Horse Manure Park

I remember holding my breath until I was dizzy, loss of consciousness was near as I started seeing black and purple spots. I remember involuntary tears rolling down my cheeks.   I remember thinking to myself (because I didn't dare say it aloud) "Man, I hate this." I'm talking, of course, about being forced against my will (gasp!) to help make home made horseradish sauce as a kid.  But more about that in a minute. Today's entry is a sort of continuation of a subject I broached back on May 3rd of last year.  I mentioned then that my sister-in-law, Marilyn, had given me an entire box of my mom's cookbooks; an absolute treasure of childhood memories.   In May, I was giving serious thought to launching a whole new blog devoted entirely to Mom's recipes.  I honestly have enough to post a new recipe a day for about five years. Instead, I think I will simply post a recipe here every now and then when I suffer from a lack of anything better

One hundred years ago today a baby boy was born near Somers, Iowa. That baby grew up to be my dad. That's right, today is my father's 100th birthday.  I think of him every single day and use him as my role model through life. I know I will never be half the man he was, but I do my best to make him proud of the child he raised. My dad in Rome, 1944, after the Battle of Monte Cassino.  When I looked at this picture as a kid, I always thought my dad looked like a movie star. My dad with my two brothers, Bob (left) and Dale, about 1951.  Still one of my favorite pictures. Me and my dad in the spring of 1970.  He was a 55 year-old grandfather in this picture, starting all over with yet another son! Me, my hair and my dad, autumn of 1988. Happy birthday, Dad.  Thank you for your service to our country -- you were a true American hero, even though you never really talked about it. Thank you for passing on your love of football to me.  I am now passing that pa

There are ghosts everywhere you look, even if you can't see them. No, I'm not necessarily talking about "poltergeist" ghosts.  I'm talking about faded history.  The lessons, the legends, and the lives of the past are all around us.  And most are hiding in plain sight. All you have to do is dig (figuratively and literally) to find that incredible world.  History doesn't die, although it can camouflage itself very well at times.  Seeking out these places and stories is an addicting, captivating and endless journey.  It's one that has always fascinated me. When I was a kid, there was a dilapidated, abandoned house along my school bus route.  Everyday when I passed that old house, I wondered what happened there?  Who lived there?  What stories could those walls tell?  What events occurred inside that old house?  Did someone die there?  Was someone born there?  Did someone got married there? I'm sure this is where my love of history started.  To thi

So it is New Year's Day.  Today is the day we make our resolutions and vow "big changes" for the new year to come. How stupid. What makes us think that just because the calendar reveals it's the first day of the first month of a brand new year, that we magically become different in our resolve? Based on a non-scientific study, 99.7% of the "big changes" we resolve to make flounder within 14 days of the new year.  This especially includes going to the gym and starting a diet. Simply put, Americans are all talk and no action.  Making a plan, taking action and sticking to the plan  is difficult .   And we don't do difficult .  If it doesn't come in a pill or offer instant gratification, we are not interested.  We quit easily. As the great poet and songwriter Paul Simon once philosophized in the year I was born, "After changes upon changes we are more or less the same." So, you'll see no resolutions here.  I don't believe