National History Day and the Juggling Student

Is a high school student juggling three volleyballs in a history classroom news? In Canton, South Dakota, it just might be.

One of the wonders of my job is also its curse: quirky subject matter. When you’re a journalist in a town of 3,000, story ideas sometimes require some creativity. And sometimes people surprise you.

The fail-safe factor amid the “poultry persons of the year” and city commission stories is interesting people.

Today I got to interview two high school students working on a project for a National History Day program. Their subject was Baseball’s Reaction to WWII. While this topic genuinely interested me, the kids were far more interesting.

One was a quiet, soft-spoken introvert, the other a red-headed jokester. They were a duo worthy of their own crime series, with hearts of gold. Their description of everything from their creative process to the nerd factor of chess reminded me of a Watson and Holmes-type banter that had me laughing for half the interview.

But possibly the best part of the interview was the random third-wheel student who came in five minutes into the interview and sat down directly behind me.

I was conducting the interview in a classroom, so other students were to be expected. But this guy sat right behind me and picked up my voice recorder like it was an alien life form. The boys explained there was an interview in progress, so the kid sat back down, all ears. He just sat there, fascinated, for the entire interview. He even threw in his two cents every now and then.

At the conclusion of the interview, I told the guys I needed a picture for the article.

“Can I be in it?” asked the random student behind me.

“Well,” I said, “if you can come up with a legitimate reason as to why you are in the photo, sure.”

One of the guys threw out “moral support” as a good excuse. Another suggested he pretend to be one of them. We finally got the picture taken, with only the original two students.

“Why can’t I get my picture in the paper?” the third-wheel-student inquired.

“You have to do something interesting,” I told him.

I have to admit, I did not expect and immediate response, but probably should have. Within seconds he was in the corner of the classroom juggling three volleyballs. All I could do was laugh and produce my camera.

I now have a picture of two high school students working on a history project for a national history program...and a student juggling three volleyballs that may very well end up in the paper. Thank you, Lord, for reminding me why I love life.

Another Year

A few things have happened since my last blogging encounter, for example: a new year, I'm 24, the Packers aren't in the Super Bowl and I made my karoake debut! Everything inbetween is a rainbow-colored blur. Perhaps if I didn't wait so long between posts...

Anywho, the Super Bowl is this Sunday, and for the first time in recent memory, I DO NOT CARE. In fact, its very existence annoys me. Normally if my team isn't in the big game, I can still at least pick a side and hope for a good show. But this year, not only is the Super Bowl made more bitter by the glaring absence of my Packers due to the season and expectations they had, but the two teams that are in it I either have a suffocating indifference for or out-right animosity. Since the latter is a stronger emotion that the former, I've decided I'm going to root AGAINST the Giants (not to be confused with "for the Patriots"). And hope for some good commercials.

In other news, I turned 24 last Sunday. Twenty-four feels so much older than 23. That number is just so close to 25, whereas 23 was still "early twenties." Now I'm mid-twenties. I know one day I'll laugh at myself for thinking 20-anything was "old," but I can't be objective right now! Also, I figure if I get mildly panicky about 24, it might ease me into the panic of my mid-mid life crisis next year. But really, 24 or 42, it's always an excuse for cake and good company, and this year was no exception.

Twenty-three was a blink of an eye, but there were certainly days that seemed like years all their own. Seems like yesterday I was celebrating #23 in Nashville. Since then, another year has passed with the newspaper and I feel more comfortable in Canton, yet more restless at the same time. I've had one more year without Tarah, and learned that the phrase "time heals everything" is little more than that...a phrase. I've gotten a little more assertive, reconnected with old friends and made irreplaceable new ones. I have five new coffee mugs, a more established writing voice and a new-found love for 80's rock.

My friends and family, cliche as it sounds, have been my saving grace (which, ultimately comes from the saving Grace of my Savior). Nothing earth-shattering happened last year, but I have another chapter. It's filled with quirky nuances, snippets, trials and triumphs of everyday life, spent with the people I built 2011, and 23, with. The people who listened to me prattle on about my uncertainties, my silly little excitements, who remember I like singing Disney songs, who tell me they're sorry about the Packers losing when they couldn't care less, who are honest with me, who shared their excitement with me, and who gave me a chance to do all that for them.

What a wonderful year it has been, if I had nothing else to measure it by but the people who were in it. Now, I'm a year older, hopefully a year wiser and certainly not where I expected to be. But that's ok, for now. I know there's a guiding hand, if I have half a brain to look for it.

So, thank you to all of you who have made this past year what it was. I am blessed beyond belief, and cannot wait to see what the next one has in store for me, and how you all fit into it, and how I fit into yours.

Adventures in Omaha

Welcome to this week's edition of "Adventures in Omaha," where you will learn how to open a bottle of wine without a cork screw, navigate un-plowed, snow-covered backstreets of Omaha without a GPS, at night, and how to turn wine, orange juice and dinner leftovers into the breakfast of champions.

To start off an adventure in Omaha, you're going to want to wait for the first really nasty snowfall of the winter season. We're talking 45 miles an hour on the interstate nasty, 20 cars in the ditch along the route nasty, and fogged up windows turn to ice nasty.

Once you've planned ahead and picked the right travel day, the next step will be finding suitable company and entertaining past times for the ride. If your trip is say, oh, between two and three hours, two companions, an issue of Cosmo and two bags of chocolate chip cookies should do the trick. Just make sure you don't listen to country music, or you may lose your company. Adelle, however, is usually a safe bet.

Once you've survived the weather, and the drive, you're going to want to find lodgings. Preferably somewhere not near main roads, that would have been plowed after the torrential snowfall. In finding dangerous, snow-blanketed back roads, at night, you will ensure a healthy dose of adventure and daring. Assuming everyone comes out alive, it makes for great stories later. And if you really want to amp up the excitement, put your GPS into a non-driving mode for the rest of the night, rendering it completely useless.

While in Omaha, you have to sample some unique cuisine, no chain restaurants. Since you will not have a GPS at this point, it will be at night and the roads will be an abomination from hell, the food will really be worth it. Rock Bottom Brewery is a nice choice, as it's located in the historic Old Market District of Omaha, and near enough to your base of operations that you will probably still be able to find your way back afterward, still without a GPS.

Stop in at a local supermarket on your way back and grab a few breakfast items, and a cheap bottle of wine. But before you make plans to rent a movie, make sure your lodgings for the night has a DVD player. If not, rely on youtube and cable, either one works just fine.

Once you find your way back, settle in with your bottle of wine and enjoy whatever means of entertainment available. Don't have a cork screw? No problem! If hacking away piece by piece at the cork with a sharp knife doesn't work, and holding the bottle between your knees and whacking the bottom with a high-heeled shoe still doesn't work, fear not, you can still put that heel to good use. Smash it down into the bottle. Yes, the cork will fall into the wine, but that's ok. All you have to do is take a pen, or something long and thin, and stick it down into the bottle to hold the cork at bay while you pour the wine. Don't have wine glasses? Kids stuff! Use mugs! Throw in some Ritz crackers and a block of cheese, and you have yourself a classy, relaxing evening indoors.

Once you've have a good night sleep, what better way to start off your morning than a hearty breakfast? If your hosts' refrigerator is scant of breakfast food, and the off-brand oatmeal you purchased the night before looks like something out of Oliver Twist, you're in luck: take out that wine from the night before, mix it with some orange juice, and you've got breakfast Mimosa! Throw in the leftover donut holes from dessert last night, and you've got a breakfast of champions.

A Harry Potter marathon and a healthy dose of traileraddict.com is a good way to ease you into the day, and then it's time to hit the streets of downtown Omaha. Nevermind if most of the places you wanted to eat are closed on Sunday; just keep walking, you'll find something eventually! And don't worry about the freezing temps and frigid windchill; the walking will warm you up.

Once you've found an open establishment, get your fill, and head out to a cultural experience, like a ballet at the Omaha Music Hall. The Nutcracker is an especially excellent choice. Complete with concessions, alcoholic beverages and a cheery Christmas prelude, the fact that it starts half an hour late won't even phase you.

Once you've taken in the Christmas classic, it's time to hit the open road and head home, but a pit stop for some puppy chow and gas on the way out will make the trip more seamless. By this time, the roads will have cleared up beautifully and the terrifying images from the day before will be but a distant memory. The past times for the road home can be a bit less rambunctious, as you'll be recovering from a wonderful but tiring weekend. Some naps, discussion about the effects of technology on the youth of today and periodic football updates should do nicely.

The hour and a half tacked on to the ETA on the way out will motivate you to take off at least 20 minutes on the drive back, landing you back home before 8 p.m.

Follow these simple steps and you'll be sure to have a memorable adventure in the land of Omaha, Neb., and planning your next trek before you know it. Safe travels, and happy adventuring!

Caramel Brulee and Christmas

I'm sitting in Barnes & Noble sipping a caramel brulee latte wearing my "journalist" glasses and a denim jacket. There's no way I cannot blog right now.

For starters, this latte is sinfully good. Like, it's so good I feel like I'm committing some kind of crime drinking it. The ladies at the counter talked me into combining a caramel brulee latte with white chocolate. I'm a sucker for good customer service, so here I sit. Very happily. This drink is also somewhat ironic because I just came from the dentist. Oh well. Maybe that's why it feels so sinful.

Barnes & Noble is such an overwhelming place, in the best possible way. I literally have no idea where to start, anytime I'm here. Five different parts of me are tugging me towards the travel section, history section, children's literature section, classic literature and movies and entertainment, all at once. Even the sports section tugs at me. The crafts, art and music areas go without saying. The photography section is a fascinating browse, and this place even has a Star Wars section. I might lose track of a good hour in the poetry aisle. Or be caught buried in a Post Secret Book for half of that.

I find it hard to write about anything other than Barnes & Noble while I'm in here. Truth be told, I came here for fast internet and the atmosphere. But I rarely leave accomplishing only my objective. If I accomplish that at all.

But, in the interest of focus, I'm going to write about how happy I am that I can be openly excited about Christmas now without being ridiculed for materialism, overshadowing Thanksgiving, or whatever other reason people come up with to be angry about early Christmas celebrators. Truth be told, I'm excited about Christmas all year round. It's my favorite holiday and it has so many happy associations for me. Decorating and Christmas baking might be two of my favorite things in the entire world.

But, I still don't do anything physical, like putting up the tree, listening to Christmas music or light until the day after Thanksgiving. But the excitement is still waiting to burst out pretty much from the first day of fall.

And now, here we are! Sure, maybe stores only get "excited" about it early because it means more sales, but some of them, in fact, maybe a lot of them, when broken down to an individual level, love Christmas just as much as me. It comes but once a year, so I intend to get every ounce of enjoyment out of it as I possibly can! It's a very happy holiday, which is of course rooted in the happiest birthday in the history of the world: baby Jesus, of course.

That's the trick, I think, to remember that all this hype is preparation for the biggest and most important birthday party ever celebrated. Aaaaand...Frank Sinatra just came on singing "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas." It doesn't get any better than this, folks.

The Power of Fredbird

This week is pretty special to me, for two reasons: the first (and more trivial) being that the St. Louis Cardinals are in the World Series. Anyone who’s been following the postseason, or perhaps more significantly, the regular season, knows it's more a Cinderella story than Cinderella.

The second is that Saturday, Oct. 22 will be what would have been the seventh birthday of my little sister, Tarah. Tarah, or "Sugar" as we affectionately refer to her, passed away from a rare lung disease in April of 2008. She was 3 1/2.

There's actually a pretty intimate connection between the two. I’ve been baffled before by the power of sports, but when I realize the number of memories we've built with Tarah that are somehow associated with sports, some of it makes sense.

And I'm not talking about a power that makes people lose control, scream at TVs, throw things and spend hundreds of dollars on tickets (though yes, that does happen to the best of us). I'm talking writing stories you can't script and cementing connections across zip codes and generations.

Sports gives me a happy memory everytime I see Fredbird (the Cardinals' mascot), watch SportsCenter or even pick up a football. All three have very specific connections to Tarah, and relive a moment with her every time I see them.

Tarah loved Fredbird. Fredbird is nothing more than a big cardinal in a t-shirt and baseball cap, but she loved him. He was what she noticed everytime we'd watch a Cards game with her. We were able to take Tarah to at least two Cardinals games before she passed away, and seeing Fredbird was a dream of hers. Not only did she get to see him, but my brother Joel bought her a little stuffed Fredbird when he was in St. Louis once on a seminary visit.

Two of my favorite photos I have of her were taken in St. Louis. The first was at her very first Cardinals game, two months before her first birthday. We were in the car still, just before we walked over to Busch Stadium. She was still in her car seat, but the picture is a close-up of her face. Her big blue eyes are strikingly alert. She was wearing a red shirt and white headband with a bow, her lips pursed in a coy smile so telling of her personality, even then. We have it blown up and hanging on our refrigerator.

The other photo was two years later. This time, we’re outside the car, walking to the stadium. Joel was holding her. Tarah was wrapping her tiny little arms as far around his neck as she could. She'd started having episodes at this point, but you'd never know it looking at that picture. I pulled out my camera and snapped a picture. She pulled out her cheesiest smile, pushing her round little cheeks up so high her eyes squinted shut, hugging Joey hard as ever. She used to say she was going to marry Joel, and if any picture captured that, it was that one.

Those St. Louis trips expanded into countless other stories about Imo's Pizza, Ted Drewes, Sem housing, getting lost in St. Louis and Tarah clapping at all the wrong times. Memories are made anytime, anywhere, and sports just happened to be one of the ways we created them with Tarah. And that's pretty cool.

Sports may seem a bit trivial and unimportant in the grand scheme of things, maybe even just a bunch of stats and numbers, but it's also a venue for something special. Be it universal principles, endurance, pushing limits, heroes, cross-country connections, experiencing your team'ss Super Bowl victory with your Dad or pounding backs in a sports bar or stadium full of people you've never met, or some of your best friends, a love of the game. It's a connection to people.

For me, among others, it's family. Our sports organization we created as kids. Thanksgiving football games at our Grandparents' house in Wisconsin. Every Sunday afternoon in the basement after church for NFL Sunday. Cheering for Texas A&M just because Adam went there. Cheering for Tim Tebow just because he's Sam's hero. Tossing around the baseball in the backyard with Sam. Shooting hoops in the early fall evenings. Filling out March Madness brackets together. Dancing to "How You Like Me Now" with my little brother after the Cardinals eliminated the Brewers for a "happy flight" to the 2011 World Series. Screaming so loud we scare our dog after a good play. The list goes on.

And come Wednesday, it'll mean hugging that little stuffed Fredbird for game one of the World Series and wondering how Tarah's going to be celebrating her seventh birthday in heaven. She probably wouldn't want to watch Saturday's game on her birthday, though, as inferred by one of her favorite lines, spoken anytime we opted for SportsCenter over Barbie of Fairytopia: "No spowts!"

What a Sweet Old Mannnn...Nope.

What started as a routine trip to the grocery store for cheese, crackers and fudge sticks Tuesday evening quickly turned into the stuff of legend for my friend Elizabeth and myself.

Preparing for a visit to an friend’s apartment, we decided to drop in on our local grocery store to try and scrounge up some culinary compliments to Wood Chuck Cider and other such libations.

What we found instead was a combination of a cute old man with a charming sense of humor and the overly-enthusiastic suave of a young cad stuck in the body of a 70-year-old.

The start of our visit was as normal as anything. The entrance doors opened automatically, as usual, the store was air conditioned as usual, and the fruit and vegetables were on the left-hand side, as usual. Passing the check-out aisles,we made our way towards the snack aisle, eyeing some Triscuits.

Along the way, I spotted some Keebler Peanut Butter Fudge Sticks. I had promised our friend the food assortment would be “interesting,” so throwing in fudge sticks with cheese and crackers seemed to fit the bill.

Once we got our hands on some Triscuits, Elizabeth was suddenly struck with a cheese revelation.

“Have you ever had ‘Laughing Cow Cheese’?” she asked excitedly.

No, I replied, which sent us heading in the direction of the dairy.

Standing between us and the dairy section, however, was the baked goods area...and Mr. Smooth the Senior.

As we passed by cakes, muffins and pies, a tower of cupcakes caught my eye.

“Look!” I said to Elizabeth. “They’re teacher cupcakes! I should get you one!”

Elizabeth, who happens to be one of the greatest educators in the greater Midwest, chuckled and declined.

“You should buy the whole tower!” came an unfamiliar voice from behind. We turned to find an elderly gentleman, probably in his 70’s, grinning from ear to ear and pushing his cart towards us. He was wearing khaki pants, a plaid, button-down shirt and a completely unassuming old man face.

Expecting to pass by, smile back, maybe laugh a little and go about our business, we pressed on towards the bright lights of the dairy wall.

“Are you two in school?” he asked.

The encounter was far from over.

“No,” Elizabeth replied, “I’m a teacher.”

“Oh, a teacher!” he replied enthusiastically. “What do you teach?”

We stopped to face him, as Elizabeth proceeded to tell the man where she taught and what grades, mentioning the school was in Inwood.

This location triggered a bizarre story about an anonymous financial contributor, a pastor and hogs. Or something like that.

He then asked me if I was a teacher, as well.

“Nope,” I said. “I work for a newspaper.”

Ah, the Argus Leader, he beamed.

“Nope, a paper in Canton,” I replied, hoping he might think that there's more than one.

“Oh, Canton. Well that’s wonderful!”

So far, nothing terribly disconcerting. Small talk from an old man shopping solo, trying to charm two young girls. Happens all the time. The direction the conversation took from there, however, was hardly commonplace.

“You girls should come around here more often. I don’t get to see beautiful women very often, and when I do, my head starts spinning and I’m just full of jokes.”

Elizabeth told him he was very charming. Still innocent enough, I suppose. But he wasn’t done.

“Y’know, if I was 45 years younger...”

We giggled, amused.

“...I’d take you both out for dinner tonight. And then I’d wine and dine you until you’d say yes to everything I did.”

What?

Yes, he said that. Our reaction was a mixture of complete horror and uncontrollable laughter.

He was not finished.

“And then, the next morning, I’d marry one of you. And if I was really lucky, I’d marry both of ya.”

Speechless, we began mentally preparing our exit route and trying to process in our heads what in the world had just happened. And we were still laughing.

His mind and tongue may have be as youthful as ever, but that was about it. His weathered skin blanketed a facial structure that probably could’ve picked up two cute girls in a super market in his glory days (though I certainly hope that was all talk). But today was not his lucky day.

When we finally managed to calm our laughter down to stifled chuckles, and the situation seemed to be closing in on itself, the silver-haired fox began pushing his cart ever so slowly in the opposite direction, keeping eye contact with us as he said how nice it was to meet us, yada yada yada, but I think his last line was my favorite:

“Now you girls remember to go to church on Sunday!”

I Love Weddings!

One of the happiest things in the world is to see people you love genuinely happy.

This past week, I got to see a dear friend from college the happiest I've ever seen her. Granted, I haven't seen her in years, and I didn't know her nearly as well as many others, but she's one of those girls that you could not see for 10, 20 years, and would still want to meet up with for coffee if you found out you were in the same city at the same time. She's a genuine, kind-hearted, selfless woman who loves the Lord and shows it. She's just beautiful on the inside and out.

My brother and I drove to Greeley, Colorado this past week for two nights to see this girl marry the man of her dreams, the perfect lid to her pot, as our wonderful hosts, the Dissellcones (I'm pretty positive I butchered the Dutch spelling), put it.

We drove up Wednesday and the wedding was Thursday. We stayed with the lovely aforementioned couple who had hearts bigger than Texas, a sense of humor that had me laughing all weekend and the sweetest love for each other, nearly 50 years after they first met. They had meals twice the size of any normal one three times a day, treats available every time in-between, great stories and zinger one-liners.

For example, when Arlin found out we were both pastor and doctors' kids, he said: "You know what they say; if you're a doctor's kid, you're sick for nothing. So if you're a pastor's kid, you must be good for nothing!" He also said something about Winnipeg being renamed Winter-peg and some insulting Dutch phrases (poking fun at himself). They also had a ping pong table. Winning.

Anyway, the wedding was Thursday. Now, I've been to weddings before where the bride is so overwhelmed with stress and worry that she forgets to be happy, and you'd almost think she wasn't. Weddings where the brides have their priorities focused and are able to look past the little details that may not go perfectly make the happiest ones.

Now, I know weddings are potentially one of the most stressful endeavors a girl will ever undertake, but some handle it better than others. And a huge part of that is realizing what's most important.

This wedding was one of the happiest I've ever been to. Not only because the bride and groom couldn't hide the love for each other written all over their faces if they tried, but because the wedding was blatantly Christ-centered. They were grounded in a love bigger than themselves, and that was so evident in their love for each other. What a beautiful thing!

And it helps that they know how to party, too. Great food (shrimp hors d'oeuvres and a chocolate fountain instead of a cake), fantastic company, a Bob Marley sing-a-long and one wicked dance floor. ALL NIGHT LONG! Well, until midnight. Then clean-up, some good laughs, dancing out the door, singing into the night and great memories with wonderful people.

Congratulations, Becca and Konrad, and I wish you the absolute best as you continue to grow in Christ, each other and explore a whole new world of adventures ahead.