Monthly Archives: June 2013

We Have Seen the Future

These are voyages (albeit short ones) of the Starship Enterprise.

These are voyages (albeit short ones) of the Starship Enterprise.

At yesterday’s Trek Fest, we discovered a place where parade-goers applaud the advancements achieved by the technology behind interstellar aircraft…and

No warp drive, but advanced technology for its time nonetheless.

No warp drive, but advanced technology for its time nonetheless.

vintage tractors with equal vigor. A place where corn farmers and

Klingons come in peace.

Klingons come in peace.

 

Smart Car...err make that shuttlecraft, with photon torpedo in tow.

Smart Car…err make that shuttlecraft, with photon torpedo in tow.

Klingon warriors mingle in peaceful harmony.  Riverside, Iowa is indeed indeed worthy to be the future birthplace of Captain James T. Kirk.

Mountain Musings

Best_of_the_lovin_spoonfulAwhile back I posted a note to Facebook about how delighted I was that Jerry Yester, formerly with 1960s rock band The Lovin’ Spoonful, was playing the piano at a restaurant where we were dining in Eureka Springs…which is near where Jerry now lives.

“Wow what a has-been,” responded one of my Facebook buddies. A cruel remark from someone who really isn’t.  It made me realize how easy it is to buy in to assumptions embedded everywhere in our culture.

The band you once played in isn’t at the top of the charts anymore. And now you play piano for a small, but equally delighted audience near your home in the beautiful Ozark Mountains. Is this life any less deserving of admiration?  I think not.

The noted blues legend Henry Gray is in his eighties now and still tours. But when he’s not, he’s happy to play piano at the Piccadilly Cafeteria in Baton Rouge, where I often had lunch.  He does so because it gives him a much pleasure as it did the patrons.

The audience was very much in on the joke and applauded riotously when Jeerk performed their encore dance routine using walkers.

The audience was very much in on the joke and applauded riotously when Jeerk performed their encore dance routine using walkers.

When we made not one, but two visits to Branson during our stay here in southern Missouri, there were several comments about the place that all “the old people go to,” where the shows were “schmaltzy.”

And yes we did attend a magic show, where the final illusion had as its big reveal a giant mock-up of the stone tablets with the ten commandments (and where the magician invited the audience back on Sunday morning to hear him preach.)

But we also saw a very talented young Swedish rock band, (who happened to be astonishingly good tap-dancers as well.)

Dave pauses for a photo-op before heading in for his chicken fried steak dinner.

Dave pauses for a photo-op before heading in for his chicken fried steak dinner.

And yes, we did eat chicken-fried steak at the restaurant with the giant rooster out front. But we also dined at a mountaintop restaurant on the stunningly beautiful campus of College of the Ozarks, on campus-raised pork medallions served over polenta made from cornmeal ground in the campus gristmill, and garnished with vegetables grown in the campus greenhouses.

Student operated gristmill on the campus of College of the Ozarks.

Student operated gristmill on the campus of College of the Ozarks.

And yes, there were a lot of old people there. Old people who despite the need to use a cane, or a walker or a wheelchair—were out having the time of their lives.

As we slowly evolve into a society that embraces equality for all, and as important as I believe the current struggle for marriage equality to be, I’m reminded that ageism remains deeply imbedded deep in our culture, and that we must be ever vigilant in our quest to end it as well.

Marlene’s Mexico

Pastries pretty in pastel.

Pastries pretty in pastel.

Armed with a pair of tongs, a large tin tray, and Marlene’s expertise, we plunged in to the gluten equivalent of Willie Wonka’s wonderland: El Bolillo. Towers of pastel-colored shell-shaped pastries to the left, a cooler of of tres leches cake slices to the right, yeasty loaves ahead. The tongs flew. Our tray filled.

Marlene

Marlene offers a tong tutorial.

We approached the cash register in fear of the economic havoc we had wrought on our fixed income. “Five dollars,” said the lovely senorita. Dave and I exchanged quizzical, then furtive looks. “Let’s get out of here before they figure out the register is broken,” we whispered to each other. Marlene smiles, and assures us no mistake was made.

Life is especially good this day when two of the prime directives of our journey have been met (and yes, I just saw the new Star Trek movie). We’ve discovered an amazing place new to us. And we’ve been guided there by an old friend with whom we’ve been reconnected. Marlene and I worked together and became close friends during the decades she lived in south Louisiana, but she returned to Houston, the place she was born, a few years ago. She lives in The Heights, an old neighborhood filled with charm, shade, and craftsman bungalows.

Every heat and hue.

Every heat and hue.

On the day of our visit though, she has brought us to the adjacent neighborhood she’s adopted as a favorite haunt-Marlene’s Mexico. It is there that we found El Bollilo, after working up an appetite wandering the stalls at the farmer’s market across the street that caters to the needs of Houston’s Hispanic folk. As with most farmer’s markets there are stalls piled with fruits and vegetables. But here there is a special emphasis on one particular vegetable genus—the pepper. Thousands and thousands of peppers in a full spectrum of hues denoting the full spectrum of culinary heat. The other offering distinct to this market was burlap bags filled with homeopathic herbs purported to offer relief for everything from to impotence to hepatitis.

Need your blood purified? Have we got an herb for you.

Need your blood purified? Have we got an herb for you.

We should perhaps have stopped by after our visit to El Bolillo for a pound of the herb marked to treat diabetes.