do you hear what I hear?

Dear Blog Reader;

I hope this blog finds you doing well. I am fine. In fact, I am grilling a 22 lbs turkey on a big green egg for my extended family. We don't get together often but when we do, we baste our arteries in comfort food. Yum.

If you are new to the blog and would like to read one of (in my opinion) my better blogs follow this link http://yousaidwhatroger.blogspot.com/2010/11/turkey-in-straw.html  to a blog that I wrote last November about a ritual that I still miss from our days on the farm.

An update from the assassin deer that have been stalking me: it appears to me that they have called on Mother Earth and joined forces. In looking at my riding journal today, I noticed that every day that I have ridden over the past two weeks, the wind has been blowing at over 20 miles an hour, and since I have lost some weight while riding my bike, I no longer have my big belly which I used to slice through the wind. On another wind related note, make sure you tie down your inflatable Christmas yard ornaments because if your reindeer on a Harley blows over into my yard, I'm keeping it. I'm just saying finders keepers; losers weepers.

Last week, I left singing the praises of the little restaurant in Terre Haute. I wasn't done though. I just quit. I couldn't get my words around an idea that occurred while writing last week's blog.

I loved going to that restaurant and seeing the lost cause and I wanted you to love it too.

And I think that is the problem. I was talking with Grace about her Ghanaian experiences. She was relating that she is in a curious place in her life surrounded by curious people. Sure Ghana is strange; trotros, open sewers, little internet, cows in the bike lane and an infrastructure that just makes life hard, but that isn't what we were talking about. She is in a place where people on every side are trying to "save" her. Her world is filled with the churched that make American evangelicals look like Unitarians, and is living with feminists that make Gloria Steinem look like June Cleaver.  Grace says that both sides are trying to save her. In her experience, the definition of salvation is that she learns the secret handshake and becomes just like them. Anything less is anathema to either side.

It is true.  Few people are comfortable enough with their faith to stand resolutely alone in it.  In the absence of proof and things seen, we substitute the number of lemmings that can be assembled and shuffled along to our leaping point as proof for our beliefs. If not readily converted, the unenlightened are kicked to the curb and expected to keep silent so as not to offend or provide counterpoint to the comfort that sheer numbers of like minded people provide.  

Currently, the cliff that the lemmings appear to be marching towards most resolutely is the us versus the 1%. It is a great strategy. This stance allows us the convictions of 99% of our like minded friends. The 1% can only be brought low by such numbers. How much of this 99% - 1% argument is frustration feeling that the system is out to get the 99% and how much is just plain old envy of those smart enough to be rewarded by producing the things important to the 99%?

I loved growing organic produce. I was good at it. In all honesty though, society will reward the CEO of Sara Lee for producing ready made pumpkin pie and factory farm grown and processed turkeys at a very low price. As a result, Marcel Smits earned $5.9 million last year; me not as much. I love watching football. I am very good at it. In all honesty though, society will reward Peyton Manning $26.4 million for only watching football for 12 months; me not as much.

C.S. Lewis wrote of this in an essay called Screwtape Proposes a Toast. See link:  http://screwtapeblogs.wordpress.com/2009/06/30/screwtape-proposes-a-toast/  He is so much smarter and coherent than I am. In it, he argues that our faith is so dependent on being "like folks" that we tear down those who shine in a way that tyrants once did in a way to insure the supremacy of their reign.

Solutions? None really. I think that I will just sit here quietly with my questions.

Take care.

Roger

good food and lost causes?

Dear Blog Reader;

I hope this blog finds you doing well. I hope that you have found the appropriate way to eat your Halloween candy. Whether you plan to spread out the bounty of your haul and eat one piece a day for the next 3 months or if you plan to eat it in one giant orgy of exploding sugar and caffeine, I hope that you enjoyed or will enjoy it. For goodness sake, turn off the dentist warning loop dissuade you from the enjoyment that only 500 bite sized snickers bars can bring.

For those of you blogosphere denizens blessed with children, I hope that you took the opportunity to teach your children about taxes. When my kids were small, I instituted a candy tax on their Halloween haul. As a firm believer in the flat tax, I instituted a 25% levy. As the taxing authority, I was able to choose which 25% was turned over to me. No Smarties for me. I was the government. In Snickers and Reeses, we trust. What did the kids think? They hated it; exactly as it should be.

I had a unique opportunity two weeks ago. Grace has a college friend from Terre Haute. She knows of a restaurant that is staffed by the owner, head chef, and chief dish washer and they just happen to all be the same person. He has no coke or Pepsi products, no liquor license, and no credit card machine. If those aren't enough handicaps for a restaurant business model, he also has no menu, or published prices. You simple go in and let him know what you don't want and he will go back to the kitchen and make you something.

I was intrigued with the concept. It has hopeless cause written all over it. Bev and I had a day off in common a couple of weeks ago. We woke up and decided to go. I made a promise to myself that I would say yes to everything he suggested. It was wonderful. The black bean soup was the best that I have ever had. It was spicy and had a shredded beef in it. I also had this stuff that I am too much of a philistine to know its name, but it was served on a bed of spinach which was very good.

He went on to make four different entrees. They were all great. It was undoubtedly, some of the best food that I have ever had in a restaurant. I loved it all except for the sushi. Again, the inner-philistine broke out screaming cook the damned fish.

The afternoon was completed by a wonderful 45 minute conversation about kids, college, organic farming and being empty nesters with our host.

One of the really cool things is that he gave Bev a cookbook that she had looked at on his reading table. It had a recipe to make homemade Oreos. Who knew? I thought that they were made with magic. How could mere mortals make an Oreo in their humble kitchen? You can though and they are very good. Close your eyes and imagine a roll of butter (lots of it) and powdered sugar (lots more of it) waiting for you to cut it to double stuffed thickness. You can cut it and pop it into your mouth when the cook isn't looking. Oh the humanity, the goodness, the not having to mess with those dry, grainy, thin chocolate cookies.

Bev liked it. The food is good, but is unsure if it was worth the drive to Terre Haute. I on the other hand was able to enjoy good food and witness a lost cause. I loved it and couldn't wait to share it with you because I am sure that you will love it too.

Will you like it? Who knows? I just put it out there as a possibility.

http://harryandbuds.com/

Take care, and could you pass the salt? Ummmm.

Roger

I'm offended?

I hope this blog finds you doing well. I must say that I am a bit befuddled.

I was on the way to work this morning and I heard a newscast explaining how Kim Kardashian's mom, Kris Jenner, has gotten herself crossways of Native American groups because of some insensitive remarks.

It appears that Kris hopes that Kim's ex,what's his name, (why do you read a blog by someone so lame he can't come up the name of Kim Kardashian's ex) doesn't ask for  the $2,000,000 engagement ring back. She hoped that he wasn't an "Indian Giver".

Who can blame them?

They have every right to be upset. Those are offensive remarks.

But why isn't the media concerned about offending 49'er dog owners?  How will they feel when Kim is described as a gold digging bitch?

Just sayin

Take care

Roger

Impromptu Feast?

I hope this blog finds you doing well. It leaves my blue tooth keyboard and travels into my ipad doing just fine thank you very much. It has been a great weekend. I went to the Purdue game yesterday. We beat the 24th ranked Illini like the world's largest bass drum. (Take that Austin Stilger my poor deluded nephew. There is still time to change from the error of your youthful ways.) It was homecoming. There was a flyover at the beginning of the day. For a nearly duplicated replay of a Purdue game last year, read the following link. A near perfect day was repeated 372 days later.

http://yousaidwhatroger.blogspot.com/2010/10/that-was-fun.html

Speaking of  reconsidering previous errors, you may remember last week in this blog I accused the deer of joining forces in trying to assassinate bike riders (namely me) in retaliation for years of humans using our cars to thin the herd so to speak. I have reconsidered after additional research. During three night rides this past week, I saw 15 feral cats eyeballing me in the side ditch. I now think that the feral cats are the leading sociopaths of the animal world. They are orchestrating these brazen attacks on my person.

I will keep you posted. This week, I wanted to write about one of the surest signs of fall. Last Saturday, Beverly sent out a notice for an impromptu fall feast. Feast day was to be Sunday; less than 24 hours later. It started innocently enough. A couple of Grace's friends from Ball State took Bev up on an open invitation to get away from dorm food and visit the Sharritt's in spite of Grace's year of study abroad in that third world paradise; Ghana. The plan for getting away from the rigors of academia was to go out to the woods after a fine meal and get some physical exercise by helping cut some wood.

The plan changed. While I was out cutting wood on Saturday afternoon, Bev was formulating a new plan. Sure, two young people could have a relaxing afternoon, good food, and time in the great out doors, but it was chilly. The days are getting shorter. The weather service says that it is going to be a long cold winter. Those kids needed some comfort food. We could have pie (no make that 2 pies), a split pork loin stuffed with sausage, rolls, and parmesan potatoes. You know,  that is a lot of food for four people. . . That was a problem, but Bev had a solution for this vision. She simply invited more people.

Mid-way though the afternoon, Bev sent an email inviting a group of people to our house for Sunday lunch. You may have received one of these emails in the past. They go out periodically. No need to bring anything; all will be provided. Bev loves this kind of thing. While she isn't Martha Stewart, with feast plans for every day of the year, she is gracious and skilled enough at soirees that she doesn't have to wait until Thanksgiving, Christmas or Easter to get the gumption up to invite people over.

How do you get to come to an impromptu feast? There are a few criteria. First, you must be spontaneous enough to change plans and come over with less than 24 hour notice. 24 hours is generous though. I have seen impromptu cookouts  planned in less than 4 hours (no pie though and your pork is a hotdog.) Second, you have to know Bev. She is the only common denominator among invitees. Bev is warm, gracious, and has never met a stranger. If you accept an invite thinking that Bev has invited work friends over, or church friends over, or workout friends over, you need to work on your listening skills. Bev just said, "I am having some friends over for an impromptu feast." Any segregation of the friends into tribes is completely on you. Third, you must be willing to share a meal with people you don't know. That takes some practice and some getting used to, but if I can do it anybody can.

So you can imagine the young college students’ surprise when they thought that they would be the only guests. When they arrived the drive was full, and the kitchen was full. Hands were extended, and greetings were offered. And the fun began. Grace was said. The food dished out and we talked talk. In fact, I heard one of the funniest stories that I have ever heard. It involved youthful exuberance, dynamite and indiscretion. The main character had kept a secret for 40 years, and in the end, confession and redemption was granted.

I would share it here but that would imply that a blog is equivalent to a fine meal with friends, and it isn't. First off there is no vanilla ice-cream for the raspberry pie. Second, the community is cutoff and fragmented into pieces. I can share the story but I never know what you "hear" or how you respond. You can "hear" the story but I can never clarify what I "said”.

No a story that good needs to be shared over a feast. Keep an eye on your email.

Take Care

Roger

Deer Assassins?

I hope this blog finds you doing well. It leaves my brain doing well.  It is a bit windy; which is a pain in the butt while bike riding, but nothing that can't be overcome with persistence and an easier gear. I never know. Is the proper term a higher or lower gear? Feel free to let me know. I don’t want to look dumb at the national conference of geeks in biking shorts.

For those of you who have been following "You Said What? Roger" the past three weeks, this week is the payoff. The previous two weeks have been the set up for this week's blog.  Do you feel like you're in church? We have been having a three week sermon series on bike riding. I apologize to the church phobic in my audience for not explaining my nefarious plans before hand. You're here now though so you might as well go sit down in the front row.

Over the past two weeks, I have written about remembering a ride 40 years earlier and the benefits of night riding. Today I bring you the finale. We live in the country. As mentioned previously, the Sharritt farmstead is comprised of the Fall Creek valley. As such, the northern edge of our farm is a deer highway. Year around the deer are on the move. In fact the first four rows of the neighbor's corn field have been decimated by the deer as they move through. During hunting season, herds of 30 to 40 deer will dot the harvested cornfields of the Pendleton Correctional Facility to the East of our farm. They congregate there because the shooting stops as they cross the road that separates our farm from the Reformatory and enter the no hunting zone. It appears that the governor doesn't appreciate armed hunters roaming across his fields.

With this population density, I figure that is just a matter of time before I commit vehicular deer slaughter. I have been driving 33 years, and it hasn't happened yet. So rather than having one mishap in 64 years, I figure that I will have this unsightly encounter sometime during the next 31 years.

Armed with this statistical knowledge, one evening last summer as I was coming out of a wooded area on my ride a deer burst out of a bean field onto the road about 20 yards in front of me while I am coming off the steepest hill on my ride at a brisk 28 mph pace. It scampered on off across the road with no harm being done.

There you have it; a completely benign encounter with nature. Or was it? What if that deer was an advance scout for a group of assassin deer. What would happen if after years and years of being on the losing end of car deer encounters, the deer have figured out that while they may be a little bit bruised they would win a bike-antler encounter. Just to be clear, by win, I mean bike rider ends up in the hospital having antler wounds sewn shut at best and at worst the surviving family unit is responsible for maintaining a road side memorial with little white cross and a replacement stuffed Bullwinkle every six months as a grim reminder that all is not safe in the country.

Over the course of the next couple of weeks as I pondered the possibilities, I decided that this scenario was completely possible. Not the assassin deer part but the deer getting to my point in the road at my point in time that is totally possible. As a self-described control freak, totally possible passed from possible to likely, through highly likely, to just a matter of time.

Then during a ride in late August, I witnessed a nice 8 point buck stalking me from the middle of another bean field on down the road. He was giving me the stink eye as I labored North at about the halfway point of the ride. I could tell by his demeanor that things had changed. The deer had organized and targeted little ole me as one of their first victims.

I shared these concerns with all of my family. I just wanted them to know how to alert the police in case I experience an untimely demise while on a bike ride. Did I garner support from my loved ones? No; I was ridiculed by my loved ones. "There is no way that will ever happen." "Why do you go to hyperbole in every situation." "Drama; get over it. It is just a bike ride." I was ridiculed at every turn by those I trust and love and lean on for support during these trying times.

Left to my own devices, I have had to constantly change my routine. Even as I changed tactics, I could see the signs of the deer as they used new and more exotic weaponry. Dropping walnuts from trees in hopes of causing disorientation so they could attack after hitting me in the head; that diabolical plan didn't work out because I was wearing a helmet. Then they tried to debike me by dropping hedge apples on my head. Hedge apples for those of you who do combat with deer from the comfort of your 2500 lb automobiles are those green brainy things that country folk sell to city folk with outrageous claims of spider repelling properties. While formidable, I managed to stay astride in spite of several near misses.  

Now I hear rumors that they have a new plan during my night rides. According to my spies, the deer will use a decoy that will stand next to the road and feign an attack just in my peripheral vision which will cause me to jerk my handlebars to the right to gain distance between me and my attackers. As I swerve to the middle of the road, a buck will be standing there with his antlers down allowing me to do all the work as I skewer myself.

I hope that you take note because this is not hyperbole. I have evidence. This past week my sister-in-law posted the following video on my facebook page. I warn you it is not for the weak of heart.

See. I told you so. And you gun control fans say hunters have no need for assault rifles. A handlebar mounted AK-47 and we're having bambi stew tonight kids.

Take care

Especially out there in the woods.

Roger

http://www.whotv.com/news/nationworld/sns-viral-video-biker-antelope,0,815660.htmlstory

by the light of the silvery moon?

I hope this blog finds you doing well. It leaves my brain in fine shape. It has been a glorious day in the middle of a glorious October. The corn and beans continue to fall to their own version of the grim reaper. In fact the harvest has started in full force. As a public service announcement,; if you happen to be one of the jerks that is blessed enough to have all of the planets (including Uranus) in orbit around you, chill out. If your child is ten minutes late to soccer practice or you're ten minutes late to work there maybe some embarrassment but the world will not have ended.  If you keep your mouth shut and breath deeply the embarrassment will probably be less by being late than acting like the planet mentioned earlier.

Before I get started with the real content of this week's blog, I want to acknowledge the passing of Steve Jobs. The truest testament to his accomplishments came from The Onion, which is really just Mad Magazine for grown-ups. Their headline; Steve Jobs, the last man in America who knew what the F*** he was doing, has died. It is pretty much true. I once had the opportunity to go to an Apple store on a Sunday morning, and it was like church; there were greeters, there was a message, there was the teaching.  The only difference that I could see is that everyone there was enjoying church and the offering basket ended up being a lot fuller. I was joking with a co-worker. I said that it was pretty humbling. Compared with Steve Jobs, my co-worker and I had managed to design a mildly improved Indiana tax processing system.

I wrote last week about rediscovering bike riding as enjoyable exercise. I wrote that blog as an introduction piece to this blog. A week ago last Friday night, I discovered the exhilaration of riding a bike in the dark. Of course, I was well lit. I have a very cool red strobe light on the back. I have a blinking headlight. While in theory is it bright enough to light the way, it is really just bright enough to let people know that there is something to swerve around out in the road;  kind of like the red-devil eyes of a opossum. To address this deficiency, I had purchased a ray-o-vac headlamp. It is one of those geeky creations that is really just the Reese’s cup of flashlights and sweat bands. It works great. My helmet fits right over it, and it throws a nice beam about 15 ft in front of you as you are going down the road.

So a week ago, Bev went to Chicago for a wedding shower for our niece. This is the perfect storm for an empty nester. No kids and while I miss her deeply no Beverly either. These occasions have always been marked as a beer and Oreo weekends. That's right, 48 hours of drinking beer and eating Oreos, and if truth be known, doing things that are just a little bit dumb; ergo a night time bike ride. I didn't say that it wasn't well thought out. It was. It was just a little bit dumb. I had been noticing that the headlight wasn't going to be bright enough as the days started getting shorter and my bike rides would bump up against dusk. So on about June 23rd, I devised a plan and went out and bought the ray-o-vac and kept it tucked away for the perfect opportunity.

The Friday night was perfect. I was home late from work so I was cutting it close anyhow. It was cloudy so it got dark even earlier. The voice of reason in my life was no where near my ears. I had a cool ray-o-vac head lamp. If I went down and got hurt, I plenty of beer and Oreos to get me through to Monday morning. I was wearing a helmet. How bad could it be? I was golden.

I took off, there was just a little bit of sunlight fighting its way through the cloud cover. It was enough to get me to the more deserted roads. And then the darkness descended. I am a control freak that likes to see all of the possibilities in front of me and then plan for all of the possibilities. In my minds eye, I have the world's largest radar array in my head that is looking forward trying to figure out what is going to happen and then plan for all of the revealed possibilities. It doesn't matter if I won't use a hundredth of the permutations that my brain develops. The plans have to be developed and submitted to management for evaluation and approval. It makes me a pretty good project manager. Spontaneity not so great.

That is why I am surprised that I found it to be a great experience. While 15 feet seems like a good distance to illuminate, it evaporates very quickly at 16 miles per hour on the flats and even faster at 25 miles per hour on the hills. My world suddenly collapses to just that 260 inches in front of me. No worrying about that hill, what gear should I get ready to shift to, I didn't know that bridge had a reflective sign on it. It was so cool. What was a 12 and a half mile ride suddenly became about 4400 fifteen feet rides. It is so different.

While I won't become a nocturnal rider and will still do most of my rides in the light of day, I do think that it is a road that will teach me something illuminating about myself and how I look at the world.

Take care

Roger.

a 40 year bike ride?

I hope this blog finds you doing well. It leaves my fingers on a beautiful fall evening the day after the 1st frost of the fall. For you almanacers out there, it occurred on October 2 this year. This frost only occurred in the outlying areas. That means for all of the city folks, your impatienses are safe for another two weeks. For those of us who live in the upper Fall Creek Valley, we know that the possibility of frost in the “outlying areas” means to put on a jacket and go out and glean your garden because the fat lady is about to sing. So I wasn't surprised last night on my bike ride to see all of the neighbors out picking the last of the peppers, the green tomatoes, and a few peppers. Yes, in Ingalls, the garden party is over.

I have mentioned my bike rides from time to time during my blogs. Yet, I haven't used bike riding as the main theme during the past year of blog writing, even though two activities have coincided. Bike riding started a year ago last July and the first blog in this format was September 24. I haven't written about bike riding because I am always suspicious of people who extol the virtues of exercise. "I run 20 miles a day and I love it" "I have never felt better in my life." This is as they are limping out of the doctor's office after receiving a cortisone injection.

I think that most exercise is a fad; Tae Bo a fad, jazzercise a fad, shake weights a fad, weighted hula hoops a fad, (I looked this one up) the face bra sadly a fad. Link to the face bra   http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-415610/Would-wear-face-bra.html  While biking has had a really good run, any garage sale next May will have more than one Schwinn or Huffy looking for a new home. Then the next level of biking, takes the fadness to an entire new level; $1500 bikes, spandex shorts and shaving your legs. So last summer, when I decided that my theory of exercise maybe incorrect, I decided that if I rode my huffy for 800 miles, it would be safe to go out and purchase a better bike.

Oh great guru what was your previous insight on exercising? I am not very proud of it, but I had a theory that I only had so many heartbeats left. So rather than go rushing to my quota through exercise, I was prepared to go to low and slow to the end. That wasn't working great. Last July I started riding that Huffy and had literally ridden the wheels off it. Receiving a 200 mile reprieve, at 600 miles a very nice $600 bike was purchased right before Memorial Day and a thousand miles later, it has been a very good summer.

Every time I go out for a bike ride the same vision flashes through my mind. Sometime during the ride, my mind flashes to a vision of a ten year old, riding a bike around a suburban block endlessly. My mom had a nursing friend, Terri Oiler, a single mom with three kids about our age. Mom and Terri in an effort to save their kids from the farm and the burbs respectively did a kid exchange over a couple of weeks for my tenth and eleventh year. For me that meant an above ground swimming pool for six hours a day. For some reason, it wasn't safe to get in before 11:00 a.m. By 5:00 p.m. with bogus claims that my skin would stay pruney if I didn't get out now, I was forced out of water world. I went straight to a Schwinn with banana seat and sissy bar and rode until forced to come in to eat at 6:00.

"Why do you ride like that honey? Look at your face; its all red. You’re burning up."

"That's the only way I can keep cool.  The wind feels good and keeps me cool."

It happens every bike ride. No matter where my mind is at the beginning, sometime during the next 45 minutes, I'll be that 10 year old again; zooming around the four corners, seeing how far I can ride hands free, trying to pop a wheelie, the wind rushing through my hair and best of all the 6 foot skid mark on nice white concrete.

Weird huh?

But probably not as weird as the face bra.

Take care

Roger