Will Wear Lederhosen For Beer

"Hey ladies, check-out my leather pants." 

Heritagefest is no more. The small town German festival has gone the way of the dodo bird. According to organizers, Heritagefest has been losing money the last two to three years. Respectfully, those in charge decided to end the two-weekend ‘fest’ rather than produce a sub-par product.

Heritagefest was, in a lot of ways, not all that different from any other typical small town festival. But because it was mine it was the best. I could go back and run into my friends, spend time with my family, eat some of my favorite foods, and drink my hometown brewery’s beer. It was a portal into memories of early childhood.

My mother used to dress me up in ‘Lederhosen’ (Which in German means ‘leather-pants.’ See above) for an afternoon at the fest grounds. I hated it… as any red-blooded seven-year-old would. I would cry, protest, pout, and argue to no avail. We all know who wins when you go toe-to-toe with mom. So I would sulk all the way out to the festgrounds and act surly while I was there. But at some point, Heritagefest would take-over. I’d be swept-up in a German conga line, I’d run into friends dressed in similar ridiculous costumes, or I’d get my hands on some oh so delicious funnel cake. By the end of our ‘festing’ time I would not want to leave.

As I got older I came to revel in the opportunity to catch-up with scores of people from the past. We would all gather near one of the beer tents and exchange stories of school, marriages, and work. Everyone would be drinking Schell’s beer like it was their job, only stopping to ingest a sauerkraut covered brat. MMMmmm, I can almost taste one.

The music was always top-notch as well. Many local and regional bands would dust-off their accordions and play their best polkas. But the real treats were the numerous groups who made the trip all the way from Germany to perform. No doubt about it, night in and night out Heritagefest delivered high quality entertainment to all comers.

I’m sad that weddings prevented any ‘festing’ this year, and disappointed that I may not get another chance to take friends to Heritagefest. But time marches on, and even the best polka songs have endings. All I can do is hope. Hope that someday Heritagefest will return.

For more information see Hertiagefest's Official Website

What A Long Strange Trip It Must Have Been

"The Iowa of Eastern Europe"  

My dear friend Remus is back from Moldova. She spent the last two years in the Peace Corps teaching English in a Moldovan school. Although much had changed, almost instantly we were able to relate in that old familiar way. Remus entertained with stories filtered through her light-hearted cynicism, and I tried to fill her in on my last two years without boring her with tales of civil procedure finals gone awry.

It was also good to meet her boyfriend Glen, a great guy. It is such a bonus when you like your friend’s significant others. They both seem happy and ready for life’s next adventure. For selfish reason I would like to see them stay in Minneapolis, but they may ride the winds west to Oregon. No matter where they end up though, they will always be friends.

Support Our Troops, Give Them Your Hummer *

Besides..., you can't afford the gas anyway.  

Dick Cheney, Tom DeLay, and President Bush; how many times in the last few months have we had to read/hear/see these ultra-rich white guys talk about the necessary sacrifices of war? Has one of their family members been told they can’t leave Iraq, even though their tour of duty is over? Were any of their family members missing from Christmas gatherings? Is one of their family members among the 1,700+ lives lost in Iraq? Have any of them had to alter their lives in any tangible way since the start of the war? Don’t you think their tune would be a little different if they had loved ones involved?

Sacrifice...

Has the average America become so disengaged from the rest of the world as to not see the irony in the pontifications of our current administration? On top of all the patriotic rhetoric about necessary sacrifice, those 'oh so necessary' tax cuts are about to be phased-in. You remember, the cuts that helped George W. win the White House again, the cuts that provided the average family a whopping $150 a year, the cuts that repeal taxes enacted in 1990 under then President George H.W. Bush. (Even George Sr. was able to swallow his pride and do the right thing, even after the “Read my lips... No new taxes” pledge.) George Sr. lead a bipartisan effort to reduce to the deficit, a laudable goal that the Republicans used to think was important.

Instead, the upper-class, who already have enough power and influence to protect their precious children from the ravages of war, will in fact get richer during this time of war. This is the first time in our Nation’s history that a major tax-cut has taken place during a time of declared war. Is the administration having its cake and eating it too? Sacrifice, in light of the rampant gluttony and materialism of today’s America... has lost almost all meaning.

All the while Americans die; and our government can’t bring itself to properly equip our soldiers’ hummers. Yet our Commander-in-Chief still thinks it is important to let the tax cuts go forward, or maybe he is too chicken to do the right thing. When criticized the best that this administration could come up with was: “You go to war with the army you have, not the army you wish you had."

Well, as an American citizen I guess I have to accept the ‘administration I have, not the administration I wish I had.’

* Credit were credit is due: Thanks to Carol for the title idea.

A Heart of a Bear

The Golden Bear 

For most people, golf is not a spectator sport. They watch only when it is forced upon them at family gatherings and/or at grandma and grandpa’s house. Golf is really only the glorified pursuit of putting a little white ball into a little white cup. And its good name is often soiled through its close associations with old stuffy white men who wear funny pants.

But golf is so much more than country clubs and questionable fashion sense. It is a game that demands respect, courtesy, and honor from its participants. A golfer has to be willing to call a penalty on herself. (Not easy to do as a competitor) You have to stand still when your opponent is swinging; waving your arms raucously to distract a foe would be grounds for disqualification. It is a civil game, void of trash talk and one-upsmanship.

Having caddied for seven summers (and a winter), I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a man by the way he plays golf. Cheater, gentleman, crook, snob, peacemaker, or phony; give me one round with a guy and I could tell you anything you’d need to know about them. More than a few very successful people require a round of golf with a potential business partner before any business deal is signed. This game, the simple act of putting a ball in a cup, can provide such a clear window into a person’s soul.

Friday July 15, 2005, Jack Nicklaus played his last round of professional golf at St. Andrews in the British Open. No one’s soul has shown brighter in golf’s radiance. Jack Nicklaus exuded respect, showed boundless courtesy, and demonstrated a level of honor rarely seen in today’s world. He was as equally gracious in defeat as he was in victory. He was embraced by fans and competitors alike for his generosity.

Most of Jack Nicklaus’ accomplishments occurred before I was born. Only through the magic of ESPN Classic (and the Golf Channel) have I been able to see and learn about his superlative career. And throughout it all, Nicklaus maintained the highest level of integrity. He was a great golfer, and an even better person.

We all could learn a lot from Jack Nicklaus. He was a true champion.

Goodbye Mr. Nicklaus 

Viva France!

Sometimes..., you even feel sorry for the French.  

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

Alright show-off, let's see a wheelie 

Has anyone else seen the ever-growing hoard of people riding radically modified bicycles around town? “Tall-Bikes,” as those in the know call them (Google = fountain of all knowledge), have been around since the 17th Century. Some of these homemade towers on wheels are more than 10 feet tall. But why? What makes people collect old bikes, weld them into strange creations, and then ride atop them? A need for attention, adrenalitis, or just a slight chemical imbalance?

About a month ago, I was walking through South Minneapolis. In the distance, I saw a woman on a tall-bike traveling in the opposite direction. I stopped and watched this ten foot tall piece of metal and its ‘pilot.’ There was pretty heavy traffic and cars parked bumper to bumper all along the curb. Suddenly the van in front of the pilot slammed-on the brakes… she deftly swerved around it, missing by inches. The international symbol for ‘F You’ was used and she continued on down the street.

Now can you imagine the scene had she not been able to dodge the van?

If you spend some time around the Twin Cities, especially Minneapolis, you will see these tall-bikes everywhere. There is an entire subculture, a group of people not unlike “Trekkies” or D&D fans. They have their own language, their own hierarchy, and their own ‘gangs.’

An unspoiled/untapped subculture…hmmm… I wonder how long before it is featured in a Mountain Dew commercial. Or Hollywood snatches-up the subculture’s story for “Skypedallers” starring Keanu Reeves as “2 Tall” the tall-bike ‘guru.’


Has anyone else had any run-ins with these sky commanders?

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why couldn't it be bud light? 

Slip sliding away...

A Little Slice of Heaven 

The 4th of July has already come and gone. It is so hard to believe that summer has already moved so quickly through June. Each summer spirals more rapidly towards its end, summer-time is so fleeting.

This last weekend, yours truly was able to relax at a cabin near McGregor, Minnesota. Thank you Carol and David for all of your hospitality and engaging company, you certainly know how to make guests feel welcome. I swear that Carol has ESP. She knows what you want before you do, and is usually serving something most delicious. And David has a happy-go-lucky style to accompany a razor-sharp wit. His prowess cooking large chunks of meat on an open flame would make his Scottish ancestors proud. Together they created a very memorable weekend at the cabin.

The cabin is situated on a ridge line, on the South shore of Glacier Lake. The driveway is a fairly steep climb through the woods, steep enough to make winter passage nearly impossible. Some trees have been removed in order to provide the two bedroom log cabin a view of the lake below. A short decent of about 100 to 200 feet is required to reach the lake’s edge. At the bottom of the trail, there is a small dock for sunning, fishing, or launching the fishing boat and/or canoe. There is nothing to see but large pines and maples huddled closely together along the shoreline. No other houses, no cabins, just pure soul refreshing nature.

I’m sure I would have survived had I not made the trip to the cabin this weekend, but merely surviving hardly makes for a life worth living. Human beings need an occasional day or two to reconnect with nature, to decompress, and to sort-out all of the brain-clutter. This last weekend was all that and more. Thank you again Carol and David. Thank you Amber, Mike O., Joe, Mike, and Matt. Once again, I feel balanced.