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Crispy Pig Ears

IMG_3912In the never-ending quest for new and different Columbus food experiences, the Red Sox Fan and I journeyed to Dinin’ Hall today.  There we found the Swoop food truck and . . . pig ears.

Crispy pig ears, to be precise, with smoky lemon tartar sauce.  When I asked the food truck proprietor about that option, he stated, with admirable simplicity, that that statement described the dish as concisely and clearly as possible.  Initially the RSF and I resisted the temptation to sample the sensory organ of a swine, and I got the cheeseburger and chicken sliders instead — which were fantastic.  But the lure of the porcine auditory organ was too strong to resist, and we later gave in to our animal urges.  (Those of you who always eat the ears of chocolate Easter rabbits first may understand the primal forces driving our decision.)

The crispy pig ears turned out to be crunchy and delicious, and a fun thing to nosh on during a conversation.  Swoop — which describes itself as Columbus’ Emergency Hunger Response Team — clearly has made the short list of must-try Capital City food truck options.

Last night Kish and I did something rare:  we had a weeknight out with friends, for dinner and one of the Thurber House Evenings with Authors.

It was the brainchild of our friend CV, and it was a great idea to get out on a Monday night, for dinner at Black Creek Bistro and then a short drive over to the Columbus Museum of Art for the Thurber House event.  Doing something fun on a week night seems to make the work week a bit shorter and more tolerable.  There’s lots going on in Columbus during the summer months — it’s just a matter of picking something and making the commitment.  Fortunately, JV’s lovely wife provided the necessary impetus.

The Thurber House is a real treasure in the Columbus community.  Named for famous humorist and Columbusite James Thurber, it supports reading, books, and authors through a variety of speeches, readings, and other events.  Last night the speaker was Steve Berry, a writer of historical thrillers, many of which feature the character Cotton Malone.  Berry gave a lively talk about his latest, The King’s Deception, that theorizes that Elizabeth I of England in fact was a male, and then answered a number of questions from the audience about his books, his writing practices, and his characters.  Berry was quick-witted and entertaining, and many of the people in attendance clearly were huge fans.  I admired his candid recognition that he, and other writers in the same field, owe a debt of gratitude to Dan Brown and The DaVinci Code, which reinvigorated the thriller genre.

Although I’ve never read one of Berry’s books, I’ll be on the lookout for them next time I’m at the library . . . and Kish and I will be on the lookout for a few more weeknight outings this summer.

The Fertility Factor

On Friday former Florida governor Jeb Bush — who apparently is entertaining notions of a run for the White House — gave an interesting speech on immigration in which “fertility” came into play

Bush is a proponent of immigration reform who believes that immigration is good for the United States.  (Of course, it’s hard to argue with that proposition, in view of the fact that the vast majority of Americans trace their family trees to hardy, self-sacrificing, risk-taking immigrants.)  In making the economic case for reform, Bush noted that immigrants start more businesses, have more intact families, and are more “fertile” — leading to a younger population.

Odd to hear politicians talking about “fertility,” isn’t it?  It’s a subject that makes people uncomfortable.  Those of us who lived through the “population bomb” era remember the dire predictions of mass starvation, food riots, and other threats from overpopulation, so how can having large families suddenly be a good thing again?  There are socioeconomic and religious and other factors at play as well.  Unmarried teenagers are fertile, but we aren’t encouraging them to have babies to help the country grow.  “Native-born” Americans, to use Bush’s phrase, are fertile, too — in the sense that they are physically capable of having children — but many of them have taken steps to control that fertility in order to end up with manageable families they can provide for.  Those families think they are being responsible.  Is Bush suggesting, instead, that they are being selfish and unpatriotic?

The mathematics of population growth, maintenance, and decline are indisputable.  Around the developed world, there are countries that are shrinking, with birthrates that are too low to fully replace those who die.  The demographic reality has a devastating political impact, because without young people to pay for the generous retirement and health care and housing programs for the aged, the social welfare model becomes unsupportable.  That’s why many countries with low birth rates are taking steps to encourage young couples to have larger families.  Have more children, so they can grow up, get jobs, pay taxes, and help those long-lived seniors enjoy their comfortable retirements!

Perhaps America will join the list of countries that provide economic incentives for larger families — or perhaps we’ll achieve that result through policies that welcome more of those “fertile” immigrants.  Either way, look for “fertility” to be an increasing topic of national conversation in the years to come. 

Heart On Asphalt

IMG_3897Some of the maple tree seed pods have helicoptered to the ground.  On my walk yesterday I noticed that this pair of seeds formed a pretty little heart against the dark, rough asphalt pathway.

The Penny Chronicles

My name is Penny.

IMG_3870Some days I get so hungry I can’t stand it.  My stomach growls like Kasey and feels like a bottomless pit.

When that happens, I look for any chance to eat.  I have a good plan, too.  I stay by the front door, and wait.  Then, if the Leader opens it just a bit, I run out and head to Sassy’s house.

Sassy lives with the pack next door.  Sassy is my friend.  I run to her place, and sometimes there is food in her bowl.  When that happens, I know it is a good day.  Sassy always has good food!

I eat as much of Sassy’s food as I can until the Leader finds me.  When that happens, oh, she is mad!  She yells at me and swats me on the butt.  She pulls me away from the food and takes me home.

It is sad when the Leader is mad at me, but it is worth it.  I’ll take some swats on the butt for a full belly any time.

On this Father’s Day, I’ve been thinking about my father and wishing I knew a little bit more about certain parts of his life.

It’s not that Dad was a person of conscious mystery.  It’s just that, for the most part, he was a quiet man who kept his earlier life to himself.  He didn’t dominate the conversation when we sat down for dinner at night or regularly regale us with stories of his childhood in Uhrichsville and Akron or talk about his college days.  As a result, there are parts of his life that are a bit of a mystery to me, and those little mysteries will probably never be solved to my satisfaction.

IMG_3910For example, when he was a young man Dad had the nickname Lucky Pierre.  I’ve now inherited the 60-year-old caricature drawing of Dad that shows it.  Mom says that when she first started dating him, she thought his real first name was Pierre, because that’s what Dad’s fraternity friends and other members of their crowd always called him.  In those days, the frat guys would invite their dates over to the frat house and put on little comedy skits and shows for entertainment — something that it’s hard to imagine the father I knew doing — and in the skits he was called Lucky Pierre.  He played basketball on a team with his friends and had a jersey with Lucky Pierre on it.  It obviously was a moniker he liked.

These aren’t things Dad ever talked about; they are little bits and pieces of his life that I’ve heard about from others over the years.  So, how did a regular guy named Jim living in Akron, Ohio come to be called Lucky Pierre?  Mom doesn’t know, she says.  I have a vague sense that it involved some kind of vulgar fraternity humor that twenty-something guys find hilarious — but what incident was responsible for him getting that name in the first place?

I’ll probably never know the complete answer to this question, and a bunch of other ones, too.  Maybe it’s good for a man to have his little mysteries, but on this Father’s Day I wish I knew a little bit more about the back story of the Dad I knew and the course that his life took before UJ, me, Cath, Margaret, and Jean arrived on the scene.  It would help to round out my understanding of this man who played such a huge and essential role in my own life.

Deep Cleaning

Today Kish and I decided to tackle some deep cleaning projects:  the drawers in our dressers, and the drawers in our upstairs bathrooms.

IMG_3908The dresser drawers were bursting.  It’s easy to just shove stuff into a drawer, thinking you’ll get to it soon.  Of course, that doesn’t happen.  You end up, as we did, with dresser drawers jammed with stuff from days gone by, old birthday cards, crumpled receipts for God knows what, stray glasses cases, old laminated cards that show you how to dial into phone messaging systems that haven’t existed since the Bush Administration, and chargers for cell phones that have gone the way of the dodo.

The bathroom drawers are even worse.  Tubes of medication that expired in 2005.  Single shoelaces with no partners.  Empty Band-aid wrappers.  Combs with broken teeth.  Cotton balls embedded with hair.  Oh, yes . . . and safety pins.  Lots of safety pins.

Most of the stuff went into the garbage bag with a toss.  The safety pins — all of which came from our dry cleaner at some point– I decided to recycle.  Dozens of safety pins, joined together and jangling, to be put into the dry cleaning bag.

It’s a beautiful day outside, but sometimes cleaning up inside is a beautiful thing, too.  With our chores done and our drawers clean as a whistle, we can go out and enjoy the lovely weather with a deep sense of satisfaction.

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