Edward J. Pluchar - The Blogsplitter

I’m a big fan of local newspapers.  Some of you know I wrote for a local newspaper when I was living in West Virginia, and it was a very satisfying experience for me.

Accordingly, we subscribe to the local paper here.  There is a twice-weekly paper that appears to be free (like The Valley Ranger!), and there is the one we pay for, a daily covering Joliet and its surrounds.

In a recent edition of the twice-weekly paper (sorry, y’all - bi-weekly has two meanings, and I think it is better fitted to mean “once every other week”), there’s a short sequence of stories about our new hometown, New Lenox.  The stories, however, are not intended to be linked together.  The headlines and brief commentary:

Page 3 - New Lenox named one of country’s safest towns

Yeah, that’s good news!  Reminds us of Sinks Grove, sans neighbors shooting friends with sawed off shotguns.  The article touts our town’s comprehensive efforts toward emergency response programs and the prevention of dangerous situations.  Selection made by an international review committee through a process that originated in Sweden…cool.

Page 5 - New Lenox schools may cut bus transportation

Oh.  That doesn’t sound too safe for the students.  Maybe it’s a sign of the times.

Page 7 (with accompanying photo) - New Lenox playground burned

Holy Zeus!  Marcy, pack the car - we’re going back to Sinks Grove!

Apparently no one was harmed, so I do not feel bad saying that this struck me as hilarious.  Not only do you have this marvelous context set by the previous articles, but there’s a color photograph of the playground completely engulfed by orange and yellow flames.

At least the arsonist(s) had the decency to wait until the international review committee from Page 3 had already left.

There were those of you on the edge of your seat.  The suspense was titillating.

Oh, what’s that?  I was the only one on the edge of his seat?

Poppycock.  I won’t believe it.

Alas, an offer has been made, and thus a decision.  This wasn’t entirely about the offer, of course.

The decision - Marcy and I, along with Amelia and Danny and several of my stuffed animals, are moving back to Chicago.

I know what you’re saying - stuffed animals?  Amelia can’t really appreciate them yet, so someone needs to play with them.

Anyway, I’ll have to start work as Maintenance Supervisor at Giant Steps Illinois, Inc., a school for children with autism, in the very near future (mid-August).  Marcy will be looking for a job at Children’s Memorial, or anywhere else suitable for working with children.

Whereas babysitters are scatted a little bit in our area, we may have to start a queue for babysitters in Chicago.  Drug tests all around!

Truthfully, the layers of support in Chicago will be wonderful, as much for our health and sanity as for the opportunity for Amelia to know her family well.  Danny won’t have a veritable field to call his own; there are, however, many trails to walk.

There’s no denying the sadness we feel, leaving our home.  We have great friends here.  It’s almost a betrayal to ever leave them.

Skyscrapers and other human endeavors are impressive, but there is nothing to evoke the majesty of a mountain in Chicago.  I take that back - there is Lake Michigan - but we’re not going to live on Lake Michigan.

There is plenty to evoke the madness known as road rage, or the neurosis known as claustrophobia, or the illnesses caused by pollution of all kinds.

Ah, but there’s opportunity.  There’s the offer of a job fitting of my skills and close to my heart.  There may even be opportunities for writing, more writing, with varying themes and audiences.

Sure.  But we’re keeping our home in the mountains.

I’ve joined a 12″ softball team, and we had our first game last night.

The coach is Elmer, owner of a guttering company, a 60-something guy who loves softball.  The next oldest guy on the team is probably in his late 30’s.  While watching the game, Marcy observed that our players instinctively used “sir” whenever they spoke with him, though he certainly doesn’t go looking for such respect.

Warming up before the game, Elmer played catch with Danny, a guy I know from various things around town.  Elmer turned to watch a play unfold on the field and Danny threw without looking to see if Elmer was paying attention…

Ouch!  He quickly began “walking it off,” though obviously that wasn’t going to help the actual injury.  Was it his chest, his throat?  No, there wasn’t any gasping, but then he was holding his mouth.

Eww…his teeth?  That’d be awful.  I started pressing my tongue against the insides of my lips with empathy.

No - his chin.  A nice gash opened up, probably a quarter inch wide and a full inch long.

Most of the team was gathered around.  I ran to check the concession stand for ice - no luck.  When I came back, they were dabbing the wound with a cloth, and shortly thereafter began closing up the wound with medical tape.

“You’re definitely going to need stitches, Elmer,” said the amateur medic.

Danny was pacing back and forth - “I’m so sorry, Elmer.  I wish I could have pulled that ball back.  I’ll help you pay for the stitches.”

Others listed Elmer’s options (go to the ER now, try to play it out, be sure to wear a helmet while pitching), each time offering manly validation for whatever choice Elmer made.  That’s a real licking.

Then Adam, in a vaguely medical tone, said, “But Elmer, you’re used to having balls on your chin.”

There was a moment of lag time before the first laugh came, then the second…finally everyone’s laughing while Elmer says, “Yeah, I heard him.  Yeah, I get it…”

I’m ashamed to say that I was still laughing about it today, mostly because of the tone of Adam’s voice.  He wasn’t trying to draw attention to the joke, just putting it out there to see if anyone picked it up.  And sounding like a medical professional…priceless.

Elmer played through the game with medical tape all over his jaw, looking like a chinstrap, and finally went to the ER afterward.  Wondering how many stitches he has…

I’ve heard a chunk of people talk about having theme music whenever they enter the room.  Really brings out the AC/DC fans.

There should really be more talk about incidental theme music.

You know, you walk into a music store (or maybe you did a few years ago, before iTunes) and Snoop Dogg is playing over the speakers - you can’t help yourself, you just start to swagger a little.  (Admit it).

I was working on a story last week at the Wild Bean, a local coffee shop, where you’ll usually hear a good bit of jazz, bluegrass, or other off-beat styles of music.  That day, a rock song broke into the mix, and just then a dude walked in.

In a vertically striped, button-down shirt and dark jeans, this slightly overweight fellow makes his way to the counter.  Remember that swagger?  Yeah, he’s got a bit of that going on - he can’t help himself.  His mustache is strange, a little too thick in the middle for the narrow ends.  It might be compensation for the receding hairline.

The best part about rhythm, about the induced swagger, is that it accentuates one’s natural gait.  This man probably could pass for unremarkable on the sidewalk, unable to pull a rhythm out of diesel engines and stuccato chatter.  But give him alt rock and - is that a bow-leg?  It’s not a limp.

At least in his mind, I’m pretty sure that man owned his incidental theme song.

Dodgeball last Tuesday was one of the most enjoyable sessions.

We had 4 v. 4 going, mostly adults with a few high schoolers (who might be college students, now that someone pointed out the beard one of them is growing).  There was already a 10 year old kid on my team, who was decent, but not really helpful to the team.

During a well-contended series, a girl came strolling into the gym.  She might have been 4 1/2 feet tall, maybe 75 pounds.

Great.  Truly, it’s fine, kids play somewhat often, and we can usually play around them.  But they’re kids.

They suck!

In the next series, this girl was on my team.  I encourage teammates in general, so I shouted my support as she ran all over the court and - hey, she throws harder than I expected!

A few more plays and then - Whoa.  That’s really good timing on her throw.

What’s your name?

Breanna.

Great throw, Breanna!

The best player on the other team charged us, but we dodged his throw and he retreated with a ball.  I pinned him toward the sideline and threw hard, and as he dodged my throw he nearly fell out of bounds.  I turned around, and suddenly everyone was cheering!

The little girl knocked him out.  Apparently she threw just after I did, so that the guy wasn’t expecting it.  And because her throw was just hard enough, he didn’t have time to regain his balance and block or catch her.

Hey, great job Breanna!

Do you know about the kids boot camp, she asked me.  I said I did.

She said she went through it twice, and they played dodgeball.

I asked if that’s how she became so good.

With real humility, she nodded.

Breanna and I were the only two left on our team in the next game, against two opponents.  All but one of the balls was on their side, so Adam, a guy about my age, went around gathering them and placing them near the halfcourt line.  As he bent over to lay the last two balls down - Whack!  A ball came flying from his left, hitting him right in the temple.  He never saw it coming!

It was Breanna.  Everyone went nuts.  I later declared it was my pick for play of the night.

Today has been on my mental calendar for quite some time -  Lewisburg’s 3rd annual Chocolate Festival.

What a splendid idea!  I say that like the idea of a chocolate festival is novel because I was here before the CF was, and if you had asked me whether it would be successful I would have said, “Yes, absolutely.”

Let me temper the discussion by saying that the CF is pretty great, but not all that chocoholics might dream it up to be.  There could be a more cohesive assortment of chocolates among the stores dishing out samples.  There could also be a stronger push for more exotic and more imaginative chocolates, really stretching the abilities of the cacao bean product.

Nevertheless, armed with palate cleansers (unsalted crackers, apples, and water), Marcy and I hit the streets and ended up consuming 15 samples of chocolate between the two of us.  I like to get a good breakfast in, but today, I’ve only eaten chocolate and crackers.

Not a bad day.

I hoped to take more pictures of the chocolates, but I didn’t remember my camera until it was almost too late.  So, below, a picture of our final sample.  This brownie, a no-bake cookie smoothie, and a chocolate-caramel covered pretzel were my favorites.

UPDATE:  Shortly after I finished this post, I drove home.  Near the end of the drive, my field of vision began to narrow - I was seeing lights in my periphery.  Then more or less right in front of me.

That’s right - a chocolate induced migraine headache was coming on!  Been a while since that happened…

Our big splurge, from The Wild Bean.

Y’all probably know about this, for the most part, but I thought I’d make an official announcement here:

Marcy and I have purchased a two-flat in Hinton, WV.

Some will recognize this as a good investment, with low costs and relatively strong income.  Now’s the time to buy, after all!

Others will see it for what it really is - the first, quiet step toward WV land domination.

There will surely be stories from this new venture, so stay tuned.

In a previous post I shared the two bios I offered my editor at the Greenbrier Valley Quarterly, which I have now read and enjoyed.  I’m proud to write for him.  This time around, I did a story on Bethlehem Farm and the local hardware/lumber store, Neathawk, and both are reasonably well done.  I was also asked to submit a new bio, and sent the following for consideration:

Excuse a bit of self-indulgence, but I think most people who read this will find it funny - the headline and first paragraph from an article to be published this week.

Rainelle Council Properly Disposed for Littering Ordinance

By Edward J. Pluchar

When Rainelle physically transferred their ordinances from one book to another, somehow an ordinance against littering went missing. Discarding the ironic possibility that the old ordinance has itself become a piece of litter, Council approved the second reading of a new littering ordinance on Monday, August 11.