Antwon Rose

“Boys were shooting marbles in a sand hill in 1928, and a policeman drove up.  A youth broke and ran. There were no arguments or anything. The boy had not been in Gary long and naturally was afraid of policemen; and when he ran, the policeman shot him in the back.  I became a paid member of the NAACP that day.” Joseph Pitts

 Antwon Rose

In June of 2018, Antwon Rose, 17, was riding in a car pulled over by police in East Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.  While the driver was being handcuffed, Antwon fled on foot with arms raised to indicate he was unarmed.  A rookie officer who’d been sworn in hours before shot him three times, in the back, elbow, and side of the face.  Rose loved basketball and skating and played saxophone in the Woodland Hills High School jazz band.  In the funeral program was a poem Rose had written after a similar tragedy titled “I Am Not What You Think” and containing the refrain, “I am confused and afraid,”repeated three times.  Charging the shooter with criminal homicide, Allegheny County District Attorney Stephen Zappala said, “Antwon Rose did not do anything other than being in that vehicle. It’s an intentional act, and there’s no justification for it.  You do not shoot someone in the back if they are not a threat to you.” There have been so many similar incidents it is difficult to recall them all.  History keeps repeating itself.  The role racial stereotyping played in these situations varied from case to case. I won’t speculate on the state of mind of Antwon’s killer but doubt he was properly trained. Hopefully the remorse he claims he feels is as much about Antwon as himself.

 Anne Balay

In “Semi Queer: Inside the World of Gay, Trans, and Black Truck Drivers” Anne Balay wrote about two long haul truckers interviewed during a Black Lives Matter demonstration protesting the death of Antwon Rose that blocked Interstate 376 in western Pennsylvania near Pittsburgh, impeding their progress:

    A reporterinterviewed two drivers who left their trucks to talk to protestors, Gene and Robert, white, middle-aged men with beards and ball caps. The journalist seems surprised that these men support the protestors, even though inconvenienced by them.

    A woman trucker trapped in traffic would probably not get out. She would lock the doors, and run her seatbelt through the door handle for added security. She might feel forced to hide in the bunk with the curtain drawn, praying that her load was not tampered with.

    One of my narrators, who is Mexican and lesbian, was stuck in highway protests last year in Minneapolis. She was terrified. Lost income is real, since truckers are paid by the mile and sitting on the highway lowers their income and might even cost them their job. But the greater threat is violence, consistently more likely to be directed against a female, non-white, queer-presenting person. The casual way Gene and Robert walk around and talk to people, comfortable in the security provided by whiteness, beards, and down home accents is just not available to my narrators.

  Danger, vulnerability, and invisibility are ongoing aspects of blue-collar life.  My goal is to consider how these shape what feels possible, and what meaning is.  A transwoman alone in her truck looking out at a line of cops in riot gear might pray for invisibility and certainly not dangle herself in front of the cameras, the crowd or law enforcement.  Her thoughts about Antwon’s murder, and about race, fear, and justice would be shaped by that reality, as well as by her larger context, history, and attitudes. At this intersection feminism, anti-racism, and social justice are all moving targets.

I try not to think about our repulsive President, much less write about him.  Thankfully, there are the erudite musings of Ray Smock. In “Oh, Say Can You See” my good friend took Trump to task for his tawdry handling of John McCain’s passing:

    The Star-Spangled Banner was never used for lower, meaner, more self-serving purposes than earlier this week. The President took his long-standing personal feud with the late Senator John McCain to absurd and embarrassing depths. Donald Trump did not want the American flag on the roof of the White House lowered in honor of a distinguished American, a senator, a war hero, and twice a candidate for President of the United States. When the president discovered the flag had been lowered to half-staff as a matter of protocol and respect, he immediately ordered it back up again. Then, with mounting public pressure from all quarters, including veteran’s groups, the president reversed decision, lowered the flag again, and issued a statement honoring the senator.

    Is there anyone in America, regardless of party affiliation, who cannot see at the dawn’s early light that what the president did was so petty and small that it violated every aspect of human decency imaginable? Whatever differences the president may have had with Senator McCain, no matter how severe the personal animosity, there could be no excuse for the actions of the petulant child that occupies the White House.  The president used the American flag, a symbol that should unite us, not divide us, and turned it into a tool for his personal vendetta against one of our most distinguished citizens. He not only insulted Senator McCain and his family but all of us who respect the flag as a symbol of national unity. He denigrated Senator McCain on many occasions for being captured by the enemy. He said he didn’t like heroes who were captured. How can any citizen find a suitable excuse for this abasement of the American flag.

 Ray Smock at Byrd Center

Smock founded the Robert C. Byrd Center for Congressional History and Education, came to mind when I read a chapter in James A. Haught’s “Fascinating West Virginia” entitled “Robert C. Byrd’s Evolution.” Three times while Haught was editor, the Charleston Gazette, deservedly named Senator Byrd, a onetime KKK member but master politician who preached at churches and played the fiddle at campaign rallies, West Virginian of the Year. Haught wrote:  

  Haught reached hero status for me in 2002 when he became almost a lone-wolf voice against President Bush’s clamor to invade Iraq. While most of Congress timidly sat mute, Byrd showed great courage as he stood time after time to warn that the White House was dragging America into a senseless, unnecessary, harmful war. Some of us in the Gazette newsroom almost cheered as we read his bold attacks on the warmongers.

A native Mountaineers, Haught was born in 1932 on a horse-operated farm near a town without electricity or paved streets. He was one of 13 students in his high school graduating class. In 1959 Haught worked for a few months as a press aide to Senator Byrd. He wrote: “I only lasted seven months.  I got an ulcer, gained 30 pounds, and fled back to the Gazette’s wonderful chaos.”

Partners with duplicate bridge director Alan Yngve, we scored a lofty 62.5 percent, finishing second to Dottie Hart and Terry Bauer. After the first hand, Alan noted that I could have bid 1 No Trump instead of 2 Clubs (I had 5 of them and play a short Club) after I opened a Club and he responded 1 Heart. He rebid 2 No Trump and went down one, as I had the bare Ace, King of Diamonds and he held the Queen spot.  Had either of us had a third Diamond, the hand would have made. Knowing Alan, I recognized that he viewed it as a teachable moment rather than negative criticism.  Later, a skilled players hesitated, deciding whether to double our contract; Alan made the bid by finessing her Jack and, once the hand was over, told her to make such a decision during bidding so as not to hesitate.  Alan teaches bridge lessons, so I asked at what point he explained scoring (when they’re ready) and how to get them not to lead out Aces and Kings on defense. On his handout, he states that beginners make the mistake of leading their high cards, and you do not want to remain beginners.

On a return trip from New Orleans Carol and Gale Osgerby stopped at Wilstem Ranch in French Lick, summer home for elephants Maika, Lovey, and Lou. Barbara Walczak’s Bridge Newsletter reported that there were no ankle chains, bars or whips and that they enjoyed “Spa Time” (washing, soaping, rinsing, toenail painting) and a lecture on elephants.

 Dave Bigler

Opponent Dave Bigler brought up having been stuck at IUN during the blizzard of 1967.  He was working and taking 12 credit hours, making him eligible for a student deferment.  The following semester an instructor had such a heavy accent he couldn’t understand what he said.  His academic adviser said he could withdraw and take the class for free the following semester. A few weeks after Bigler did so, he was drafted, no longer a full-time student. He spent the next couple years in the air force, then worked at U.S. Steel for 20 years, finally completed his degree at IUN, and became a special ed. teacher.  From his self-confidence and sunny personality, I’m certain he was a good one. He’s been on the Hobart School Board for 15 years and is active in Little League baseball.

Michael and Janet Bayer

 Andrew Gillum

When Michael Bayer, living in the Indianapolis suburb of Fishers, heard that mutual friend Mike Olszanski and I regularly have lunch on Wednesdays with, he convinced wife Janet to visit us overnight, and the three of us dined at Ivy’s Bohemia House in Chesterton.  He informed me that Tallahassee mayor Andrew Gillum, endorsed by Bernie Sanders, upset Gwen Graham for the Democratic nomination for governor, while Trump acolyte Ron DeSantis was the Republican winner in the Florida primary.  DeSantis ran ads showing his daughter building a wall and called Gillum a monkey.  While Toni and the Bayers enjoyed an Indian dinner, I participated in the 8-team LANE League fantasy football draft.  With the first pick, I took Rams running back Todd Gurley.  Eagle Carson Wentz was my first quarterback choice, but since he is questionable for the season opener, Steelers’ QB Ben Roethlisberger is a pretty decent backup. I also selected Philadelphia’s defense/special teams and Superbowl hero Zach Ertz at tight end.  Nephew Bobby was out celebrating daughter Addie’s tenth birthday and was on auto-draft, meaning that the ESPN app selected the highest ranked players available each round but in 5 or 15 cases the players are listed as questionable or out for the first game.

Addie Lane (with Crosby) gets breakfast in bed on tenth birthday

Terry Kegebein

Another sign on autumn: week one of bowling.  I was worried about the back holding up but felt no pain during the three games and rolled a 443 series, just slightly below my average.  The Electrical Engineers took two games and series as Mel Nelson and new member Terry Kegebein both finished about 50 pins over average. It was good to see everyone. Delia’s uncles now make up two different teams, with a few new bowlers.  When I asked Larry Ramirez about it, he joked that he and Uncle Phil had a falling out. At Nature’s Door next day, I purchased magnesium oil for the back, the roll-on kind rather than spray so I can administer it myself.

 Tiana Sanchez

IUN Elementary Education major Tiana Mercedes Sanchez’s “Ides of March” journal focused on her work, love life, numerus pets, and gaming at grandma’s:

  Introduction:I am 19 and from South Haven, a little town between Portage and Valparaiso with gas stations, car dealerships, a school, churches, and two neighborhoods. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins all lived minutes away. I managed the boys football team.  I prepared the drinks, ice baths, did wrappings, took care of equipment, cleaned the field, recorded the games, and helped the coaches with game preparation. I took care of the guys so they trusted me and treated me like family.  I also managed the girls basketball team, was in National Honor Society, all duel-credit or advanced classes, and focused on getting into a good college.  Junior year I worked as a cashier; at the end of senior year I was a CNA at a nursing home.  A crazy animal lover, I have three dogs, three cats, and two fish.  Starting on Sunday, I’ll be a cashier at Noodles and Company in Valparaiso.  I’m in a two-and-a-half-year relationship with Alec. When not at school or working, I’m usually reading, drawing, with Alec, or at my grandma’s playing board games (like Clue) and card games (Speed, Rum, Canasta, Screw your Neighbor, Poker, Spoons).  My goal is to teach kindergarten. I started at Saint Mary’s of Notre Dame but it was so expensive.

  January 26:Classes started 20 days ago, and already I’ve had a breakdown. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, but not just school. Life. I’m taking 18 credit hours and work almost full time. I volunteered at a boys and girls club and worked the front desk, dealing with basketball schedules, preparing practice equipment, stocking concession stand, answering the phone, and dealing with paperwork or payments regarding memberships or club fees. There aren’t enough hours in the day or enough days of the week, sometimes, to get everything done. Everyone advises that I calm down and take a break, but when I blink, it’s like I’m behind in 4 classes. Maybe it’s just the timing or just the weather - or just college. 

  February 2:I finished my second week at Noodles and Company, my first job where I don’t feel nervous when bosses come around. Everyone is nice and helpful. I’m open to different tasks (cashier, busser, dishes, kitchen help, cleaning, closing) so it’s never boring. Shifts go by quickly. Today I had a short shift, 5 hours, and left in a good mood. My cousin Zack filled out an application at my suggestion; he dislikes his bosses at Menard’s. College can be traumatic enough, I’m thankful my job is stress free. 

  Feb. 9:It took forever to reach grandma’s because of the snow. Alec and I stopped at Meijer for ingredients (half and half, sugar, eggs, vanilla, lemon juice, ice) for my step-grandpa’s homemade ice cream. It is part of his legacy, passed on to us. We played Probe, similar to Wheel of Fortune, then ordered pizza from Santino’s because in all the excitement of making ice cream, everyone forgot about dinner. This morning the main roads were clear, but South Haven’s seem never to get plowed. Driving down highway 49, all I could think about was how pretty the trees looked. 

  Feb. 16:I’m at a loss for words about the mass murder at a Florida school.  My heart aches for the families of the 17 victims and for America. We’ve had 19 school shootings this year.  Why is nothing being done? Why aren’t there stricter gun rules?  

  March 2:Julie, my best friend since seventh grade, is away at college. Last weekend I went to Ball State and enjoyed her sorority sisters.  Tthere were two 21st birthday parties. Going away to school can be fun, but personally I like being home and love IUN.

  March 15:Spending the night with Alec was just what I needed to stop feeling depressed.  He held me, rubbed my back, whispered sweet words in my ear, and touched my promise ring that he gave me for Christmas until I fell asleep on his shoulder. We slept in until noon when interrupted by a loud thumping outside his door from his pup Chevy. We cuddled for about 30 minutes with me wrapped around him next to Chevy and him scrolling through Reddit (a social media site full of funny pictures and texts). His grandma took us out to a Chinese restaurant on Central in Portage. I ordered delicious Mandarin chicken with broccoli. I stole a few bites of Alec’s sweet and sour chicken. Then we took a 3-hour nap; because I’m on spring break, I can do that sort of thing. At Dari Dip I dropped off a job application. I need the money to pay bills. Alec got cake batter frozen yogurt (his favorite flavor) on a cone; My choice was chocolate banana ice cream in a cup. We got Chevy a pup cup of plain vanilla. We dropped Chevy off at home and picked up pain medicine from Meijer for my mom before going over to Grandma’s for game night. Grandpa gave me a bunch of old crew necks and t-shirts that he’d outgrown. I’m wearing his “United We Stand” crew neck right now. We played Sequence and Screw Your Neighbor – where you get a single card and can keep it or switch with the person on your left. We ended the night with Straws: everyone gets dealt a set number of cards and there is one with a camel in the middle. Players place numbered cards in turn until you get to 50, which breaks the camel’s back.  The offending player gets no points, everyone else gets the points in their hand. I finally got home around midnight and am in bed watching The Mummywith my three pups. 

  March 16:Exhausted from yesterday, I slept till 1 a.m. In bed with me were two cats - Nala and Jacob - sleeping on my left side and my dogs Shelby and Clark on the other.  Little Man was asleep on the floor. I got up feeling groggy, washed my nose ring, and ate a bowl of Special K Strawberry cereal. Then I folded clothes from the dryer and lay on a couch with Little Man in a blanket watching YouTube videos of makeup tutorials. At Noodles and Company, we were slammed with customers for four hours straight, and me the only cashier. One asked if lettuce was in a salad; I almost lost my mind. At closing time two customers wouldn’t leave for what seemed like forever, even when I locked the door. Around midnight I took home a Tai green curry pasta with shrimp and tofu, which was super spicy and yummy! When I pulled up to my house, my Sephora package was outside containing mascara, eyeshadow palette, face mask, primer, foundation, and perfume. It was exactly what I wanted to see after such a busy work day. I took a long shower to get the smell of tofu off me.  I work 12 hours tomorrow… sigh. 

  March 17:On my break I ate the BEST sandwich from Firehouse Subs - called Hook n’ Ladder.  We were busy all night long. A group came in at 9:55, five minutes before closing. When we finally locked the doors, there were nine bus tubs on the floor, a dining room of dishes, more in the kitchen, and dishes in a slit between salad stations. We cleaned up for two and a half hours. I got home around one a.m., showered, ate, took care of all my pets, watched The Mummy Returns, and got to sleep at 4 a.m. 

  March 18:I had two tetras fish, Cleo and Willy, but Willy died. Because they are schooling fish, they need companions, I need to get one tomorrow.  

Whirlwind Trip

“Ain’t it nice to be so lucky

Ain’t it nice to be so loved.”

         Rhythm and Blues,” The Head and the Heart

Last Thursday at 5 a.m. a town car arrived at our Sand Creek condo to take Phil, Dave, and me to O’Hare Airport, where we caught a 9 o’clock, nonstop United Airlines flight to San Diego in order to attend a Head and the Heart concert that night at Pappy and Harriet’s in Pioneertown, California.  When I learned that my favorite band was playing an intimate set at my favorite watering hole, I phoned nephew Bob and said that if he could obtain four tickets, I’d pay for them and the three of us would be there, never dreaming that he’d pull it off.  When tickets for a War on Drugs concert at Pappy and Harriet’s went on sale 18 months ago, they all were gobbled up within minutes, and the only reason Bob and I got to go was due to my abject appeal to the owner, telling her I’d attended three Cracker Campouts and returned whenever I visited my aging mother in Rancho Mirage.  What sealed the deal was my promise to write a Yelp review extolling its many virtues.  Bob learned exactly when The Head and the Heart tickets went on sale, down to the minute, and miraculously came through.

Days before the trip, Dr. David Dao, 69, was violently dragged off a United flight to Louisville in order to seat a flight crew.  Three other passengers accepted compensation for their seats, but Dao claimed he needed to see patients in the morning. The story went viral, and protests have taken place at O’Hare and as far away as China.  United CEO Oscar Munoz first defended the action, calling Dao disruptive and belligerent; but when outrage mounted, he made an abject apology, calling what happened horrific.  Not only was the victim cut and bruised so bad he required hospitalization, the media has dredged up dirt on him.

Conditions for airline passengers have deteriorated from when you’d receive meal money and overnight accommodations if your flight got delayed.  Thirty years ago, four Lanes were flying Midway Airlines to Philadelphia; about halfway there, the pilot flew back to Chicago.  When the next flight was overbooked, the airlines offered free tickets to anywhere Midway flew if they waited an additional two hours for a subsequent flight.  We accepted the offer and got four free tickets to the Virgin Islands, where we enjoyed a week’s vacation on Tom and Karen Orr’s sailboat.

Our San Diego flight was only two-thirds full, prompting speculation that United experienced cancellations.  Flight attendants were extremely attentive, and absent was any mention of the airline slogan “Friendly Skies,” no doubt a corporate decision to forestall derisive rejoinders.  We turned back our watches two hours and arrived in sunny California before noon.  Nephew Bob was circling the Lindbergh Field terminal when Phil called him and met us within minutes.  Head of marketing for Burger Lounge, Bob drove us to his office, introduced us to friendly co-workers, including Austin, a young man from Lowell (he and Dave talking Region basketball), and gave us Burger Lounge t-shirts before treating us to a delicious lunch. I had the Burger Lounge special, featuring grass-fed beef, with onion rings and a side of guacamole.

 Dave, Bob, Jimbo, and Phil at Burger Lounge

After showing off his family’s recently purchased home, which has all kinds of fruit trees in the back yard, Bob drove through heavy traffic to Joshua Tree Best Western Motel in Yucca Springs.  After we checked in, I lay down for an hour because the Head and the Heart concert wasn’t scheduled to begin until after 11 p.m.  Then, with a couple hours to kill, Bobby found a roadhouse, Gadi’s, that advertised Thursday karaoke.  The diverse crowd included bikers (one sang a Sam Smith number!), a family whose patriarch sang in Italian, an African-American woman with an amazing voice, and a foursome that looked to be Head and the Heart fans. 

Dave performing at Gadi's

We pestered Dave to sing until he finally relented and performed “She Talks to Angels” by the Black Crowes with such gusto that heads turned.  Sensing that we were about to leave, the deejay asked Dave if he’d do a second number; he selected “Surrender” by Cheap Trick, knowing it was one of my favorites. From my seat I was softly singing the chorus, beginning, “Mommy’ all right, Daddy’s all right, They just seem a little weird.”

above, Little Dragon; below, Dave and Phil at Pioneertown saloon

inside Pappy and Harriet's

Around 10:15 Bob drove the four miles uphill past Joshua trees and cool rock formations to Pappy and Harriet’s.  An outdoor concert featuring electronic music by Little Dragon was winding down, and the doors were not scheduled to open until 11, leaving time to show Phil and Dave nearby locale for old westerns, such as the Lone Ranger and Cisco Kid.  In line was a pilot who flew executives in and out of Gary Airport.  By the time the few hundred people were processed and inside, it was almost midnight.  The tables had been removed, but I found a stack of chairs and positioned one by the wall so I didn’t have to stand waiting for the concert to begin.  Several others did the same thing, and one guy stood on his, prompting a visit by a huge security guy who remedied the situation and warned, “Don’t make me come back.”

For the Head and the Heart (THATH) concert in Grand Rapids, we’d had good seats but were some distance from the stage.  Here we stood within 30 feet of the band – and even closer when at a spot to the right of the stage.  I had a great view of Jon Russell and Matt Gervais but strained to see the diminutive Charity Thielen until I maneuvered into a closer spot for the encores.  Folks were swaying to the music and, in many cases, mouthing or singing the lyrics. When the band played “Library Magic,” I turned around to tell Dave it was my favorite song, and several young women in unison said, “Mine, too.” Curious why a 75-year-old would be there, one young female fan asked if I were a Pappy and Harriet’s regular.  Sort of, I said, having been there over a dozen times.  Another from L.A. inquired about what there was to do in the area.  Go visit Joshua Tree National Park, I replied.  

Lane gang; Jimbo in Burger Lounge t-shirt

Though we didn’t hit the sack until 1:45, we all four made the 9 a.m. breakfast deadline.  I chowed down on bacon, eggs, English muffin, oj, sweet roll, and coffee.  Having slept like a log, I was still pumped over how great a time I’d had.  As Bob declared, the band clicked on every number. Bob drove us to my brother’s place in La Quinta, where Catherine had put out a spread of lunch meat, Cole slaw, potato salad, pickles, lettuce, tomatoes, and onions, condiments, and other treats.  Bob’s wife Niki, daughter Addison, 9, and son Crosby, 7, had spent the night and greeted us with big hugs.  They were eager to play hide-and-seek, as we’d done on previous visits.  I promised we’d do that when we got back to San Diego.  My brother gave me photos he’d uncovered going through Midge’s stuff, including one of my maternal great-grandparents Charles A. and Emma Regan Metzger, who had lived in Phillipsburg, New Jersey (he had worked for Pennsylvania Railroad).

On the ride back to Bob and Niki’s, I noticed that the desert and mountain landscape was greener than normal due to a rainy spring. We saw billboards advertising the upcoming appearance by the Head and the Heart at Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival (Sirius radio is carrying a live simulcast).  Other headliners included Lady Gaga, Lorde, Radiohead, and one I’d like to see, Car Seat Headrest.   When Bob asked for dinner suggestions, I replied, “Pizza and beer.”  Bob called ahead, and we picked up two pies, one Hawaiian and the other sausage, on the way home.  After chowing down, I played with the kids for about an hour.  In motel rooms, it had been easy to find them: they’d hide together and I could get Crosby laughing.  There were many more hiding places in the house, and Crosby no longer gave himself away.  Addie once managed to fit into a hamper; it completely befuddled me until Crosby pointed in its direction. 

Crosby Lane

Niki, left and below

Addie has a guitar and Crosby plays the piano; Dave gave both of them pointers.  One of the warmest people I know, Niki mentioned that her father –Skeeter – recently visited from Virginia and watching Bob play ice hockey.  Crosby is on a t-ball team called the Phillies and was delighted to learn I was a Phillies fan.  I once watched his dad play ball at his age.  When I took grandson Anthony to California, Bob played wiffleball with us.  Anthony mimicked Bob’ batting stance and, like him, pretended to spit chewing tobacco.  Upon learning that I was bringing my sons, Crosby thought they might be playmates.  In a sense they were and bonded with both kids.

After Bob drove us to the airport and we were airborne, it hit me what a fantastic host my nephew had been. We have had a special bond since he was in college at IU.  While at Bloomington for a meeting, I invited him to dinner at Outback and arrived with a cooler of beers.  Before we left, I asked, “Another Old Style, Bobby?”  His house mates, I learned later,  teased him relentlessly  by repeating those words.  When Bob graduated, he and his friends decided to skip the ceremony but instead threw a house party.  At IUN I obtained a blank certificate and took along my cap, gown, and hood; at an appropriate time, I came through the door and, uttering the words “By the authority vested in me,” presented him with a diploma.  At first, he rolled his eyes, but after I was done, the graduates took turns putting on my cap and gown for photo opportunities at the insistence of their parents.

Once, following a Lane family vacation in Traverse City, Michigan, Bob and I took in “Detroit Rock City,” where four teens cut school to attend a KISS concert.  We laughed throughout and often repeat our favorite lines, such as Trip saying that “Disco blows dogs for quarters” or Father Phillip McNulty, high on magic mushrooms, telling a nun, “What the hell are you doing, Sister Gonorrhea, waiting for a bus?”  

Becca at Chesterton H.S.

above, gaming at the condo; below, Michiganders on Easter

We talked NBA playoffs with town car driver Ron, who drove us from O’Hare to the condo in record time, wher Dave’s family greeted us and Toni had arranged a Chinese dinner.  While we were gone, Becca received a certificate of honor at an awards ceremony. She and James had dyed Easter eggs, and after the meal people played a game we call “Huncie,” where two people knock eggs together and see which one cracks.  Phil spent the night but got back to Grand Rapids in time to enjoy Easter with his family. Bob called.  After we rehashed the highlights from our whirlwind trip, he wanted advice on Crosby’s first-grade project: dressing up a teddy bear to represent his ethnicity.  He could have chosen among several nationalities, but I suggested a Scottish outfit.  The teddy bear ended up in kilts, Bob later reported.

Prior to the trip, I had used a phrase Paul Kern employed when he and Julie drove from Florida to California: “This might be my last great adventure.”  Now I’m so pumped, I’m checking to see what good bands might be scheduled to play at Pappy and Harriet’s.  Niki promised to bring the kids to Indiana.  Let’s hope.  As the Head and the Heart put it in “Library Magic,” “There will always be better days.”