Lawn party in the Hoosier State

An outdoor, graduation-type party in Indiana, one of thousands held this time of year on a June weekend -

Drive down a country highway, past reservoirs and people mowing lawns. Farther out in the country, men in black hats and coats drive Amish buggies past homes with no electrical wiring. Boys and girls drive small horse and pony carts. The field horses, done working for the day, are the beautiful, large blond Percherons.

The house, not all that far from the Ohio state line, is so remote the roads are newly (horrors) applied with chip and seal (translation: is that oil? tar? straw? arrgh). However, once finding the farm-ette, any man would love the huge pole barn and various man toys included. Kids take off for the swimming pool as I survey the food laid out down long tables in the breezy, newish barn- burgers, veggies and salads, chips and dips, homemade cookies. Three kinds of cake. Very cold keg of beer, even though it's hot out. Hoosier outdoor party.

This is great - large cloud formations on the horizons, people of all ages playing volleyball on the lawn, rotating through, and really 'setting' the ball high in the open sky. Down the lawn, an Indiana favorite - corn hole. Of course, this is a wooden-framed bean bag toss set-up - played passionately in Midwestern driveways and on lawns for hours on end. A non-urban version of boccie? or shuffleboard? A twist on horseshoes? Or more importantly, do you suppose they just used to pitch an ear of corn into a hole of some kind, and thusly it was named? I mean, please -

Swimming pool fun involves teen boys joining arms to launch smaller kids across the pool - this actually really looks like fun. With daylight savings time, we see a beautiful long sunset with light until 9:30, and subdued light until 10 p.m., continuing with the rising of the full June strawberry moon.

This was a great party. I took off about 10, before it got much darker driving and to avoid the encroaching mosquitoes. I also got out of the way of burly firefighters beginning to grab at each other, trying to toss one another in the soon-to-be-vacated pool. Ya gotta just let the boys be boys, and the men have their fun once in a while. Time to slide on out and down the road. Thanks for the excellent eats and fellowship, and see you on the flip side. Tailwind, out.

Choosing a Path

Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. -Matthew 7:7

I have sometimes felt this is one of the most empowering verses in the bible, (0r anywhere), for me. This statement is motivation to go out and try. It's goodwill from above; encouragement, permission, the 'go ahead.' I love anything that simply calls for action, because I want to be a 'doer', and as humans we stagnate if we are sitting around too much. This verse says, "go, make that phone call, reach out to that friend, walk that path, try that new thing out of your comfort zone." With a higher power's blessing.

We don't get anywhere if we don't try. It's as simple as that.

This leads me to then talk about one of my favorite things: choosing wisely. One simple part of choosing: the choice of friends. It's something to talk to your children a lot about as they grow, and how bad choices here can really waste their time or worse. The verse is specific here -

Do not be misled: "Bad company corrupts good character." -1 Corinthians 15:33. This letter is saying it's hard to 'keep one's nose clean' around bad friends, or people who do bad things. Realize also, bad energy can be toxic, and some 'friends' can deplete you instead of enrich you. A friend ought to be making deposits in your 'emotional bank account' (I think this is from Steven Covey) and you into a friend's vice versa - not constantly making withdrawals, if this makes sense. For some of us, it's just a lesson that must be lived through, maybe more than once, to be learned.

I like visual images from scripture - you can picture yourself doing the following:

The Lord says: "stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls." -Jeremiah 6:16

Choosing the path is also very important. One must be mindful of where one goes. Don Juan said he asked himself, "does this path have a heart?" and only if the answer is yes, should he allow himself to take it. A good strategy.

And then finally, I think about the power of the verse "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me." The common and visual analogy of trusting oneself to be led as if we were sheep led by a good shepherd. We need to enjoy our sheep journey, savoring every bit of the green fields and sweet pastures along the way. Let's quit rushing and have fun just being sheep for a while. It's summer, now is the time. If you're travelling, God speed to you on your journeys. And know Tailwind has your back.

Clear Water Skier

The following is a poem I wrote in the 1980s. A few people have read it but I have never published it. Recently I thought, "For what am I waiting?" It's time to publish, publish, self publish. I could die with all these poems sitting around in file folders. Hopefully, I won't.

One moment stern and fierce, the next, your face is vibrant

and sparkling like the water.

Neptune, King of the Lake

(and Sea)

Poseidon and Triton are your other names.

You ride the waves; the spray and your body make one long arc.

Confident you are; you rule.

Tethered to the boat, you push the limit.

Slinging yourself, exuberant and free with speed, you catapult

into an unfulfilled orbit.

Your trajectory dependent upon the rope, without it

there would be no ride. A polypropylene umbilical cord.

You are Neptune - half man, the chest bare, glistening with drops.

Legs of wet suit; fishy scales that make you a creature of the sea.

You stand at the end of your boat, your skin glowing with warmth,

the sun behind you is your crown.

We kneel before you.

Your grace captures us.

With quickened hearts we watch you stretch

connected to your cord with fingertips. The wind sings as you fly.

Watching, we are alive - we are no longer awkward, earthbound, weak.

We love you, Neptune. King of the Lake, and Sea.

-SLG

Survivor in the park, part 2

(Please first read the post before this one. It's a two-part story.)

Now we had to head into the woods for a timed, plant- identification challenge. Again this class of sixth graders divided into teams and had to run around in the humid heat, reading graphic panels posted near plants for the kids to find the answers. The worst part of this challenge for me was the science teacher in charge of this game lost her cool. She yelled at the kids a couple of times as if she was a drill sergeant. I really didn't think teachers were allowed to do that, but the kids told me she does it all the time and then sort of laughs it off later like she was just joking. Oddly, it was obvious to me she had done it regularly because they didn't seem too fazed by it. I, however, will not soon forget her style.

After this game, it was time to head back to a picnic shelter for the lunch break. The principal of the school (next year he will be a district administrator) grilled hot dogs, and we were also served an apple, carrots, and chips. The kids also got a frozen juice pop. I sat down with a couple parents I knew and was subjected to the usual - gossip about people who weren't there, a parent bragging about her kid, etc. This time was soon over, and we had to head to a different place in the woods for the next game.

It was a cool exercise - the kids were given GPS radios and had to learn to use them to find hidden scraps of paper at different locations. A few had wised up and placed themselves strategically in and among the weaker teams - making the kids there wonder why somebody had taken it on themselves to permeate their team - not an easy thing to answer. Not helping solve any of the exercise, I found myself taking the upper arms of two girls who were really struggling in the thick, deep, glue-like mud on a part of the trail they had to navigate. These two girls were simply not going to be able to make it on their own power.

The last sub-team in the group came back behind the others - one cheerleader said she had fallen in the mud but I wondered why instead of a splotch or glob of mud on her, she sported finger trails and smear lines on her face and legs - sometime you think you're dumb and then you realize the wisdom that comes from the experience of living long enough to be a grown-up. Hey, it didn't bother me - I thought it was funny.

Almost every one's water bottle was empty by this time, and we were heading back into the full sun for a geography-question exercise. Time to take matters into my own hands. Heat stroke should not be an option for these poor children. I grabbed what empty water bottles I could, and headed on my own to the nature center to refill them. I couldn't carry enough for one each of the 29, however.

I had one clean one with squirt top, so for the kids who didn't have their own, I had a plan. While they waited in line to answer their geography questions, I went down the line and squirted an ounce or so in individuals' mouths. The boys especially loved this. They hollered for me and called me 'water boy'. They tried good- naturedly to trick me into hitting them several times, then a group of five or so stood in front of me in a line with their mouths open, happy as larks, and I, the 'momma bird,' fed them all together. Kids are entertained by some of the simplest things.

The last exercise was a math one. They had to divide into problem solvers and problem responders, with the solvers relaying their solutions to the others non-verbally (by making numbers with their bodies, etc.) I honestly didn't get to see what happened here though, because a child from another group was brought over suffering from an asthma attack. His parent had been called and was on her way to pick him up. He was thin and pale, and I was worried about him. He said he had already used the inhaler to his limit and couldn't use it again. I sat with him in the shade, talking to him and helping him sip some Gatorade, and wondered if I'd have to perform CPR on him if he passed out. After a few minutes, his mother appeared in a car and I nearly screamed at the park attendant to let the car through without paying admission. Sometimes it doesn't pay to mess with momma bear. The kid was ok.

Overall, it was a good experience, and I was glad I went. I hope for next year's sixth graders: it isn't 90 degrees in Fort Wayne, in May.

Survivor at Metea Park

It was an usually hot day in Northern Indiana. Alright - to be accurate, it was an incredibly hot day - it was late May, and often the weather here is rainy and cool; or clear and 72 degrees. This day hit almost 90 degrees, not a cloud to deter the sun and high humidity.

I had not attended a lot of the scheduled school events for my oldest daughter, and so I had signed up to be a parent helper for this end-of-school event: "Survivor" competition at the beautiful Metea Park - named for one of our local American Indian Heroes - Chief Metea. The kids showed up on the school buses and I drove in - I had one thing the teachers' note had neglected to require for the kids - a hat. Who would have expected it to be 90 degrees that day? At least they told the kids to come prepared with bug spray and sunscreen.

The classes were divided into various teams and sent to different locations in the park. Most of the parents had wimped out and cancelled because of the forecasted heat. I was the only parent with my child's class in the morning - another parent of a boy braved it with me in the afternoon.

The first exercise was making this class of 29 students, competing against five other classes - divide into groups and do a word search problem. Each group of four or five did one of those matrix-type word search problems and somehow ended up with a single word - I've forgotten how to pay attention as well as a sixth grader, so I'm foggy on the procdure here. The students weren't thinking ahead well enough to choose balanced teams - they grouped up as friends - so some of the small groups were a lot stronger than others; some finished quickly and others really struggled. Finally, all the groups came back with their single words, and as a large team had to unscramble the words to create a large sentence. The sentence was about the scientific method. I was told not to help with the actual thinking work, and saw for myself, quickly, that one of the words had a capital letter, which meant it was the start of the sentence (duh). Well, after many false tries, they correctly formed the sentence, and the timed challenge stopped.

It was only about 9 a.m. The sun god was beating us unmercifully from the sky, and we had at least five more exercises to complete. It was time to move on in the park, and we had to start hoofing it. Nearly everybody had a water bottle, but one boy had a leather back pack and he called out to everybody, "Does anybody need

water?" The rest of the group was laughing at him for the heavy, old school backpack, but several of them took one of his extra water bottles - he was carrying a heavy load in consideration of his fellow students, and I later realized my daughter had been in preschool (and she says Kindergarten) with this boy. I didn't recognize him now - no longer a small child, he had dark hair and a heavier frame than some of the boys - an Italian football player. His foresight with the water may have saved the day.

The next exercise consisted of writing a poem about the Survivor experience, as a group. I suggested instead of sitting in the blazing sun, they find the one spot under the nature center where there was shade, and then they did so. They let one girl, known by the class to be a good writer, to lead the group, and many of the other kids gathered around her to help. Other kids wanted to help, but nobody figured out how to delegate work, so there were quite a few kids who had nothing to do. While some kids found words and wrote the poem, with a set number of lines and syllables per line, others were standing around - and of course this turned into whistling with blades of grass and sundry monkey jinks. Not sure of my true role here, I asked boys to get down from the bird house they were climbing on, then told SOME if they weren't actually helping they needed to be quiet so as not to distract from the others. They weren't really listening to this, however, and one girl jock finally lost her cool and yelled SHUUUTTTT UUUPPP at the boys, who not yet owning the hormone advantage of puberty realized they had been bettered, and faded down. All without getting surly about it - attitudes and spirits have not yet been demoralized out of these sixth graders. Hope is not yet lost.

(I didn't realize when I started this, to really do it justice I need to break it all into two parts. In a day or two I will write here the conclusion of the mighty Survivor adventure. You all have a nice evening. See you later.)

Syncro has to go to the middle east in 2010

I was excited to see a letter in my mail box from Syncro today - I hadn't heard from her in a long time. I happily read it sitting in my car. Then, a few minutes later, after I started driving, I had to pull over and cry for a minute - you'll see what bothered me. I'm going to use her exact words excerpted below.

(Since I last talked to you) I received orders to go to a CIA/Al Queda prison with the army. (Syncro is a female eye doctor/officer with the Air Force.) I was sick. I (blank) the Army and I think it is stupid that they have a mission to provide glasses to the enemy! The assignment was for eleven months! During the assignment, outside contact is severely limited. But luckily my orders were changed. Now instead of leaving (blank) and returning (blank), I leave (blank) and return (blank). I am going to (one of those oil-producing Arab countries).

So please write me (She gives me an address). Use U.S. postage 42-cent stamps. I still feel like I'm going to prison, but at least it is minimum security instead of maximum. My deployment should be safe and relatively comfortable, yet I think of all the things I'll miss over the next 6-7 months. Oh well. I've been lucky that this is my first deployment in a never-ending war that's dragged on for nearly nine years.

For her safety I have written 'blank' where she gave me the exact information. One can sometimes never be too careful.

- Please pray for, or do whatever it is you can do to help, our service men and women who give themselves so selflessly. I'm talking about the people who make such incredible sacrifices while the rest of us are sitting around eating donuts and complaining. It makes me feel ashamed. Syncro is a wonderful, beautiful woman and I am afraid for her. Let us find a way as human beings to put down our differences, and guns, and be the human beings I believe the one creator meant us to be.

Before you get the wrong idea about this, I'll say the following poem is about what happens when my doctor realigns my spine. I'm in good shape right now, and haven't needed this procedure in quite a while. I almost wish I did have a stiff neck or something, and had an excuse to make an appointment with him - it's always given me so much relief and makes me feel so good. I know it sounds weird, but this is nothing like going to a chiropractor. Mark King is a D.O., and is a regular physician who can prescribe medicine, but he has also been trained to "crack your back" (I just don't know what else to call it). I found this poem in a box of neglected old papers and belongings, hand-written on the back of a typed reminder from school to put more money in a child's lunch account. It was written in 2008.

The Smashee and the Smasher

What can I say? He rolls his body into me,

after folding mine up as if it was a pretzel and then puts his weight in -

my goal is to relax as much as possible -

it hurts but only to the point until

I can surrender,

give in to it, trust,

breath being forced out

snap, snap, snap, snap

go the vertebrae in my spine

like a row of dominos.

"Are you ok?" he asks

The chi is released

unmeasurable

I feel its brand new unblocking

And he gives it one last go

the air pushed out of me

as if I was a tired accordion.

"Ohhh." Then, "That was great."

I stand taller.

My shoulders roll back and flatten.

My hips are no longer locked.

It is an old ritual. Our bodies are both softer now -

He trembled with exertion before,

because it takes all his great strength and force and fearlessness

to accomplish this act.

He is so much heavier and taller than me, yet

it's a perfect fit.

I flatter myself by telling myself

maybe this somehow completes him

as much as it does me.

-SLG

The Noodle Bowl

"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine." - Rick in Casablanca

A good friend of mine, whom I have not seen in quite a while, had time to go to lunch with me yesterday. She suggested the Noodle Bowl, a place I've been to before and really like. Maybe it's been open a year or two in Fort Wayne; it's not an old, established haunt, but it has wonderful character, bestowed upon it by the people there.

Even though it has an Asian theme, for some reason when I walk in there I am reminded of the movie Casablanca - the cast of mixed ethnicity and colorful, sundry characters - each one different. A waitress who appears to me to be Korean; another one perhaps more Thai. And the maitre d' or host - charming and differential, with the looks of Peter Lorre, the Hungarian-born actor who played Ugarte, the man selling exit visas from Morocco in war time.

It's so nice to get to a restaurant first and have a few minutes to chill waiting for one's companion - I am thinking of Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones singing, "I'm not waiting on a lady; I'm just waiting on a friend." She appears quickly then, apologizing for being a minute late - it really was my pleasure.

I order eggs rolls - some of the best in Fort Wayne - very narrow rolls with a very thin fried wrapper, containing meat and shrimp; spicy and sweet sauce on the side - my mouth is watering today thinking about it even though I ate them yesterday. The cucumber and shredded cabbage salad is cold, tangy and slightly sweet - a small side, only three or four bites - just right before the meal. The house soup is good but contains a grain that doesn't work for me in it - is it Bulgar? I don't know, not bad, just a matter of personal taste.

The waitress is very attentive, thorough, enthusiastic about the specials; she seems to think each customer is special - how do they keep up that much mindfulness every day? It works for them, of course - the restaurant has a lively clientele and a good reputation because of that. She even wants to correction pronunciation of dishes. She's just trying to be helpful and educate but one must be careful or that will start to seem a little hyper or anal. Freud, what are you doing in our common vernacular, you bastard? Gotta love it. Actually, with that particular phrase, not really.

As we wait for our food, we have a great conversation, catching up, and then I notice it - the quiet of the table next to us - listening to our conversation. It's a different, breathless quiet than just the people silently eating their food. Call me paranoid (stupid Freud, go away), but I'll go to my grave saying sometimes I get a really good non-verbal read on people. For me, in times of my life, honing that particular instinct was a matter of survival.

Ok, they're listening, and lowering our voices won't do any good - they're right next to us. It's harmless, we're not talking about anything problematic. It reminds me of a group of professional people I used to go out with after work, before I had several young children at home waiting for me. We worked at a mental health center, and our way of sloughing off the craziness and angst was calling ourselves "group" - a take on group therapy. There were administrative professionals, computer systems managers, an occasional therapist. We didn't talk about work much though, we talked about anything and everything but - current news, politics, stories about childhood, whatever. But nearly to a time, wherever we would go, we enjoyed ourselves and each other so much that sometimes my hairs would go up and I'd look around the bar or restaurant and see the eyes on us - ok, one of our guys had this delightful, infectious laugh or giggle that one just couldn't help chiming in with, but I swear it wasn't about the noise we were making - it was more like "who are these people, and why are they having so much fun? And why aren't we having fun like that?" Well, I don't know why you're not. And no, we are not hitting on each other, even if it would make you happier to think so.

We split pan-fried Udon noodles with beef, stir-fried with bits of zucchini, onion, carrots and more - delicious and rich tasting - a winner. They also serve a Pad Thai noodle dish on this menu - if you've never tried Pad Thai, I beg you to sometime when you don't know what to order - as long as you are not allergic to peanuts. I'll go to a Thai place and write about this in more detail another time for you.

Noodle Bowl is lovely and relaxing. Try their marinated beef or chicken satay on skewers - another winner. Or their noodle salad, or Teriyaki, or one of their many vegetarian dishes. And be glad you are not a celebrity and can eat in relative peace. No, I mean really, be glad of that.

And be glad you're not in Morocco, a refugee, trying to purchase illicit letters of transport to escape.

- Play it again, Sam.

Summer thunderstorm and frogs

Here is a brand new poem for you, baked fresh out of my head today. I just realized if one juxtaposes the letters of poem it spells 'mope.' That is something I promise I will not do today.

Summer Thunderstorm and Frogs

Heat lightning bounces in the sky

Percussion shocks move closer, like bombs

It's night, and dark, I can't see it, but

the storm is coming this way.

Jagged flashes make their zig-zagged trails for Zeus to ride upon to earth.

The crackling has such great distance to travel, I hear it move from top to bottom, sideways

Ripping like torn paper, moving, moving, then BOOM

Time to remove things from the dock before they fly away.

Everyone else is asleep. I slog through the heavy air, stealthy as if I was a night hunter.

Excited by the conduction in the air, my skin has been touched, electrified. I am very awake.

At the dock, the frogs have no concern for the oncoming storm.

The spring peepers and tree frogs have grown quiet

and I hear the fascinating sound I love, the twang of large frogs, or bull frogs, I can't see them hidden

A single, dissonant twerp or twang

A slightly loose string on a banjo or guitar that hasn't been tightened, out of tune

blueck, plueck, tweoong

it resonates in the heavy air

then the answer of another frog

to the left of me, and again, same frog

then first frog

then from the far side of the lake, a third

her string just as loud

they triangulate.

-SLG