Florida 2010: From the Daytona 500 to Gatorland!

My relationship with Florida has a lengthy history going back to the early 1960s. My paternal grandparents, Ragnvald and Gladys, retired to Florida in '61 or '62, I can't remember the exact year. They built a house in Dunedin on the west coast and lived there until their deaths a decade later. My family and I visited once when I was 10 or 11. I'd never seen a citrus tree before,  we all got to climb a ladder and pick a grapefruit from a tree in their backyard. That impressed me.

The High Bank between turns 4 and 1

I spent about 3 weeks in Florida in 2010. I didn't plan it, but that's what  happened. The first visit I made in 2010 was with my son in February. We made a pilgrimage to Daytona Beach and the annual kickoff race of the NASCAR season, the Daytona 500. The experience was a major spectacle, made more so by the unseasonably cold weather, the world's most famous pothole which caused multiple stoppages, and a race that didn't end for over 7 hours.

Dan with the #20 car driven by Joey Logano

Florida is where the election of 2000 was stolen by the nepotistic collusion between the Bush family, the Republican Party and the misguided Supreme Court. Life in America has been off-kilter ever since. Florida is also the home of one of the funniest writers in the world, Carl Hiassen. He famously quips that as wildly irrational as any situation in his books can get, he has yet to fabricate anything. As a beat reporter for the Miami Herald, he swears that all he has to do is watch the world unfold around him. There's more material than any one person can ever use for storytelling.

Team Camo getting frenetic.

My second Florida trip was in October and was a strictly business affair. I went to a conference in Orlando where my sister-in-law lives and was exposed to all of the newest gadgets in my little world of card-based privileges for financial and access control. One odd experience was the night that we replicated an Iron Chef competition (sort of).

My final journey to Florida last year was in December. We hadn't had all of our children and those of my sister-in-law together in the same place at the same time since 2002 and now we had a grandchild and additional SOs, etc. It was a moveable feast that went on for more than a week and was quite grand. Good food, hijinks, and the chance to sample the fare and ambience at Pie-Fection, a new food venture by nephew Luke Fernbach. What a treat! If you're in the Orlando area and have a craving for the ultimate pizza pie, make sure you visit Luke. Tell him Dan sent ya.

Do you think that we did the Disney thing while we were in Orlando? Seems like that's de rigeur, right? Well, no, we didn't (actually, we did visit Downtown Disney on a chilly mid-week morning, but we didn't do the theme parks). The main attraction for the Ryder/Arnold/Fernbach/Bergeson bunch was . . . GATORLAND!!

Entering Gatorland

Our kids have talked about alligators for years. They kept salamanders and chameleons as pets when quite young and always were interested in crocs and gators. Gatorland covers hundreds of acres and has thousands of reptiles and birds. It's incredibly well-maintained and affords hours of fun at very reasonable rates. We were delighted to have had the opportunity to experience this odd assortment of animals and kitsch (be sure to take in the gator wrestling!) and recommend it to everyone.

I'm going back to Florida many times because there's so much natural beauty to enjoy. There's great entertainment and lots of  people-watching. There's also a passel of weirdness, but that's to be savored and recalled later for lots of great conversation. I recommend that you visit soon.

The Thing About Snaps

We're so accustomed to taking pictures of every part of our lives today that I think it's hard to appreciate how seldom that occurred in decades gone by, especially for those of us born after say, 1980. Today you take a picture (or many) and post them on Facebook and who knows what people do with the original, save it to the hard drive and back it up or simply delete it when the memory card gets too full? During most of the past century, you took a picture and didn't see the results for days or maybe weeks. And if it wasn't a good shot . . . oh well. Even if it was a good shot, if you lost or damaged the print and you couldn't locate the negative, you simply had your memory of the picture.

Grandma Josie and Danny

I recently located about a dozen black-and-white photos of me that my mother saved and it made me wonder, were there others and if so, where did they go? Maybe she split up what she had in three equal parts (with my two sisters). Or maybe there just weren't any more. I have a lot of Kodachrome slides (my Dad and his Dad's favorite format) so I'm not lacking in family memories, but I'm enjoying these little b&w jobs, probably from a Brownie camera.

For example, here's one with me and my maternal Grandmother in North Dakota where I lived from age 2-4. She died when I was 4 so this is one of only a couple of pictures I've ever seen of her taken while I was alive.

Beth and Danny

The next one memorializes possibly the first inflatable pool that the family owned. My sister and I were fanatical swimmers as kids (our mother was not), but this predates swimming lessons and lifesaving. I think it's just a testimony to HOT midwestern summers. It seems a little too small for even two children, but we seemed to be enjoying the wet anyhow.

Sir Danny

I think it's strange that my high school mascot was a Knight and the mascot of the institution where I work is also a Knight. I've been connected with symbolic Knights for more than 25 years. I didn't remember until I found these photographs that there was an antecedent for this relationship. When I was a Cub Scout, I did a project for an achievement that cast me as guess what . . . a Knight. Here I am in my young glory, all of the equipment handcrafted by moi.

Danny at attention

This next one is just a tad bizarre. I've taken pictures of my kids to highlight some quirky behavior or unique moment in their lives. But I don't believe I ever posed them quite like this. I don't know if Mom was trying to show my height or she liked the clothes I was wearing or she thought she was the next Walker Evans. Maybe she was training for some forensic job, cuz it sure looks like a lineup. The motivation escapes me, but here is the result, whatever the impetus. Yep, it's me alright, with the living room drapes as a backdrop. Weird.

The last one I'll bore you with is really a work of art. Not because of the quality of the picture, but because of what it took to produce such an assemblage. My fondest memories of childhood are the kids in the neighborhood and the adventures that we had. We lived on the eastern boundary of town and 90% of the houses had families of 2-4 kids and in some cases more. We spent every waking moment in roving packs that glided from yard to yard with astonishing speed, from early morning until well after dark. It was magical.

The Fareway and Park Drive Gang

The crowning achievement of this time was the clubhouse (known as "The Fort") that we built in our back yard one summer. There were houses going up all around us and someone had the ingenious idea to "borrow" some wood from one of them after the men had gone home for the day. We managed to scrape together enough plywood and pine planking to construct a one-room shack on our tetherball court and paint it. It wasn't until we started to add a second story that not only our parents began to ask questions, but so did the foreman of the worksite. Oops. However, before that happened, we were fortunate that our Mom froze the moment for us with this picture. I can still ID everyone in the frame.

Where Does One Put Wounded Knee?

I gotta admit, right now I'm stuck in 1890. My daily newspapers, my many magazine subscriptions, my Twitter feeds, my Facebook friends, public radio, and CNN all tell me without interruption about the calamities occurring in real time in Haiti, Brazil, Sudan, Tunisia, Australia, Pakistan, Afganistan, and numerous other points on the globe (Mexico?). These are not being exaggerated and people living in these regions are desparate. Nevertheless, I'm stuck in 1890 in South Dakota.

What Heather Richardson's book, "Wounded Knee: Party Politics and the Road to an American Massacre" reveals is the degree to which political party goals determined the futures of thousands of Native Americans in the western regions of the country in the late 19th century. Those of us alive today may think that the divisions currently existant between the Democrats and the Republicans are unique and possibly of epic proportions. Not so! The only thing that's changed in more than a century are the issues being debated. Today it's health care and issues of taxation. In 1890, the issues were the Mckinley Tariff and election reform.

It's sobering and yes, appalling, to realize that the lives of the Native Americans in the western territories and states meant nothing more to the business community, the Republican and Democratic parties, and the government of the United States than how many seats in Congress could be garnered by the mid-term election of 1890. And in the process of this jockeying and bickering, thousands of people were shunted into dangerous or meaningless situations or killed, and were unable to prevent their defeat and their demise.

On this Martin Luther King, Jr. day in 2011, let's remember all of the people in this country who have been stripped of their dignity and their futures by forces beyond their control, and work together to prevent such abuses of power and indifference in the years to come.

Magical Morning

 

 

 

Happy Birthday Tripp and Julie!

Holiday Rant #185

I try hard not to let myself get bogged down by holiday angst or pettiness. But . . . not the easiest thing to do. Take this afternoon, for instance. I get home from work and remember that my first obligation is to free up the mailbox . . . again. The poor thing has been held hostage by snow terrorists for weeks on-end this winter, the upshot of which is we may not get our mail. I grab my trusty shovel and dig in.

After the township plow has had its way with the snow in the road, it's not quite as fluffy and light as it may have been while falling. Such was the case today. I worked at it for about 15 minutes and was making great progress until . . . SNAP! my trusty shovel broke off right at the base of the shaft. Alas, I don't have a spare shovel so that's all I can do today.

On my way back to the house, I look up to find that the string of lights that I put up YESTERDAY is dark over 30% of its run. Now where's the justice in that? I realize that I only paid $6.99 for the damn thing (300 lights, roughly $.02 per light BFD!), but I don't want the cheapest price I can find. I'm fine with paying $50 if I get something that will work for the next 10 years. I'll never understand the rationale for the lowest possible price. Never.

OK, so my next challenge is trying to find a way to secure the holiday card cum tip for the newspaper carrier to the mailbox referenced earlier. Yesterday I placed it in the slot for the paper and in the dark, he missed it. Tonight I thought I'd tape it to the box. The box being plastic and all, and the temp being below freezing, that didn't work either. I finally grabbed some push pins and used a hammer to pound the pins through the envelope into the plastic. Now unless some joy rider sees it in the middle of the night and lifts it, my guy should get his just reward. I need this guy to be happy since the daily newspaper is holy to me. I know most of the world doesn't get that anymore, but whatever.

I'm 45 minutes into my evening and striking out on every front. However, I'd just come from meeting two friends at a local watering hole and learned that one was leaving tomorrow to meet up with his extended family in the UP (Michigan) and he was SOOO excited. The other was glowing about his two weeks in Ireland last month and the fantastic music he heard in the country pubs. They tell me that the English pubs are dying, but apparently they're getting on famously in Ireland. At any rate, my little domestic problems pale compared to folks enjoying their families and their cultural exchanges with new friends. That's what counts after all.

The US Air Force Academy

The tablecloths are vinyl

One of my sidetrips during our recent visit to Colorado Springs was to the Air Force Academy. The outing was part of the conference I attended and focused on the operational side of the base, although we did visit the chapel, which is spectacular. We started the tour with a VIP briefing in the Visitors Center and then proceeded to Mitchell Hall, the location where the cadets eat their meals. The dining area is a massive room that allows all 4,500 cadets to eat at the same time. Breakfast and lunch are mandatory meals and dinner is optional.

All 50 state flags are displayed

Our tour guide pointed out that the meal periods last 20 minutes from the time the cadets are seated until they're dismissed. I'm not sure how the staff accommodates cadets with special dietary needs or even if they do. Seems like that would be an additional challenge that would be difficult to meet. The building was undergoing a serious renovation during our visit in an effort to revamp the kitchen and make the entire complex ADA accessible. We were told that they were in year three of a six year project. Oy.

The weather that afternoon deteriorated rapidly into something not desireable. What they said was, "This is the worst day this year to visit the Air Force Academy." Oh well. I kinda felt like Eeyore and hoped it wasn't evident on my face. I had been looking forward to this time for weeks and wasn't going to be discouraged. We just had to duck in and out of cover during the first snow storm of the season.

The Air Force Academy Chapel is striking in its design and place against the foothills. It was designed by Skidmore Owings and Merrill of Chicago during the 1960s. The main floor houses the Protestant Chapel, but the lower level houses a Roman Catholic Chapel, a Jewish Synagogue and a Buddhist Meditation Chapel. All of them are unique and striking.

I seem to be having trouble with the slideshow above. If it fails to start for you, go to my Picasa album to view it.

As we were leaving the Chapel and being urged to "get on the bus", I came upon a memorial to the Academy graduates who have been killed in action. This is a surprisingly short list given the tens of thousands of cadets who have matriculated since 1956. However, one of the names is intimately familiar to me. Lt. Stephen H. Gravrock was like an uncle to my sister and I when we were in high school and hearing of his death in 1972 was a surreal experience. Still is.

On the flip side, my cousin, Tom, entered the Academy several years later and has had a stellar career as a pilot and base commander. I tip my hat to both of these fine men.

Bookstores That We Love!

Twin Citians: remember the Hungry Mind Bookstore? How about Baxter's Books? Gringolet? Odegaard's? Perine's? Savran's? Ruminator? Even the name Shinder's brings a tear to some eyes, I guarantee (mine included)! The book departments at Powers and Dayton's were meccas at one time. None of these stores exist anymore.

The Tattered Cover Bookstore in Denver still has two locations from which to serve customers. What a luxury!! The original store moved several years ago to an address on Colfax Avenue. But our destination last week was in the Loop: the LoDo store across the street from Union Station. There aren't many bookselling venues left anymore that are quite as exotic.



There's a full Children's Department on the first floor as well as a cafe. There's a large event space on the second floor which is booked for most every night of the next month. Joyce Meskis and her staff received an Award of Merit in 1998 for Design from the Western Region of the American Institute of Architects for renovating this great facility. The LoDo store originally was the C. S. Corey Mercantile Building.

The Twin Cities still have a number of excellent independent booksellers, but the critical mass that existed in the last decade of the 20th Century is non-existent and won't ever come back. We're grateful for Wild Rumpus and Majers and Quinn in Minneapolis, and Common Good Books, Micawbers, and the Red Balloon in St. Paul. But the loss of those stores mentioned at the top is worse than sad, it's a tragic cultural loss for our state.