first.

I crept along the icy streets and was a nervous wreck by the time I picked up my friend. But we made it to the Christmas party safely and I was laughing in no time.

So, unorthodox situations aren’t always a bad thing.

On Christmas Day, my family gathered at Mom’s. We followed our orthodox annual routines – I grilled steaks and chicken in single degree weather, we ate a huge meal and we opened gifts.

Afterward, we went unorthodox.

Rather than watching football or a Christmas movie, I popped in a few home videos (yes, videos) of Christmases past and we oohed and awed over hairstyles, tight jeans and various other fashion faux pas of the 1990s. But once we got past those, we shed tears of joy and sadness over seeing and hearing loved ones who are no longer with us. 

As I watched the videos, I realized how poor my memory can be sometimes. My parents divorced when I was eight and after that my sister and I spent Christmas Eve with my Dad’s side of the family and Christmas Day with my Mom’s side – or so I thought. One video showed all of us together on Christmas Day. I have no memory of that, but I’m thrilled that we recorded it.

After the celebration was over and I was back home, I decided to watch “A Christmas Story.” So many people make it part of their annual tradition, but I’ve never seen it. At the risk of offending nearly everybody, I turned the movie off at the halfway point.

I expected a nostalgic, corny, cheesy trip down memory lane. But the movie stepped over all three lines, into the ridiculous. The scene in which Ralphie envisions himself going blind one day because his mom made him wash his mouth out with soap that contained a dangerous chemical did it for me.

Overall though, I enjoyed the mixture of unorthodox and orthodox Christmas moments this year. How about you? Have anything unusual, or even usual, to share about the way you spent the holiday?

Nothing Is More Important Than Family

Photo: Neale A.

I met a friend named Ken last night at Jake’s Cigars & Spirits. We both run our own businesses and are busy with family so we only see each other a couple of times a year. But we always pick up right where we left off the last time we saw each other. That is one of the marks of a great friendship. It can sustain long periods of silence and not miss a beat.

As we talked last night, I couldn’t help but think about C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Charles Williams and others who met at The Eagle and Child pub in the 1930s and ‘40s to discuss literature and life. They called themselves “The Inklings.” When Ken and I get together, it is usually in that same spirit. Last night we talked about our businesses, economics, theology, health, books, and we also spent a lot time talking about family.

None of us are getting any younger. As Ken and I contemplated where we are in life, we came to the same conclusion. Nothing, on this earth, is more important than family. Our families look markedly different (he has a wife of 30 years and kids, while I am single and send a lot of time visiting my mom and other family members), but family is family.

Kids won’t always make the decisions we hope they will. Spouses will disagree with us sometimes. So will other family members. And extended family dynamics can be difficult. But as we get older, we can look back and laugh at the purple Mohawks our kids chose to get. We’ll conclude that our spouses and other family members had our best interests at heart when they disagreed with us. And those difficult extended family dynamics weren’t nearly as difficult as we thought they were. Or maybe they were, but after some of those family members passed on, we realized we could have broken bread together without as much angst.

Neither Ken or I said this, but I think we were telling each other that we want to finish well, especially in regards to our family. Not that either of us is in the fourth quarter, but we’re in the second half, and we know it. We’ve made mistakes with our families and we took what we believed to be corrective measures. Sometimes we inadvertently took the wrong corrective measures and adjusted again. But no matter where we have been on that spectrum, nothing satisfies either of us like sitting down with family over a meal and hearing how they are doing.

This morning I heard from another friend whose son is in this hospital with liver failure, which means their Thanksgiving plans have changed. They are praying for a miracle. Another friend is mourning the loss of his father. Everywhere you turn, people are hurting.

Here’s the thing – all of us have a finite amount of holidays and various other get-togethers to spend with loved ones. We never know when the next gathering will be the final one for us or one of our family members. Don’t let your next opportunity to spend time with your family pass for something you think is more important.

Nothing, on this earth, is more important than family.

When You Don't Fit In

Photo: Alisha Vargas

On my long drive home from New Mexico a couple of weeks ago, my mind raced – jumping from topic to topic.

As I mentioned in my recent previous posts, I hit the record button on my phone and processed aloud. This will be the final audio post from that trip.

This one takes on a serious tone – taking on the topic of fitting in, and what happens when you don’t. As a big guy, I’ve been in that situation most of my life. Here are my thoughts on the subject.

If you cannot get the audio player below to work, you can listen by clicking this link.

Have You Had Deer?

Photo: Paul Downey

Remember when Super 8 used to be the same price as Motel 6?

Somewhere along the line, Super 8 must have rebranded itself because I just paid $77.00, including tax, to stay in one in Fort Morgan, Colorado. It’s the first time I have been in one for years because their prices have been inching higher and I can usually find a Comfort Inn, or something similar, for that price.

But I am surprised by the quality of this particular Super 8. I have a refrigerator, a coffee maker, a nice TV, a comfy chair, fast Wi-Fi, and my room is extremely clean. The man who checked me in was friendly and helpful, but since I have a rather difficult time with foreign accents, his friendliness led to a comedic exchange between us.

“Ha you ha deer?” he asked.

“Deer?” Is he asking me if I hit a deer or if I saw a deer on the interstate? Or is he actually asking me if I want to eat deer? If so, am I going to be eating roadkill?

“No. Deer.” he said.

I tilted my head in wonder. What in the world is he asking me? 

“Deer?” he asked again.

I squinted my eyes, hoping the extra concentration could help me interpret what he was saying. How could I possibly ask him to say it again? I didn’t have to.

“Deer?”

This time I detected a slight “n” in the middle of the word (Dener).

“Oh, dinner! No I haven’t had dinner yet.”

We both chuckled.

He drew me a map of nearby restaurants where I could receive a 10% discount. I went to one of them and the server said the discount doesn’t apply to what I ordered because it was already discounted.

I’m planning to explain that to the clerk at the motel if I see him when I check out in the morning, and that could lead to another post. No telling how that conversation will go down.

Glamping, Knork and Suburgatory

Here is what glamping looks like.
Photo: Stephanie Chapman

I heard three more new to me words this past week: glamping, knork and suburgatory.

The in thing is to combine two known words into a new one to more accurately portray a concept as we live it out in the twenty-first century. I’m a word person, so I find this fascinating. Here is a breakdown of the three new to me words.

Glamping. This one isn’t so new. The NY Times did an article about the trend in 2008. Glamping is glamorous camping. Rather than sleeping in a tiny tent in a sleeping bag on the ground in the woods, people who go glamping sleep on a real mattress (often on a real bed) in a huge prepitched tent, tepee or yurt on a resort or campground and the structure contains modern day amenities (e.g. dresser, nightstand, lamps).

As with everything else, there are websites dedicated to glamping, such as Glamping.com, GoGlamping.net and Glamping Girl.

From what I can tell, glamping is expensive – so expensive that I would rather just rent a cabin somewhere. But I do like the idea of glamping since I’m not the most outdoorsy person you’ll ever meet.

Knork. Not to be confused with a spork, a knork is a knife and fork combined into one eating utensil. The premise is, if you buy the product, you can eat with just one hand, cutting and eating your food with the same utensil. About.com goes into detail about why this might be a good invention:

I was pleasantly surprised that the design of the Knork® actually works well, much better than a standard fork. The beveled edge combined with a rocking motion cut smoothly through every cooked food I tried it on. It’s perfect for stand-up parties, when you have to hold your plate in one hand and the utensil in the other. You only have to juggle one utensil, instead of a knife and a fork.

Aside from lazy eaters like me, the Knork® can be a valuable tool for the temporarily-injured or physically-challenged. Those who can only use one hand due to broken bones, strokes, or similar medical conditions will find this utensil quite useful.

Before I read these two paragraphs, I wondered why in the world we needed another eating utensil, but what the writer said makes perfect sense.

Suburgatory. I saw an advertisement over the weekend for an ABC sitcom that goes by this name. I have never heard of it, but it is going into its second season. Obviously, the word is a combination of suburban and purgatory.

The series is about a father who moves his daughter from New York City to the suburbs so she’ll have a better life, but his daughter is creeped out by how perfect everything (and everybody) seems to be in their new location.

Several people online have described the series as “The Stepford Wives” meets “Mean Girls,” which makes me wonder if even the description should be combined as, “The Mean Stepford Wives.”

How about you? Have you heard any new to you words that combine two existing words? Share them in the comments.

Grand Gestures

Clanc-meister turns six today

My mom’s cat, Clanci (whom I affectionately call Clanc-meister), turns six today. I plan to make a big deal out of it, complete with a little cake and a birthday card.

Why do I even know when Clanci’s birthday is and why go to so much trouble for an animal that won’t have a clue why we are singing “Happy Birthday”?

Because making a grand gesture toward Clanci – the cat who keeps my mom company during her routines – will make Mom smile, and laugh.

She will say we are both nuts, and that Clanci is spoiled. And I’ll agree. We’ll enjoy some cake, take a few photos, talk about our favorite Clanci moments and cement another shared memory.

We’ve gone through this routine in the past, but I never really saw it as a grand gesture until I watched the movie Due Date (see the previous post). Peter, who wasn’t all that fond of Ethan early in the storyline, convinces Ethan to toss his father’s ashes into the Grand Canyon by saying, “He deserves a grand gesture.”

Peter didn’t mean Ethan’s father had done anything special to merit a grand gesture, even though he probably had. Instead, he was saying Ethan’s father deserved a grand gesture simply because he was Ethan’s father.

Grand gestures are rooted in love, in the verb sense of the word. It is easy to use the word “love” as a noun – a strong emotional feeling toward someone or something. But using the word as a verb is much more powerful because it shows us what that strong emotional feeling looks like.

Romans 12:10 is a great example.The writer says, “Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor.” In context, the writer is referring to fellow believers in Rome, but the principle still applies – one way of loving one another with brotherly affection is to outdo one another in showing honor.

We can honor one another in hundred different ways – birthday celebrations, anniversary celebrations, cards and letters, a phone call on the anniversary of the death of a loved one, flowers, gifts, plaques, certificates, toasts, an invitation to meet for coffee to celebrate an accomplishment and yes, sometimes even buying someone’s cat a birthday cake.

Most grand gestures are simple to pull off. Sometimes though, I get so caught up in my own life that I forget to do the little thing for someone else. Maybe you do too. But God’s mercies are new every morning.

Paying the Price to Eat Healthy

Photo: catsper

“I’ll take the Texas BBQ brisket sandwich from your lunch menu, and can I get a salad instead of fries for the side?” I asked, attempting to squelch my growing irritation over supermarkets and restaurants that charge more money to eat healthy than to eat fried, fatty foods.

“It’ll cost extra, but yeah, you can do that.”

And there it is again – it costs more to eat lettuce, a little cheese and salad dressing rather than a mound of French fries. Why is that?

Turns out that it cost quite a bit extra. The brisket with fries would have cost $6.99. The brisket minus the fries with a salad was $9.85. Throw in $2.40 for a beverage and it’s more than $12.00 for something I ordered off the lunch menu, which is supposed to offer specials.

Fast forward a few hours and I’m in Walmart to do some major grocery shopping. Lean Cuisine meals are nearly three dollars. I look across the aisle and see Banquet meals for less than a dollar. Sugar free ice cream is nearly four dollars. The Walmart brand is less than two. Lean hamburger is eighty cents more per pound than fatty hamburger. Low-fat cheese is more expensive than regular cheese. Wheat tortillas are more expensive than flour tortillas.

On and on it goes.

I visit the diabetic section in the pharmacy to see how much Glucose control drinks cost – a six pack costs nearly $10.00. I could easily pick up a six pack of a sugary drinks for a fourth of that price. Snack bars in this section are way overpriced too. I make a mental note to avoid this section in the future.

Healthy foods, especially those that are packaged, are more expensive to manufacture because, presumably, there isn’t as much volume so sales are lower. More research goes into creating those products as well and they need to recoup the costs. I understand all of that. But the idea of paying more – much more in some cases – for food that is healthy, rather than food that is full of sugar, salt and all sorts of preservatives is ... well, irritating.

I need to get past the irritation.

I’d rather pay an extra $30.00 per week in groceries and be healthy than the alternative. But I would love it if a restaurant or two would cut me a break and substitute a salad for fries without charging me extra.

Would love to hear your thoughts and stories about the cost of eating healthier.

Food with a Message

When a bottle of wine contains a story about the heritage of the family who started the vineyard, it adds to the wine drinking experience. It makes me feel like I understand the wine I’m drinking and therefore I appreciate it more.

I’m beginning to notice more food products with stories attached. Rachel’s potato chips packaging contains a story about a grandma who passed her recipe on to her granddaughter who is presumably still using that recipe today.

Yesterday, I came across a bag of Brim’s popcorn. It didn’t have a story attached, but it had the text of Isaiah 26:3, which promises perfect peace to those whose mind is stayed on God.

The journalist in me had to know more. Do the other products of this Memphis-based company contain Bible verses?

I found this blog post that shows a bag of Brim’s pork rinds with Psalm 100:5 printed on it. So apparently they do. And then I went to the company’s website and found an Everlasting Life page that lays out the plan of salvation.

The Bible verses and the plan of salvation page may irritate some, but they are part of Brim’s story. In fact, the company’s mission statement ends with, “May our actions and words honor God.” So the packaging is consistent with who the company is and what it believes.

I’m interested in your take on food with a story or message. Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Do you like knowing a company’s story or hearing a message they want to convey to their customers? Or is this marketing overload?

Two Beautiful Acts of Mercy

Photo: Alex Proimos

The woman shuffled her feet, allowing the cane in her left hand and the Village Inn employee on her right side to help her get from the lobby of the restaurant to her car.

“You got a great spot today,” the male employee said to her. He looked to be 24 or 25. “Right up front.”

She spoke in such a hushed tone that I couldn’t hear anything she said.

Once she got outside, the employee stayed with her, helping her into her car that was parked at a 45-degree angle. I slid into my van, which was parked close by. I couldn’t help but watch.

They chatted for a couple of minutes and then he placed one of his hands on her shoulder as they said goodbye. It made me want to go shake his hand, or go tell his manager about this tender act of mercy. But I got the feeling that this was a common occurrence. Apparently she is a regular. And why wouldn’t she be with service like that?

My mind raced to fill in the gaps of her story.

Is she a widow whose only regular contact with people is at Village Inn? Is she stressed out, thinking about the day she will no longer be able to drive to the restaurant, church or the grocery store? Who will be there for her when that day comes? Are her days of independent living coming to an end, causing her to savor Saturdays like this one in which she can still drive to her favorite restaurant to enjoy her favorite meal that always ends with a nice chat with the employee who goes the extra mile with her?

Two nights later, I was in a different Village Inn with my mom. When we walked in, a woman was seated in the lobby with a walker in front of her. She was waiting for a ride.

“Your cab is here,” said a female employee who has worked at the restaurant for 10 years.

The woman began the laborious process of gathering her things.

“Take your time,” the employee said. “I’ll go tell the driver that you are on your way.”

She came back in and the rustling behind me said she was helping the woman gather her things.

Two beautiful acts of mercy in two restaurants in the same chain across town from one another. Who says chain restaurants can’t have a homey, personal touch?

# 75 Home Cooked Meals

Photo: Food & Spirits Magazine

Continuing with the 100 life-enriching little nuances series …

As my relatives got caught up at the kitchen table, I walked by the stove. The smell was killing me – in a good way. I’d heard we were having pork chops and since my grandmother and I had traveled to the south to visit family, I fully expected the pork chops to be done southern style, but I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to see, or not see.

The flame on the stove licked the underside of the black cast iron skillet while the pork chops simmered in so much lard that I couldn’t even see the meat. How in the world had so many of these people lived past 80? Probably because they worked so hard when they weren’t eating pork chops immersed in lard. They worked hard and they played hard. Sounds like a good way to live.

My grandmother brought that same philosophy with her when she and my grandfather moved from Arkansas in the late 1940s. In her later years, she had my sister, my niece and I over for dinner every Thursday night. When she was feeling good, she made home cooked meals for us.

She made the best pot roast known to man. I would stick my fork into a piece of it and it would gently fall to my plate. And the smell ... I think you could get full just by smelling it. Many people have tried to duplicate her pot roast efforts and all have failed. Throw in her mashed potatoes, green beans and the occasional batch of cornbread, and I would put her cooking up against the best chefs in the country.

But for her, it was about more than the food. The food was the vehicle for conversation and laughter. When we paused from shoveling in the food, we told each other about our lives from our assigned seats. It wasn’t always roses and sunshine. Sometimes we fought. But mostly we did what families used to do. We made time for home cooked meals.

And while my grandmother had a television in her kitchen, she usually left it off during this time. We certainly never ate our meals in the living room on TV trays while watching a sitcom. 

I think Grandma was on to something.

Foodisms: Don’t Believe Everything You Hear

Photo: Simon Doggett

Fat-free always means healthy. The worst time of the day to eat is right before bed. Frequent, smaller meals are better than three square meals.

These foodisms seem like they should be true, partially because they seem logical and partially because we repeat these things to each other so often and if they weren't true, somebody would have stopped the cycle by now.

But according to Heather Mangieri, a registered dietitian and nutrition expert for the American Dietetic Association, and Lynn Grieger, a registered dietitian and personal fitness coach, none of these things are necessarily true.

A few months ago, they addressed the above mentioned foodisms and more in a story that is apparently syndicated (my local paper just ran it yesterday). Other foodisms addressed: eating salsa burns fat (fact) and blotting pizza removes most of the fat (fiction).

As somebody who is trying to log laps on a local walking track and doing what I can to make healthier food choices, the article makes for interesting reading and it’s a good reminder to not always believe what you hear or read about nutrition (or anything, for that matter).

That's How They Get Ya

Photo: dmdonahoo

I’m not a coupon person.

I’m not anti-coupon, I just hate the hassle. When I do plan to use them, I forget them or can’t find them or they’ve expired or the clerk will tell me the item isn’t exactly like the one in the manufacturer’s coupon so she has to call a manager or, in order to get the discount, I have to buy a gallon of milk, a block of cheese, and two other items of the same brand just to save fifty cents.

The whole process gives me a headache. I’d rather just buy the store brand without a coupon and save fifty cents that way.

There are exceptions. Just not many.

I know and love coupon people. You might be one of them. Take no offense when I say this, but sometimes coupon people are paranoid. They’ll talk about how a store has a limit on the number of items you can purchase with a coupon, limiting the amount you can save, knowing that once you get into the store, you’ll buy more things at full price.

“That’s how they get ya,” they say.

Well, okay, but I might actually be out of milk and if I buy the store brand, I can often find it on sale. Like last night. I bought a gallon for $1.98. No coupon. So, I don’t really think they suckered me into anything. But I was faced with a dilemma during my shopping experience.

The store had Healthy Choice Roasted Beef Merlot Café Steamers for $1.68 – with a coupon and with the purchase of 10 items. Knowing they normally cost around $3.00 without a coupon, I piled three entrees into my cart and went hunting for a stinking coupon at the front of the store.

I found one and as I checked out, the coupon wouldn’t register when the clerk scanned it.

“Didn’t you buy 10 Café Steamers?” she said.

Who in the world is going to buy Café Steamers at once? And the store only had three of the Roasted Beef Merlot entrees and I bought all three. I certainly wasn’t going to buy seven entrees I don't like just to “save” a couple of bucks.

“The sign said you have to buy 10 items,” I said. “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t say Café Steamers.”

“No, it has to be Café Steamers.”

That’s how they get ya. They make the sign obscure. So, I became a paranoid coupon user. 

“Okay. Just charge me the normal price.” Stupid coupons.

When I got home, I looked at the receipt. The clerk charged me $1.98 per entrée – far less than normal price. I don’t know why. Maybe she could see I was just posing as a coupon user and I needed a break.

Yeah, I doubt it too.

The Happiness List

Photo: Joe King

Over the years, a number of variations of the bucket list have appeared and they all contain the same basic premise – make a list of things you want to accomplish, track them, and check them off as you go. It’s intentional living rather than reactional (I think I just made up a new word) living. 

I first heard about the idea in the movie, A Walk to Remember. Jamie had a list of 100 things she wanted to do before she died. Then I heard about 43 Things – a website where you list 43 things you want to do and you interact with others who are working toward the same goals. Then, of course, there was The Bucket List movie. More recently I read about The Mighty Life List. Just yesterday I read about a variation of these ideas called a Happiness List. It is similar to some of the other lists, but it also contains a twist.

This might be Rainbow Rowell overkill, but I read about the Happiness List in her latest article called New year’s disillusioned? Resolve to be happy. It is about a guy named Nicholas Schnell who chucked the idea of making an annual resolution list in favor of a happiness list – a list of stress-free items. On his list, he wrote things such as watch the original Freaky Friday with two of his friends and re-read Pride and Prejudice so he could read the zombie version.

But here’s the twist, he suggests getting friends to make lists, so on some lazy Friday night, when you can’t think of anything to do, you team up to help each other check something off your lists. If one of the items on a friend’s lists is, “try the new Italian restaurant downtown” and another friend’s list includes “check out the independent film festival,” you make a night of it and do both.

I love this idea for so many reasons.

First, for me and my friends, it would mean not going to Borders for the 43rd consecutive Friday night because we couldn’t figure out what else to do. Second, it means getting involved in activities our friends enjoy which will give us a view of who they are in their element. You can learn a lot about a person when he or she is in her element. Third, it would expose us to new things. Most new hobbies and passions begin after someone introduces us to them. I’m also thinking it would make for some great memories.

As a variation, I’m thinking it would be a good idea to list 50 items that could be done with one or more friend and 50 items that could be done individually. 

What do you think?

End of the Year Thoughts

I'm looking forward to spending the evening with some friends in central Nebraska – weather permitting, playing a few board games, grilling some steaks, drinking a beer or two and laughing our fool heads off at some of the creative answers all of us are sure to come up with when put under the pressure of a 30-second timer. For the record, I hate those things, but all in all, it'll be a great way to ring in the new year.

Thanks goes out to so many of you who frequent this blog and leave comments. It has been said that comments on a blog are its social currency. They are also high motivating to a blogger – myself included. With that in mind, I hope this little cubbyhole in cyberspace feels more like a coffee shop than a classroom with a lectern in the front. As I talk about the books, movies and music that move me, I love hearing about what you are reading, watching and listening to. I take your recommendations seriously and I follow up on them – and they often lead to more posts. Keep the comments and suggestions coming.

A few of you have told me recently that you are no longer receiving Little Nuances posts in your e-mail inbox even though you subscribed. About a year ago, I changed subscription services. I sent out an e-mail to everyone on the list, but your spam filter may have eaten it. If you enjoy Little Nuances and would like to begin receiving e-mail notifications when a new post goes live, you can click here and enter your e-mail address. After subscribing, you'll receive a confirmation e-mail in your inbox. Just click the link in the e-mail and you'll be all set. While the full post is offered in each e-mail, you might want to click through to the blog periodically so you won't miss anything that is happening here – like the comments at the end of each post.

If you were able to help support the Salvation Army through Little Nuances this month, thank you. We raised $55.00 to help people in need. It won't change the world, but it might have kept one family from going hungry for a little while.

I'd still love to have your feedback in the survey I posted a few months ago regarding the type of posts you'd like to see here in the future.

Have a safe New Years Eve and I look forward to dialoging with you in 2011.

Let's Have Some Carp!

I had a craving for carp last night. Not just any carp. Joe Tess Place carp. I know it sounds gross. Nobody eats carp. But somehow, Joe Tess Place carp is different. It's fresh, not real fishy tasting and people drive to Omaha from miles around just to experience it.

The restaurant started as a neighborhood tavern in the 1930s. According to its website, "The main attraction became the Famous Fish Sandwich itself. Cut carp portions were fried in a skillet, placed in a cookie jar and sold for 15 cents. Ever since, the humble carp has been the driving force behind Joe Tess Place."

When I was young, my family used to eat there a lot. It was still a neighborhood tavern, so it wasn't very big. Best I can tell, the original bar is still intact. But they've added on to the building so it can seat 250 people now. Old photos decorate the walls, depicting old fishing adventures. I wrote about one of the photos a few years ago:

My mom and I were lead to a booth along the back wall of the restaurant—not a section we are normally seated in, and I was quickly drawn to a black and white photo positioned on the wall over our booth. It depicted three middle-age women, in rather plain looking dresses that hung to their ankles, fishing along a river—presumably the Missouri River. Each woman held a fishing pole in her hand. They were positioned about eight or ten feet apart and all of them had a rather serious look on her face.

Unfortunately, the photo doesn’t have a caption. All sorts of things ran through my mind. Were they fishing for leisure? If so, they hardly looked to be having fun, but maybe they were just the serious types who were locked in a competition of some kind. Were they fishing out of necessity? Were their husbands away at war or working in a nearby factory? Or were they single? Who knows?

As a writer, I feel like going to management to get the stories behind each of these photos. They would probably look at me like I'm crazy though. 

Beyond the photos, the place has other nuances. When you first walk in, you'll see fish swimming around in a large concrete tank. Every kid who has ever visited is tempted to dip his or her hand into the water, in spite of the sign that says not to. And the famous fish sandwiches aren't really sandwiches. They are pieces of fish, a little smaller than the size of your hand, that have been placed on a piece of rye bread. The area of town in which the restaurant is located used to have a large Polish population, so polka music fills the air from a jukebox in the corner. The place feels like 1965 and that's part of its charm.

My family still frequents the place and the fish is just as good as its ever been. Word must have spread because Guy Fieri from the Food Network recently did a segment about Joe Tess Place and I'm glad because it'll help preserve the restaurant's story. Check out the video segment, and if you ever get to Omaha, check out Joe Tess Place.

Collateral Damage from One Chicken Wing

"If you eat one of my wings, I'll watch whatever movie you want."

"They look weird, and I can't imagine they'll taste any better."

"Just give it a try. Try something new."

"I rarely like anything new."

"Just try it."

My friend Shawn told me Buffalo Wild Wings recently began offering a "dry rub" substance on wings. It looked like someone rubbed red powder all over them, but the thought of Shawn being subject to any movie in my collection was too much of a temptation to pass up.

I reached over, picked up a wing and bit into it. Several things happened simultaneously.

First, some of the dry rub fell on my shirt. Dropping food on my shirt is nothing new. I think I have a reputation for doing it. If not, I probably should have such a reputation. But this time, it really wasn't my fault. Is it even possible to keep powdered food from falling on your shirt?

Second, the dry rub was hot. I don't do hot, so, with my mouth hanging open, I started whispering "Ha, ha, ha," and no, I wasn't laughing, but Shawn was. I was low on Coke, but thankfully a waitress saved the day by bringing another one.

After Shawn called me a wuss – because we're tight like that – my right eye began to burn. Then it really began to burn. Somehow, the powder not only fell downward on my shirt, but in that one bite, it also found a way to drift upward into my eye. I had to work that night, covering a tennis event for a local magazine, and I envisioned walking into the auditorium with a red eye and having people wonder all sorts of things about me.

Not only had the new thing not been something I enjoyed, it actually burned my mouth and caused collateral damage to parts of the rest of my body. And that's why I don't try new things.

Here's the kicker – it was all for naught. We met another friend and ended up playing a board game instead of watching a movie. But Shawn owes me big time and I'll pester him until our dying days to get him to watch The Notebook or Serendipity with me.

Making a Connection

"Enjoy your soup!" said the Panera Bread sandwich artist to the elderly man yesterday afternoon.

The sandwich artist tells her manager, who has joined them at the counter, that the man is a regular and he always waits for his soup at the counter, rather than having it delivered to his table.

"There you go, Sir," the sandwich artist said. "I hope you enjoy it."

The man took his soup and sat down at a nearby table. He and I sat face to face with a couple of tables between us.

A few minutes after he dug into his soup, the sandwich artist wanted to know if it was good. He had a hard time hearing her. She repeated herself, her tone just as cheery as the first time. He still couldn't hear her. She said it again, still cheery, and he simply nodded.

I wondered about his story. Is he a widower? Is he never married and comfortable enough to eat alone in a restaurant? Or is he married and simply carrying out a routine he established long ago – just enjoying some time alone? 

I don't know why, but I wanted to strike up a conversation with him. But he didn't waste any time. He ate quickly and got up to drop his his tray off so he could leave. I refilled my pop, hoping he'd make eye contact, but he put his head down and walked out. I didn't think of it until later, but I should have asked the sandwich artist about the guy.

Hours later, on the other side of town, my mom and I sat down at Village Inn for supper. No, I didn't see the same man from Panera there. Instead a different man approached our table. An elderly man who moved slowly. He recognized my mom, but he had a hard time speaking. A stroke victim? That was my first thought.

"Hi Jim, how are you?" Mom said to him.

He nodded as if to say he was okay. He whispered something and then sat down in a booth by himself. Mom said she used to work with him. He had a heart attack a while back and he isn't able to work any more.

There is so much struggle, heartache and loneliness around us. And I know from experience that even the simplest of gestures can make a difference – not in the project sort of way, because people are not projects, but rather in the connection sort of way, because we all hurt and connections ease the pain.   

"Let's invite him to sit with us," I said.

I can't say it felt like a second chance because I didn't feel like I failed with the first guy. There just wasn't an opportunity to talk to him and, in reality, he sort of had a "leave me alone" vibe. I can respect that.

Mom and I were just about to leave Village Inn, so rather than have Jim join us, Mom went over and talked to him. I couldn't hear what they said, but it didn't matter. They acknowledged one another and that meant something.

Fried Mush

A while back, a few of my friends and I were talking about different food dishes we’ve eaten that aren’t all that common – at least to us. Mush was my contribution to the conversation. I could not really tell them what mush is, other than fried cornmeal, but even if that is all it is, it would probably still be good.

Through the magic of Google, I found out that mush really is pretty much just fried cornmeal (mixed with water and salt), but somehow, it’s mushy inside. Check out this post on a blog called “the frugal girl” for a picture and the recipe.

One of my grandmas was from the south. Mush was one of the many things from her heritage she treated us to. She would drag out her fry daddy, fill it with grease of some sort, and drop pieces of uncooked mush into the gurgling abyss. It hissed in pleasure and made our mouths water. One of my sisters and I could hardly wait for her to dip out the mush and set it on the table.

“It’s hot!” she would say. “Be careful.”

So, we would use the sort of bite in which you use your teeth but you move your lips out of the way. If you ever saw the episode of Friends from Season Seven called "The One With The Engagement Picture" during which Chandler could not smile in front of a camera so he did a fake smile with his teeth showing, then you'll know what I'm talking about. Anyway, if it didn’t leave a third degree burn, we would wolf it down.

Milk was the drink of choice, but you had to be careful because Grandma preferred butter milk and that meant she thought you should prefer it too. So she would slip a glass in front of you if you weren’t looking just to see what type of reaction she could get as the clumps of gunk (what is that stuff, anyway?) present in butter milk slid down your throat. A nice tall glass of cold 2% milk was the perfect complement to the piping hot mush.

I miss those days.

#96 Dessert

Continuing with the 100 life-enriching little nuances series…

Photo: Andreas Schaefer

Some of my best childhood memories include my mom getting off work, picking up my sister and me and taking us to an ice cream shop.

I wish I could remember the name of it, but we didn’t use the name of it in conversation. We just said, “Let’s go get some ice cream,” and that’s where we went.

The structure of the place always looked shaky to me. It was surrounded by a gravel parking lot. And I remember a huge tree of one sort or another that stood proudly in front of the place, providing plenty of shade -- encouraging customers to sit around for a while to converse.

It was a small building without many places to sit inside. But it did have those round stools that were connected the floor and you could play sit and spin if there wasn’t anybody sitting next to you. It also had picnic tables outside and when the weather wasn’t too hot, people tended to gravitate toward them.

When you chose to sit outside, you could order from the walk up window through a screen. It sort of felt like a confessional -- only I was confessing I wanted a double-decker chocolate ice cream cone instead of admitting I punched my sister.

I wish I could tell you I took my time, savoring every lick, while enjoying the company of my family. In reality, I’ve always sort of inhaled ice cream. No, I don’t get head rushes from eating ice cream. But that doesn’t mean I enjoyed the experience any less. I just happened to finish my ice cream before the rest of my family did.

But it provided the perfect opportunity for us to catch up with each other, or occasionally, to do family business when my sister and I were dealing with one thing or another.

As is the case with so many of my childhood haunts, the ice cream shop is gone now. But I every time I hear tires crunching their way down a gravel road, I think of those summer days some 30 odd years ago when I would get all excited as we turned off Main Street into the gravel parking lot of the place that served the best double-decker chocolate ice cream cones ever.

I didn’t realize it then, but desserts are sort of like coffee. They aren’t meant to be necessary. Instead, they are relationship builders. They give us a reason to stop doing and simply be.

Chili Time

As I was coming home from the dentist’s office yesterday, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up some much needed items. I was also trying to figure out what I could eat with a sore mouth. Then it hit me. Chili! I love chili and it’s actually something I know how to cook. Every fall, I make a huge batch of it and freeze the leftovers. It usually makes five or six meals and I think leftover chili tastes better than it does fresh off the stove.

I like thick chili so I usually buy three pounds of hamburger (93% lean), two cans of chili beans, one onion, a can of tomato sauce, and the chili mix stuff you can buy in packages. I really wasn’t feeling all that great when I got home (my mouth hurt and I had a headache), but I made the chili anyway and it turned out well. It went down easy and it tasted pretty good—so good that I’m planning to have another bowl of it this afternoon for lunch. The rest is frozen and I’ll bust out a bowl of it when I’m watching football this fall.

I love this time of year.