Horse Manure Park

I don't know which is harder to believe... that it has been four months since my last confession or that in 2009, I made 156 of these blog entries. There was a time when I couldn't wait to sit down and write about something. Now it is just so much easier to post a thought on Facebook or Twitter and be done with it rather than sit down and actually write an organized, well thought-out piece. Unfortunately, social media sites have become frothing-at-the-mouth political hotbeds. One must not even make a joke about something for fear offending or angering a friend or relative (or complete stranger). I have found it is much safer to keep my thoughts to myself (it is not as though I do not have an opinion!). Social media sites have become little more than arenas for folks to throw verbal barbs at one another, rather than engaging in intelligent discourse or debate. Everyone must prove their "rightness." No one is willing to listen to the other side. The older I get, the

It is fishing opener in Minnesota. This weekend, along with deer hunting opener, are as close to state holidays as you can possibly get. But anyone who knows me understands that I fish and hunt about as much as I skydive and bungee jump. I am, however, always fishing to make my Bloody Mary recipe perfect and I am always on the hunt for something new and exciting. Okay, enough of the cute word play. I love my Bloody Marys year round, but we are getting close to summer and this refreshing cocktail will be hitting peak season soon. Because of this, I thought it would be fun to share with my readers something new I am trying with my Bloody Marys. Over the years I've experimented with all sorts of variations in my never-ending search for the perfect Bloody Mary. My attempts fail more often than not, but every now and then I stumble upon something brilliant. The following is one of those cases. The original recipe I'm sharing isn't mine (it can be found at www.thekitche

A chilly April morning. Overcast skies. Snowing just north of us. Yesterday it was 70ºF. Go figure. This is a good time to sit inside with a cup of coffee and catch up a bit. We took advantage of a beautiful sunny day yesterday to get outside and accomplish a few overdue tasks. Most significantly (for me), I bought a new grill. I believe this is the third one I've owned since buying our house 16 years ago. I use and abuse my grills until they literally fall apart.  That's true for most things in my life. The first grill I bought, years ago, was a colossus: a four burner with BTUs the equivalent of a small sun. It also had one of those sidecar thingamajigs for boiling a pot of water or frying a pan of bacon.  It was a nice feature and a great selling point which I used exactly once .  Yes, I paid way too much for it. I was caught up in the excitement of being a new home owner... I could grill when and where I wanted on the premises of my very own ca

Sinatra once sang, "Regrets, I've had a few. But then again, too few to mention." I'm happy to say that  line applies to my life for the most part, although if I could hop in a time machine there is one thing I would change. You see, my children never met my parents. Even though the circumstances were far beyond my control, I have always felt guilty about that. I know this is irrational thinking. When I graduated from high school there is no way I could have known I would lose my mother in less than two years. Indeed, no one can see into the future (and that might be the greatest gift God has ever given us). But the guilt remains: Deep inside my psyche I fear I've cheated my kids. Because of this, I talk about my parents frequently with my girl and boy. I tell them stories all the time; things my dad would do or something my mom would say. At least once every summer we make sure to camp at "the farm," as we call it; this is where my parents liv

I spent a good part of my day off today doing research on my family tree. Today was mostly a day of dead ends and cold trails. Some times the documenation ends and you have nowhere left to go. Today was one of those days. But even on days when I hit a brick wall, I still learn plenty. That's why I find researching my family history so intriguing. It is never a waste of time. One interesting detail I looked into today was mentioned in the McGowan family history book which my parents bought some 35 years ago. The authors of the book stated that for years there had been family folklore suggesting John Cabell Breckinridge, Vice President of the United States under James Buchanan (and later, Secretary of War under Jefferson Davis of the Confederate States of America), was a distant relative. At the time the book was published (1982), the authors could find no connection. A bit of a backstory here: my great-great-great grandmother's maiden name was Ann "Nancy" Breck

I have to mark time on this day! I have, at last , figured out an enduring mystery on my mom's side of the family. I can't tell you what a thrill it is to finally solve this crazy, convoluted story! In the last couple of days, I have uncovered new information on my maternal great-great-great and great-great-great-great grandparents. I am finding much of my mom's ancestry can be traced back to Ireland. I am more Irish than I previously believed. More on that in a later post. Today was a great victory for Sam the Sleuth. My Campbell and Walker cousins will enjoy this too, because (obviously) this pertains to them as well. You see, for as long as I can remember, my mom and dad told me that we were related to Abraham Lincoln. They weren't quite sure how, but they thought Nancy Hanks (Lincoln's mother) had a connection to our family. So today I decided, using the relatively limited resources at my disposal, if I could figure out that connection (if, in fact, ther

John Campbell was born in Tyrone County, Northern Ireland on 1 August 1821. He immigrated to the United States when he was seven years old. On 13 August 1844, in Montreal, Canada, he married Mary White (also known as LaBlanc in some records). Mary was born on 19 April 1829 in Saint-Martin, Quebec, Canada. Presumably, she spoke fluent French. On 18 October 1868, John and Mary had their ninth (and last) child, a son they named William Barnabus Campbell. On 14 September 1874, Margaret McGowan was born to David and Sarah McGowan. Margaret's great-grandfather was John McGowan, who was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland in 1784 and immigrated to the U.S. on 10 July 1804. On the day after Christmas in 1891, William Campbell and Margaret McGowan were married in Mantorville, Minnesota. William and Margaret Campbell Seventeen years later, they had a daughter on this day, 31 March 1908. They named her Wilma Jerusha Campbell. Wilma is my grandmother and the matriarch of my Walker

By nature, I'm not a very spontaneous person. While I'm certainly not a "Type A" personality, I do like things to be organized and I like to have a "plan." There is a method to the madness: it prevents me from being indecisive and it keeps me from running in circles. But now and then I do things off-the-cuff and those moments often result in great memories. A perfect example: In early 1995 I had the opportunity to perform in Las Vegas in the orchestra of a local theater troupe. Long story short, the drummer of the orchestra had quit just a couple weeks before the scheduled performance in Vegas (at the Judy Bayley Theatre at UNLV) and I was asked if I'd be willing to assume the percussion duties on such short notice -- if so, my flight and accommodations would be taken care of. I was single at the time and had no reason to stay in one place, so I threw caution to the wind and hopped on the plane. Besides, I already knew the music! But that's jus

I hate it when I have to go to Walmart. Well, I guess I shouldn't say I have to go, I choose to go.  The same way I choose to drink a twelve pack of beer and a pint of brandy, even though I know it will result in a horrible headache the next day. I guess it is part of an unconscious inner self-loathing I am afflicted with and I suppose I need serious professional help. I always tell myself Walmart is closer to home and they usually have better prices, so to Walmart I go. The one good thing about it is I always find a pretty good story or at least something interesting to share. Today was no different. So this morning, I spirited through the store getting what I needed. Surprisingly, it was fairly uneventful except when I passed the electronics section. Two people were trying to buy TracFones and the overweight, perspiring, balding Associate was clearly overwhelmed. When a third customer with a shopping cart full of Ol' Roy, Red Bull and Tampax wandered up to the desk, Pe

It is a day of celebration. A day when family and friends brave the wintry cold and gather together to eat, drink and be merry. No, I'm not talking about Thanksgiving. I am talking, of course, about Super Bowl Sunday. Tomorrow is the unofficial national holiday of the United States. It is the most analyzed, debated, commercialized, consumerized and overly-hyped spectacle our country has to offer. It is uniquely American. A few numbers to ponder: $5.6 billion: the amount money Americans will spend on Super Bowl related items 1.33 billion: the number of chicken wings to be consumed 325 million: gallons of beer to be drank 4.4 million: pizzas to be ordered from Pizza Hut, Papa John's and Dominoes $6,250: average ticket price to the Super Bowl $5 million: the cost of a 30 second ad during the game $132 million: the amount of money wagered on the Super Bow in Las Vegas In fact, you can bet on anything , from the color of Gatorade dumped on the winning coac

"I fought my whole life . . . because I wanted to hear and know the whole story, my story, our story, and understand as much of it as I could. This, I presented as my long and noisy prayer, my magic trick. Hoping it would rock your very soul and then pass on, to be read, heard, sung and altered by you and your blood, that it might strengthen and help make sense of your story. Go tell it." These are the concluding sentences of Bruce Springsteen's Born To Run , his new, unapologetic and beautifully written memoir. After reading the last few words, I am inspired to write, so here I am. Whenever I hear a great new album or read an inspiring book, I always feel like I need to share the good news; there is hope out there ! People are still writing and creating good stuff! I realize most folks couldn't care less, but that's okay. I am who I am. I was given Born to Run as a Christmas gift and I was anxious to read it, not because I am a big Springsteen fan, bec