He was a hard working farmboy: Tales from Our Thanksgiving Trip to WV

Fresh back from our trip to WV: tired, a bit haggard, and happy to be home. The trip was great. Yesterday while waiting at DFW for our flight to New Orleans #1 and I walked to a food court to grab some lunch, as we passed the Rosetta Stone kiosk #1 immediately began quoting an advertisement: He was a hardworking farmboy, she was an Italian supermodel, he had only one chance to impress her...

The highlights included: getting together with my best friends, the Professor & Old Philsy, seeing family, eating (yes a Tudor's biscuit was eaten), taking flowers to dad's grave, and watching my two nephews play basketball. Both of them play ball on the junior varsity squad. One evening they scrimmaged the girls varsity squad. Memory serves me that girls basketball in junior high was just getting its feet under it when I was in junior high. I could not believe the strides girls athletic programs have advanced in the ensuing years! I have always held that women are better pure shooters than men. But good heavens those girls at the scrimmage were great athletes too, even a bit mean. When the ball was on the floor they dove, dipped their shoulders and even threw a couple of punches. I could tell my nephews were a bit hesitant they were victims of an age old dilemma: if they play too aggressive their friends will say you were playing too hard against a girl, if they back off and the girl schools them then they will be made fun of for getting taken to town by a girl. Nevertheless they did a good job, and those girls were good!

Another surprising highlight was the conversation I had while in transit from New Orleans to Chicago. Apparently American Airlines changed planes from when I made my reservations to when we flew. Therefore, all of our tickets were jumbled and the ticket person scattered the First Family amongst the cabin. Thanks to some friendly folk (By the way the American Airline employees were amazing and fantastic people) we were able to reassemble close to one another. The man who moved over so I could sit on the aisle in front of my kids ended up being the dean of the Univ. of Chicago Div. School (in town for the SBL too). I have never had a nicer conversation on a plane than that. The last time I had an in-depth conversation with a person sitting next to me on a plane he told me about a crazy raccoon virus that scared the bejesus out of me!

One other story about WV. One day my mother and I went to Sams Club, I have never seen so many moustaches before in my life!

Social Networking Experiment, number 1

Today was a great day. First off the former dean of my alma mater, being in town for the SBL meeting, led the Sunday School hour and preached at SCABC. The First Family and I took the deanster, as The VOR affectionately calls him, over to The Ruby Slipper for brunch. We took him back to the hotel and then headed to the rental chateau. We packed some in preparation for our forthcoming trip to WV then headed over the Third Annual Po-Boy Preservation Festival (only in New Orleans would they hold a festival for a sandwich). The VOR and I had high hopes for the French Fried Roast Beef Po-Boy the one you too may have read about in Wed. NYTimes article. By the time we arrived at the festival, however, most of the places had sold out, the booth for Mahoney's was nowhere in sight (did they show? or did they sell out remarkably fast?) -- research shows that Mahoney's did not sell the French Fried Po-Boy.

Now here comes to my experiment. I have long held the idea that folk like The VOR more than me (no pity party here, she is a fantastic and interesting woman who thrives on sociality, I am more of an introvert than her who usually shies away from social interaction - but I will say that living in N.O. is changing that by the day.) Several days ago I began noticing how The VOR could post virtually anything and 10 people would comment. (I swear she could post I just sneezed and 15 people would say Bless You) I posted, what I considered a comment worthy post and receive nothing. So this evening I posted pictures (that I took) of our time at the Po-Boy festival onto my facebook page. An hour later The VOR came home and I proposed that she post the exact same pictures to her account. (up to this time no one had commented on my album) She copied my album and posted them. Within five minutes she had a comment!

Sure the variables are numerous - my "friends" were not home at the time, most of my friends clicked on the "Hide Travis" button months ago, my friends do not spend much time on facebook, or my friends all have a running gag never to comment on my posts. Sure...

A Catch Up Post

Life in the New city is starting to feel normal. (I especially like the new normal: shorts in November!) I was even able to make some bread the other day (only after ordering the yeast online, for a food city the grocery stores are disappointing). Turned out pretty good.

I coupled it with a cheese tray with fruit and sweet potato fries. Moving on...there was the birthday ice cream pie the VOR made, amazing:

Then there was halloween:

Furthermore, some great finds at the seminary library booksale:

Alright, alright

I tried, I really did. I created a new blog but I never felt comfortable with the new format, even though I find blogger lacking in many respects I like it.

What to share...the ubiquitous sightings and offerings of alcohol in the Big Easy, the gargantuan portion sizes of food, my personal quest to the city's best pulled pork bbq, the fact that all of my clothes are tight, my new commuter bicycle, not being able to wing a sermon anymore, how much I miss New England, wondering what my late father would think of this place, a possible book I am working on, getting used to having people around when I work, serendipitous book readings, that I could not find instant yeast in any grocery store and had to order it online, surprises of having kids in Catholic school, the air conditioner kicking on in October, bananas growing in my neighbor's yard, that my wife dressed up as a witch and rode her bicycle to my daughter's school, my desire to smoke cigars, new found love of fountain pens and thick French paper, that I seem to have lost my favorite bible, how we go through a tank of gas in one week just driving around the city, that my computer crashed (without the aid of a Rolling Rock), that our kids prefer jazz music to kids music, that I love my kids now more than ever, that I am tired of facebook but at the same time I am addicted to it, that I really want to play a game of croquet. All of this and more, but I'll wait and let it settle before I begin

sunday update

Make that three baptisms for Sunday and an additional fiddler has joined our band (up to 13). Concerning Sunday's service -- a deacon emailed me this morning after seeing a draft of the service to inquire how long it will go into Monday...

saying goodbye, another installment - part iv, the notorious coffee shop

I spent the better part of the morning in a truck with an 80+ year old man going 35 in a 55mph zone. He is a parishioner and like so many of the folk at Lime Rock Baptist is more like family. I asked him if he would say a few words at the service this Sunday, he agreed. Over breakfast (I'm coming to that in a minute) he said he had composed a 3 minute essay and asked if I wanted to hear it. I said I did not. But he insisted on telling me the first line. Here goes, "How in the hell did we get that bastard up here?" I do not know if he is serious; more than likely he is.

Now back to breakfast. For about five years this particular parishioner has been telling me about this bizarre coffee shop located in one of the five villages on the town of Lincoln. He kept telling me that I would not believe it. Reluctantly I agreed to go to this place. At 8am I was picked up and escorted to this place. We entered; the owner sat, acknowledged us, finished playing the video slot machine then poured us a cup of coffee. In the meantime my associate and I took our seats at the counter. To the right of me were two boxes full of individually "full-sized" packaged donuts: plain and cinnamon; beside them was a box of the mini six pack donuts of various coatings. Across from me on the other side of the counter was a coffee pot, a large tupperware bowl of sugar (a "regular" coffee in New England consist of three spoons of sugar and a good shot of milk), a large jar of grape jelly (Pricerite brand) whose lid was unlevel the last time it was sealed which gave it a droopy and sad look, a four slice toaster which had not been used since Nixon was in office (you pick between governor of CA or POTUS), a plastic bag full of bagels and a griddle/hot plate contraption.

Our coffee was served in scratched and coffee stained cups. After 15 minutes or so some other patrons entered. Now here is the catch about this place: everyone helps themselves. They walk behind the counter, pour their coffee or toast their bagel while the owner sits in the corner and plays on the video slot machine. You dare not ask for eggs or something more substantial; there is no menu; and the owner gets ticked - I was forewarned. It could be the only business where the proprietor gets mad if you ask her to do something that could very easily be interpreted as work.

After we finished our cups of coffee (we were asked if we wanted refills but we said no, in a polite way) my associate asked if the owner would show me the backroom. The backroom? Years ago the establishment used to be a strip club/pool room/bar. And the backroom was pretty much left as was, except for the continual "inside" yard sale that went on. Massive slate top pool tables, a bar (built with pine), and bizarre vanity license plates that read "Don't stare at the bartender you too will be crazy one day."

Am I glad we went? Sure, but for reasons I am unforsureof at the moment.

We finished our coffee and went off to another destination for breakfast. My navigator suggested a place he had not been to in ages; apparently it is not there anymore. We drove on into Franklin, MA (it is right across the border). We drove until we found a policeman (yes, our move to park directly behind him in the middle of the road did not sit well with him) whom we inquired of where was the best place to get breakfast in this town? He suggested the pizza parlor right next to the Mega Lo Mart grocery store. A pizza parlor that has good breakfast in a strip mall - no way. We decided not to chance it and went back to Woonsocket for breakfast at a regular breakfast stop.

While I have you here... Woonsocket lies to the north and west of Lincoln. It is an okay town, could be a first class place. But if you ever enter 295 from Phoenix Avenue you are given two options:

You decide?

saying goodbye, another installment - part iii

For my sermon this past week I pulled out my calendars of seven years and used my notes to write the sermon. I thought about sharing those stories online but then folk in New Orleans may read this post and know all of the stories from my "go-to" bag. I would have nothing left to say - I would be like Kramer and forced to buy Newman's bunion stories (no one wants that). So I am saving them. The sermon went well.

I was actually allowed to steal away for a 30 minute nap! Then we packed into the van and went to a friend's house for a cookout and farewell jam session.

This Sunday I am referring to as a garbage plate day (please go to link for the history of the garbage plate) : two baptisms in the morning at the state park, baby dedication/blessing, going away service, and a wedding in the afternoon.

The service is shaping up to be a fun time. I asked three people to say a few words about our time together. I also invited the former organist/choirmaster, my fiddle teacher, members of the fiddle class (a couple of fiddlers, a dulcimer player and two banjo players), a jazz drummer, a trumpet player and two guitar players to join us for a hymn melody: Be Thou My Vision, Star of the County Down (in 3-4 and 4-4 versions) and Holy Manna. It promises to be a fun service.

Around Providence

While my best friend was up last weekend I took some pics that I thought I would share. One day we went down to the Roger Williams National Memorial (a great place to go if you are in Providence), then hiked up college hill, checked out Brown Bookstore, moseyed over to Spiritus Fermenti (only near an Ivy League school would there be a snoody alcohol shop with a name like that) to purchase some drinks for dinner, sashshayed back down the hill to Cafe Choklad to purchase a little something for the VOR (a key lime cupcake with strawberry butter cream frosting), then headed back towards the van. On our way down North Main Street I noticed on the buildings was built by John Updike, not that one, nevertheless i had to take a picture.

The next day we did the usual Saturday stuff: t-ball, swim, lunch, sold stuff via craigslist, then went back to Providence for dinner. While we feasted on the variety of plated portions I noticed a sign across the street which read: "Parking for East Side Towing only, all others will be towed." I wondered if anyone else saw the irony in that sign? I did not get a picture, sorry.

Since the curried chicken made sweat pour from our foreheads we scurried over to my favorite (sometimes) ice cream shop. While we sat and ate I noticed another sign, this one I took a picture of. A special tool...

After our tongues regained consciousness we piled back into the van to view Waterfire. We had been telling our guest about Waterfire for a few years but never had the opportunity to take him (this being our last chance to catch we had to go). We sat on the hill overlooking Waterplace Park, watched kids roll down the hill, various people stroll by, before the floating bons were lit. My friend was curious about what happened once the fire started. I explained to him with great excitement: when the fires go down, they throw more wood on. That is about it folk. A few thousand people all watching a fire. (I suppose this is a symptom of being a dazzling urbanites, they never grew up experiencing large open air fires.) Oh well. After a short while we headed back to the van again, but not before I snapped this picture of the statehouse at night.

Saying goodbye, another installment

This week I am preparing the last sermon I will preach as the pastor of Lime Rock Baptist Church. The service on the 28th will be more of a celebration. As I prepare I will share a some insights from the past couple of weeks.

I have invited folk to stop by the office to sit for a spell so we can share a proper goodbye. Odd that most folk come late in the afternoon around cocktail time, hmm... I suppose folk want me to share all of the presents they gave me at the Christmas open house. Just one less item to pack.

The goodbyes have gone well. I am glad they are taking place.

Last Sunday was Children's Day - the kids are in charge of the entire service. It is a great day for the kids and a great day for the church. Unexpectedly, the kids presented the VOR/First Lady and myself with a painting. They made a piece of art for us with personal messages on people cut outs. The VOR and I were not prepared for the painting; tears rolled down our eyes. Here is a picture of the painting that will definitely find a prime spot in our new house then in the new office in New Orleans.

After the worship service we went outside for the last kids vs. adults kickball game that I will be present for. My best friend was up from Harrisburg, PA for the weekend which I told the kids he was my secret weapon who promised to kick the snot out of the ball. Nevertheless, we let the kids win the one inning affair then went back in for lunch. It was a great day indeed.

The Rumor Mill

For years I have been hoping to be the subject of a great spinning rumor here in Lime Rock. A couple of years ago the story/rumor transformed from me playing football against Randy Moss' older brother, Eric, to playing with his older brother, to playing against Randy, to playing with Randy. By the time the local sports reporter contacted me at the church one afternoon he had a pen and paper ready for a juicy story. When I told him the truth he never called me back.

Then there was the time last year when a friend of mine from fiddle class came to church one Sunday. That afternoon a member from Pastoral Relations emailed wanting to know why a search committee was prospecting at worship.

The acceptance of the call to the New Orleans church has created quite possibly the greatest rumor ever. At the yard sale on Saturday a church member pulled me aside to inquire: is it true that the church you are going to is a church with a 2,000 membership? Part of me wanted to affirm this rumor just for the sheer thrill of it. But I did not. I told the truth.

Now what kind of stories can I start seeding for rumors in New Orleans...