This past weekend I attended the college graduation of my youngest son.  It does not seem possible that so many years have come and gone since I graduated from college.  The occasion did have me reflecting back on a few things that I learned way back in my college days.

• I could survive 1,000 miles from home.
• Yet, as Dorothy said, “There is no place like home.” 
• There really is a reason why you separate clothes before washing. 
• College cannot be survived without pizza and coffee.
• Never trust stuffed peppers in the cafeteria.
• Some of those foods I avoided for the first eighteen years of my life really were not bad.
• Sometimes the most fun you can have is when you don’t act your age.
• Be certain your aim is good before trying to throw tomatoes out your window from across the room. 
• Sitting on a bench eating ice cream and watching cars go by is not a bad way to spend time. 
• Sleep is over-rated. 
• About the only courses I excelled in were racquetball, softball, bowling and ice skating. 
• I could spend hours in a dorm room just sitting and talking with a friend.
• An “F” in calculus was not the end of the world, nor would it be the last failure of my life.
• Selling turkey shaped cookies at Thanksgiving is a marketing opportunity everyone is missing. 
• A good roommate is a friend for life even if you lose track of each other for a while. 
• The activities you are involved in are as much a part of your college experience as the classes you take. 
• Memories of arguments can last longer than memories of what was argued about. 
• Pranks are paid back with interest. 
• Dorm rooms/apartments strangely enough do not clean themselves. 
• Letters from family and friends were like manna from heaven. 
• Your plans are not set in stone. You can change majors or schools or both like I did.
• Some of us never really decide what we want to be when we grow up.
• You really can do things you never dreamed you could. 
• You’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. 
• You’re not nearly as dumb as you think you are.
• You are not finished learning when you graduate. 
• Possessions can be replaced. 
• Calling your parents on Saturday morning is a good habit to get into and one I still have.

May is almost here and in Cincinnati that means that it is time for Pigs to Fly.  Along with Cincinnati style chili and being the birthplace of professional baseball, Cincinnati is known for pigs.  For a time in the first part of the 1800’s, Cincinnati’s easy access to river transport and farmland helped propel the city to being the number one pork processing center in the country. In fact Cincinnati was once known as “Porkopolis” and it was said that Cincinnati was where pigs fly. 

There are a number of theories about the origin of this saying, one popular story is that when the hogs were being delivered from the Kentucky side of the Ohio River to the slaughter-house on the Cincinnati side, they were loaded on flat top barges.   The early morning fog on the river would cover the barges as they glided across the water.  This left the naked eye to see “flocks” of pigs “floating” above the water giving the appearance that the were “flying” to Cincinnati. To this day, you can find a lot of “flying pig” items at the airport and in many shops around Cincinnati.  The “flying pigs” really take flight the first Sunday in May with the occurrence of the Cincinnati Flying Pig Marathon.

I do not claim to be a “runner,”  but I have participated in the Flying Pig Marathon.  I blame my running on my dog, but that is another blog for another day.  My marathon “career” started one day in September of 2002 when Connie, a friend, co-worker, and marathoner stopped by my cubicle and informed me that she was going to run the Columbus Marathon and that I should run it as well.  My first question was, “When is it?”  She replied, “Three weeks.”  I told her there was no way, I had never run more than 10 miles in my life.  She told me that if I could run ten miles, I could finish a marathon.  “It is just a 10K with a 20 mile warm up,” she said.  Connie told me that you get excited running in such a large group, there are pople cheering you on, and you have to get back to where your car is.  So, I went home, ran 12 miles that night and then signed up for the Columbus Marathon which I managed to complete.

I found the marathon to be a lot of fun, in a strange and somewhat painful fashion.  When we got back to work, I asked Connie, “When can we do another?”  So I signed up for the Flying Pig in May of 2003 and every year since, until this year.  We talked Dave, another co-worker into joining the fun a few times as well.  Connie and I have started ten Flying Pigs together, a few we even arrived at the starting line before the gun sounded.  Twice, Ryland, my Stetson roommate flew up from Florida to fly with the pigs.

However, I am a little sad that this year, my Flying Pig streak comes to an end.  As much as I have enjoyed being apart of this marathon, I am excited that this Sunday, we will be attending the graduation of our youngest son at The Ohio State University.  You know, raising three sons is a marathon in its own right except there is no medal at the finish line.  (Actually there is no finish line).  This Sunday, the pigs will once again fly in Cincinnati while I will be penned up in Columbus, but maybe next year, once again, this little piggy will be going wee, wee, wee all the way to the Finish Swine.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to the future.  

I always thought that I was born on the edge of the future.  The same year that I was born General Foods began marketing Tang, the orange-flavored powdered drink mix.  John Glenn took Tang into space with him and you could drink the very same stuff at home while you dreamed of going into space.  All you had to do was take two tablespoons of this magic powder and add it to eight ounces of water, stir vigorously and you had a drink with 100% of your vitamin C, 100% of your vitamin A, 100%  of your vitamin E, 100% of your calcium, 100% of your riboflavin, and 100% of your niacin for the day and no real oranges were harmed in the process.  The future looked bright, innovation was the key.  In the future science would meet all our needs, nutrition-wise and other-wise.

Man continued to go into space and the trips became longer.  It was obvious that man could not live on Tang alone.  So, as the space program grew so did the culinary possibilities.  In the late 1960’s Pillsbury joined in with the creation of Space Food Sticks, a “non-frozen balance energy snack in rod form containing nutritionally balanced amounts of carbohydrate, fat and protein.”   “Nutritionally balanced” was one of those great sounding marketing phrases which no one can explain like “ph balanced.” Space Food Sticks came in six flavors including peanut butter, caramel, and chocolate.  A man could live in space or on the earth if he had Tang and Space Food Sticks.

Alas, after the great promise these two products provided, the future seemed to fade. While Tang can still be found on store shelves, I cannot recall the last time I ever heard of anyone actually drinking Tang.  Sadly, Space Food Sticks disappeared from North American supermarket shelves in the eighties. They were revived in 2006 when the chocolate and peanut butter flavors were re-released. Today you might be able to find Space Food Sticks at flight museums, the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum or online.   Perhaps I can take solace that these were the predecessors of today’s energy bars and energy drinks and their evil cousin energy gels (can one really expect something by the name of “Goo” to taste like anything other than flavored phlegm?) 

After a few quiet decades on the “food of the future” front, 1987 brought us Dippin’ Dots, the “Ice Cream of the Future.”   This ice cream gravel is created by flash freezing ice cream mix in liquid nitrogen – it is like cryogenics for food, that is pretty futuristic I guess. (Although I have often wondered what exactly one is supposed dip Dippin’ Dots in and it seems like it would be difficult to dip something so small in the first place.) No one is quite certain how many other foods were flash frozen before they hit on a winner with ice cream.  

Now almost thirty years has passed and apparently, the future has not yet arrived and Dippin’ Dots remains the “Ice Cream of the Future.”  I have a feeling that when the future does arrive, I may be disappointed with what it brings.

In our ever-changing, nothing is permanent, instant gratification, throwaway world it is easy to lose sight of where we have come from, to forget our roots.

My family tree has deep roots in the Bluegrass State of Kentucky.  I have been told that my forefathers settled in Estill County in the late 1700’s and I still have relatives there today.  My father was raised on a farm there and still thinks of the hills that are the western edge of the Appalachian Mountains as home.  There is even a spot on the map with the name of Wagersville — it really is not much more than a spot on the map.  For many generations Wagers were born, raised, lived, died, and were buried in Estill County. There is a cemetery close to Wagersville where several generations of Wagers lay in rest in the shadow of the hills.

I remember going to the Wagers reunions growing up which were held in even-numbered years. Family that had been scattered throughout the land would come back to the hills and hollers to catch up on what everyone was doing.  Often the reunion would take place at the Indian Fort Theatre in Berea.  There was a stage there and on one side there was a cabin-front that was used for productions as seen in the picture above.  (Yes I am in the picture.) I chose this picture because I think it captures something I have some to realize and appreciate: being a Wagers means having a sense of humor.  

As far back as I can remember I have been trying to tell jokes and trying to be funny (notice I did say “trying”).    I can remember jokes that were told to me by Aunts and Uncles and cousins.  Several years ago I remember that my Great Aunt Helen’s 90th birthday was celebrated as part of the reunion.  At one point I walked into the kitchen and there was Great Aunt Helen sitting at the table and enthusiastically telling jokes.  It hit me right there —  it is not my fault that I keep telling jokes and finding the humor in situations, it is in my genes.

So don’t blame me that I post, supposedly, humorous blogs or that I will tell you a joke when I run into you, it is a genetic condition (I wonder if it is covered under ADA?) Perhaps you think I am just plain nuts.  Well, it appears that this nut indeed has not fallen far from the tree.