A Good City

As early voting starts across America, and my newsfeed becomes increasingly populated with passionate partisan declarations, I feel like I should make an endorsesment of my own.

My personal diatribe could take days to craft though, and with two small children just waking up, and a stressful job to prepare for today, I don't have time to wrestle through a verbalization of my political point of view. I doubt that you care anyway.

Here's my thing though, when you a white, Catholic, driven working mom who lives in Mayberry, collaborates with small business owners from across the country every day, has toured the farms and factories and met the people of Illinois, Eastern Kentucky and Oklahoma City that supply the mass food industry, analyze how commodity pricing and trade credits will affect the launch of your next chicken initiative, prepare freshly hunted wild duck for dinner in the fall, have a cousin who is a Major in the U.S. Army, a mom serving on the Bench, a father bridging the many gaps in healthcare, a marriage into the community banking industry, a husband who has actually charted climate change as an oceanographer, family on the far right, and friends that lean farther left, and you truly stop and listen to everyone's unique beef with our country today, the sound judgment you thought you had can suddenly seem flawed.

What I have learned by forming my own internal debates this election season, is there is no easy solution for the systemic issues we face today. Life is so utterly complicated, and governing all the lives, liberties, and pursuits of happiness that make up the fabric of this country is a near impossible duty.

For instance, when debating the challenges and opportunities of Obamacare with my Father in Law the other night, in response to my statement that it is not one person or entities' fault, he asked me, 'then how would you solve it?

My short answer, 'I don't know.'

***

So with that, I'll direct the rest of my election season coverage to employing one optimistic idea of our country that helped me brush aside all the negative rhetoric and confirm my faith and hope in the American people.

In between the 4th and 5th inning (or thereabouts in case my brother corrects me) of the Cubs / Dodgers game, Hillary addressed the public in the third presidential debate with a quote that I believe will become iconic. She said, "America is great, because America is good."

Because we had to switch back to FS1 to see KB, Rizzo and Zobrist bat, I missed the following statements she made, and Trump's rebuttal. It very likely went south from there, but like her or not, the sound bite stuck with me.

Living in a city that can get a bad wrap; murder and crime rates, corruption and waste, unemployment and bankruptcy, the occasional 'loser', all the proof points that the rogue Republican highlights in his tweets; I can't help but see the good, especially in this historic Cubs post season.

From the melting pot of urban dwellers living underneath our beautiful skyline illuminated in red and blue for the Cubbies to the hearty farmers working the corn and soy fields in the rural landscape that encircle the city limits ...

       
From our pristine Lake to the millions of people who run, walk and bike along it each year.
From dumplings, to pierogies, to raviolis, empanadas, enchiladas, and spanokopita.
From fried chicken picnics along the shore to Italian Beef and Mario's Italian Ice on Taylor Street to that perfectly stuffed hot dog at Wrigley.
From the museums, theaters, churches, and galleries, to the posh shopping along the Magnificent Mile.
From the bad Bears, to the better Blackhawks, on to the awesome (and oh so cute) roster of the Cubs.
From the die hard fans, to the fair weather ones.
From our neighborhoods, even the roughest ones, to our neighbors.
I see a whole lot of good, and a whole lot of progress. It's the kind of good that makes America a great place to live, work, and raise a family.

This past weekend, after gathering apples at Honey Hill Orchard in Dekalb, Illinois the weekend before, we broke out the Cider Press again. Neighbors, friends, and family came over to help us crush Empire, Macintosh, Yellow Delicious, and Honeycrisp into fall's sweet syrup. The kids, the weather, the memories of pressing cider with Grandpa Barry and my cousins, the line up of new little hands holding their cups under the tap, all great.

There is no doubt, that all corners of America need help and equal opportunity to jobs, homes, healthcare, education, and safety above all. But there is also no denying that America and the vast majority of its people are good. We just need great leadership to bring us together. And I wonder if it will take the next generation to truly do this.

Lo.

Pour Michigan

On Saturday morning, Peter woke up before the sun ... and before me. He was dressed and out the door at 5:30 so he could fish the running salmon and steelhead with a guide named Evan.

The room was completely silent. There were no kids yelling, 'MAMA!' There were no chores to do. It was still dark, so I kept sleeping. For the first time in I don’t know how long.

I finally woke up at 7:30, my stomach still full from Larry Mawby's champagne and the locally sourced food and cocktails at Cook's House the night before. I drank a cup of coffee while referencing MichiganRunnerGirl.com. I figured out where my tennis shoes could take me today, got dressed and started running.

I ran across Traverse City and toward Old Mission Peninsula. About two miles in, I started getting a better sense of the community that makes up this pristine part of America. It wasn't in talking to people, but in reading the signage they had left around town.

The first sign I passed was on the lot of McDonald's. They were hiring. And loudly promoting that they started at $11 an hour.

A mile down the road a novelty shop attempted to lure customers in with a sign that read, ‘Petoskey Rocks and Petrified Poo Peruse Here.’ I laughed, but kept running.

As I started up Old Mission Peninsula, I intercepted a 5K. A woman on the corner signaled for me to run to the right where a sign read ‘10,000 rape kits sit untested each year,' I ran to left though. Those were Michigan Runner Girl's directions after all.

Up and down East Shore Drive houses either sided with Hillary or (still) sided with Trump. Despite their difference, everyone seemed to like a guy named Lon Johnson running for U.S. Congress though.

About six miles in, a bench painted with the words, 'pooped runners and bikers rest here' tempted me, but I ran on. The temperature was dropping, the wind picking up, so without long sleeves I had to keep moving.

There were signs for you to get apples over there, pumpkins right here, and wine just about everywhere. The bare cherry trees quietly told me to come back in the summer for their precious fruit.

As I headed back to the hotel, a readerboard outside of a Lutheran Church in town read ‘this is a sign that God loves you.’ I took it to heart.

When I finally returned to the Hotel Indigo, the sign 'hot' on the shower provided a warm welcome home.

My fisherman came back an hour later and we set off to taste the country side. We biked from winery to winery, up hills and down hills, through orchards and vineyards and in and out of one spectacular vista after another. It was an epic day.

Throughout the rest of the weekend, I saw additional signage that painted a more detailed portrait of coastal Michigan.
Don't frack here.
Unsalted and shark free.
Go Blue.
Go Spartans.
Tasting Room this way.
Come as guests, leave as friends.
Bride and (Drunk) Bridesmaid.
White fish spread and hamachi collar.
White and red.
Old and new.

Like the rest of the United States right now, it's a land politically and economically divided. There is a proud heritage of agriculture, hard work, shoreline, icy waters, and colorful historic towns with beautiful sunsets. And it contrasts but also complements a new generation of chefs, brewers, vintners, artists, fishermen, and settlers who are making the coast a hip destination. Every destination boasts a northern hospitality that is as strong as its counterpart down south. Outside is the place to be, even when the wind whips off the lake. And with a little luck and a really good eye, you can find your own Petoskey stone on the shore, without going to the store that sells petrified poo as well.

It took me a while to find mine. But when I did, I knew it wasn't a fake. And getting to spend a weekend with him, just us, in celebration of our five year anniversary, making new discoveries in such a majestic part of our country, was exactly what we needed. 

Lo. 

Cheer Cheer

I grew up in a Notre Dame family. What exactly does that mean?

It meant that for second grade show in tell, I brought in a leprechaun lapel pin that when pushed played the fight song electronically through it's porous back side.

It meant that my brother brought home kindergarten art projects starring football players with the numbers 1, 25, and 36 emblazoned on their jerseys.

It meant that we visited South Bend every fall, we waited in line to get into the bookstore, and we sipped hot chocolate while sitting on the cold benches of Notre Dame's original stadium.

It meant that the first person who saw the Dome was the winner.

It meant Aunt Connie's fried chicken at Uncle's Jim's tailgate.

It meant lighting a candle for Grandma and Grandpa at the Grotto. 

It meant the smell of fall, the sound of the band, and the gritty feeling of a football team that would fight on to victory.

We learned how to do push ups early on in life. We feared what my Mom did; going 'over the wall.' We were mesmerized by my Dad's big blue class ring. We all wanted to be as fast as the Rocket. And the 1812 Overture meant one thing: Lou.

It meant collegiate football at its authentic best. A program so enticing that it lured not just one of us, but all of us to Indiana to attain our higher education.

Ironically, when I ended up going to Notre Dame for college and then back again for an MBA, my experience with the institution was less and less defined by the football team. Sure, I loved the tailgates, particularly as I graduated from hot chocolate to Bloody Marys, but with each disappointing season, my energy shifting from the endeavors on the football field to my own personal ones in the classroom and on the lacrosse field.

Other parts of campus started to hold more meaning than the storied stadium: the Basilica. the fireplace at Coleman Morse where I would study for exams, the Library in the School of Architecture which took me right back to Italy, the ceramics room, North Dining Hall, runs around the Lake in the morning, bike rides home at dusk, Finnegans and Heartland, 1011 and 702, the people, the friendships, the characteristic warmth of it all.



***

For the past three weekends, we've driven down to South Bend to take in the magic of Notre Dame football weekends and share it with our kids. We witnessed one win and two rather bleak losses. In her new cheerleader outfit, Mary cheered, in his ND pullover Bobby tailgated (and then crashed). We rallied with the band, high stepped with the Irish Guard, and believed that each point was a turnaround moment. But we couldn't help the team eek out the wins they needed.

I worried a little. What if the football team doesn't return to glory? What if they don't have the fight in them anymore? Will my kids still feel the passion that I felt for the University at such an early age, when the football program was so good?

The losses didn't seem to phase my kids though. And maybe that's because they don't phase me anymore. In fact yesterday, Mary asked if we were going back to Notre Dame this weekend. She wanted to see Nana and Opa. She wanted to see the band and the cheerleaders. She wanted to run around the lakes, sing Cheer Cheer, and get a cookie from Aunt Connie.

So maybe it's not all about winning. And maybe it's not all about football. After all my experience as a student was more about the other stuff. But I wonder if the luster would be quite as golden without all the national championships and Heisman Trophies. And I wonder if the passion of the student body would be as great if they didn't have a team that they knew would win it all again. Someday. 

Lo.