Rule #1: The boat is made of cardboard.

When I first learned of the annual Glen Ellyn boat regatta I didn’t understand how a boat could be made of cardboard and actually float. I thought, “this must be a joke seeing a piece of cardboard used as a boat;" my thoughts went right to Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn. I could not have been further away from reality with my thinking---these babies not only float, they are actually boats.

This year’s regatta had some new themes that really caught my eye. We had boats in honor of the World Champion Chicago Blackhawks, the economy (and keeping it afloat,) and the best one, a BP floating oil drill. How people think of these ideas, and build them, makes this annual tradition memorable and popular.

If you are wondering what happens if a boat sinks, it happens every year; often more than one time during the race. They do have rescue boats on the lake to pick up the teams, and when the boat rolls over there are two choices: It sinks or you have it towed in and it's placed in a giant trash container. Eventually most of the boats end up in the container because they are water logged and what are you going to do with it any way?

At today’s regatta we even had a team that was so desperate to win that they broke the rules by using their oars to hold another boat back. They were caught, but it was the closest race I have seen in the 8 years. Had I not had my camera with me, and after looking at the pictures saw he was holding the boat back, I never would have seen it. Oh the competition in our community. I have no idea what you win, but it’s probably nothing more than a trophy; our community, like others, is not thriving in our current economy. (We’ll see tomorrow night when the fireworks occur as to how bad the economy is—last year’s fireworks show was 15 minutes.)

So the next time someone says a boat can not be made of anything but Plexiglas, wood or plastic, let them know you can even make it out of cardboard. If anything you might win a few bucks on a bet.

The photo above is from one of the races today---you can only imagine the time and energy that went into building these boats. The best part about it, they finished the race, the sad part, when finished, they ended up in the trash bin.

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The long weekend.

There is little doubt, this is my favorite time of the year. The warm weather, in combination with longer light hours make it all worth it when we are suffering through our winters. Throw in patriotism and how can it possibly get any better?

In our town we do celebrate---today we went to the farmer’s market that sets up in the parking lot every Friday. It’s at best an average farmer’s market except for the kettle corn they sell. I have no idea if America’s farmers would consider kettle corn to be part of their basic fare---but as far as I am concerned it was the winner. When you consider they had peaches from Georgia (we live in Illinois) and other fruits from states many hundreds of miles away, it would seem we don’t have any farmers around here. We have 3 tomato plants in our backyard, so I assume we are farmers too! Maybe we'll set up a stand!

Tomorrow we have the boat regatta. It’s an annual event on Lake Ellyn where all boats are made of cardboard. I am serious. The work that’s put into these boats makes me wonder, do these people have a life? We did it one year with other families and it took weeks to finish. What was the boat theme? It was a full size bus from the Harry Potter series. I am not kidding. The good news is…we got it down to the lake, the bad news is, it didn’t float very well. I had never been in Lake Ellyn until then---I got to know it well after the boat tipped over. Nothing to fear, it’s just not really clean.

On Sunday we have the parade and fireworks. I do love them both. I have a pretty good idea of what to expect because the parade rarely changes and except for a few new types of fireworks, you know the drill; I look forward to it every year.

The photo above was taken a few years ago. When you slow the camera down, and light the sparklers, amazing things happen---like circles of light. The long weekend is one I look forward to; they don’t come all that often, but when they do, I tend to catch up on things. Usually a little sleep, time with the kids, and most of all during this time of the year, celebrating what America is all about---freedom.

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The Candy Store.

I have to believe, ever since the invention of candy, there have been very few brands that have not sold well. Sure, some candies have come and gone, and many have expanded with new flavors, colors and varieties, but the sweet tooth is something I doubt will ever go away. When Kraft paid several billions of dollars this past year for Cadbury’s, I think that was a pretty good indication they saw a bright future in the candy business.

But candy is more than a business---it’s something humans love, crave, and will give up practically anything for as long as they can feed their sweet tooth. Just ask my kids which is more important…being with Dad or that candy store? Both, as long as Dad takes them to the candy store!

This past weekend, as a way of convincing my daughter she really did want to go to the zoo with me, I had to take her to our local candy store. Not far from our house, this store has some of the craziest hours I know of---meaning, it’s never open. With a second store in my hip pocket, I ventured to the next town hoping it was open. Mind you, this was on a Sunday at 1 PM---a lot different than a Saturday morning. (I provided the disclaimer when we were on our way over “You know, it’s Sunday and they probably won’t be open, but we’ll give it a try, okay?”)

Sure enough it was open and if you were paid money for big smiles, I would be loaded. The best thing about going to buy candy with the girls is you set a limit and they usually don’t even come close to going over what I said they could spend.

This store, located in Wheaton, IL has one of the most unusual configurations I have seen. It’s easy to miss when you walk up or drive by---it’s only 5 feet wide and 60 feet deep; but it’s filled with candy names from when I was growing up and the popular candy of today’s generation. They also sell popcorn---in fact, I have never purchased candy at the store, but always get a bag of popcorn and a Diet Coke.

The girls on the other hand, they hand pick the pieces of candy they want, place it in a bag, and actually wonder if they are taking too much? Gotta love it. My popcorn and soda are always more than half of the price and we all walk away happy.

What’s really fun about the store is how it takes you back in time and some of the unusual items on the wall. They have candy I have not seen in decades and along the wall they have one of the most unique photos I have ever seen. It’s a photo of a train---every car---and is 13 feet long; the owner of the store, Bill, told me he got it from the original owner whose wife didn’t want it in her home. Now I ask you, “Who would not want a 13-foot picture of a train?” The guy’s wife.

The photo above is of the store. When I went in I thought this would be an interesting blog for “Snap.Shot.” But then again, I would have to drive home and get my trusty Nikon; then it hit me, it was in the car because we were going to the zoo! All I could think of was, “sweeet.”

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Security.

Living in the U.S. has provided me with a sense of security. When you consider what happens in other areas of the world, we may not always feel safe, but in most instances we are. The incident with the Russian spies is a good example of what U.S. authorities have in their hip pocket. Sure, these 11 individuals lived in America, and spied for their government, but in the end, they were caught. Now we have the Russian Prime Minister Putin angry about what’s happened, yet admitting that they were in fact spies for his country, and best of all hoping this doesn’t hurt U.S./Russian relations. Okey. Dokey.

For the past week, as I rode the evening train home, I could not help but notice 2 men who walked past where I sat. When you ride the same train pretty much every day, you notice people, and they notice you. It’s a feeling of security---not that they are going to help you if there is real danger, but more of a fact of knowing you are on the right train. At least that’s how it works for me.

What made these two men stand out? They had guns. Yep, guns--- and their shirts said, “security.” I really thought they were looking for some bad guys, but as it turns out they were looking for some bad guys and gals who may have had too much fun at the “Taste of Chicago.” How do I know? I asked them.

I feel safer when I see security on board a train, plane or bus. Not like I am expecting anything to happen, but you never know. I am not too worried about my safety, I am just intrigued if there are any less than desirables really on the train? I am sure there are, but have never really seen a real incident. (Check that, as I sit here waiting for the train to leave the station, one of the conductors got into a shouting match with a passenger. Why? Because he “flipped” the seat around so he could have more room. So there you have it…and incident!)

But this is minimal…

When we crossed over into a Mexican border town last year, I learned a lot about security. The soldiers had machine guns, real ones, and they let it be known if you thought you were going to be funny, or do anything to disrupt normality, you were going to have a very bad day. As comforting as this might feel, I could not wait to get out of there. Of course I took pictures-- from a distance---but we just don’t see this on American soil. I felt a lot better when we were back in the good ol' USA.

The photo above was taken at our local zoo a few weeks ago. As the entertainers on stage did their thing, you can see security was tight. The boy in the picture did not move---okay he did dance---but he made sure no one, and I mean no one, was going to do anything funny. Luckily we were in good shape, but in the end, no matter how good of a job he did making sure no one interrupted, Mother Nature proved she can always win out. There was a downpour in the middle of the performance.

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The swimmer.

Every summer when I was a kid, going to the pool was one of my very favorite things to do. From early in the morning to dinnertime, we would hang out at the pool, swim and get burnt---unless we were playing baseball or hanging out with friends. I do have reminders on my shoulders of all the days spent at the pool---back before sunscreen was the norm, we didn’t wear anything to protect our skin.

Even though I went to the pool a lot, I really didn’t swim---I used to love to jump off the diving board and of course watch others jump waiting for someone to do a belly flop, jackknife, or cannon ball and splash anyone who was near by. Those were the fun days at the pool in Westbury Manor.

I am sure they had a swim team, I was not on it, but I really don’t remember any of my friends being even remotely interested in getting up early to swim laps and waste the opportunity to sleep in. Who would want to?

But things have changed. Two of our daughters are on our local swim team. They wake up early, well before 7AM, one rides her bike the other is taken by car. Why? Because they like it. It’s amazing when you see how much they improve over the course of a summer; our 13 year old has really developed into a good swimmer. She is long, lean, and has big feet. I am not being mean, she really does have big feet and they help her kick up a storm when she rips through the water. Our younger daughter just chugs along with one objective in mind during the meets, she wants to know, “What place did I come in?” After every race they give you a ribbon--- and this is what she looks forward to. This past week, she got her first, first place ribbon. (Don’t ask me how, it’s a “don’t ask” how many people were in the race scenario.)

Just like other sports, you have parents who believe---and want---their kids to be the next Michael Phelps or Olympic star. They stand over the edge and wait for their son or daughter to come within shouting distance, even though their heads are under water depending on the stroke, and yell at the top of their lungs. If it were up to me, I would encourage them to join the G.A.L. club. (As in “Get. A. Life.”)

What I always admire, and I do try to do the same, is when a parent lets them know they did a good job no matter what place they ended up coming in at the end of the race. During one race last week, Izzy (who is 13 and looks at least 16) was on the starting block---and when the signal went off to start the race, she just stood there. She didn’t jump in for at least a second or two. I laughed because that’s so Izzy--- but I think other parents thought I was being mean. For someone who didn’t start at the same time as the other swimmers, she made up a lot of distance and actually came in second place. When I told her coming in second was amazing based upon her “start”, she said, “My time was 10 seconds more than last time.” I assured her the 6 other girls she out swam would be more than happy to change places with her—she rolled her eyes.

The photo above is of our 7 year old; with her hair tucked into her “Gators” swim cap, and her ears sticking out, she looks like every other kid at the pool---except for the one who is going to carry the blue ribbon home to the parents who are sure they will be seeing them on NBC in the 2016 Olympics. We love summer---just the way it is, if only it stayed longer.

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First. Born.

If you are a parent, you will always remember your first born. Even if you have many children, the first born introduced you into parenthood---a place I had never visited, knew little about, and was not sure I would be very good at doing. Now, with a total of six children, I think I have a pretty good idea of what this “parenthood” thing is all about.

This past week, I celebrated---along with my son---a milestone. He is now 26, and I have been a Dad for half my life. I know which one is bigger, but just knowing where I stand as a father, is kind of mind blowing to me.

So, let’s focus on the first-born---my son, Jason.

Jase took a long time to come into this world; for more than 30 hours and 20 additional days (past his due date) he burst on to the scene in June 1984. He let everyone know about it the moment he took his first breath. Let’s just say Jason was not a good sleeper, had a ferocious appetite, and certainly introduced us to parenthood whether we were ready or not. He is so different now it’s hard to believe he is the same kid (sorry, but he is still a kid to me).

One of the first things I noticed about Jason as he grew up was how inquisitive he is about what was going on in his world. He loved the normal boy things, boys like: Such as trucks (pronounced “gucks” when he was young), firemen---we would go to the nearby fire station at least once a day so he could look at the fire engines— Dumbo, and sports. But, when it came to sports, this is where Jason and I differed from one another. He liked all of the other teams that I didn’t like. I love the Chicago Bulls, he loves the Milwaukee Bucks; I love the St. Louis Cardinals, he loves the Tampa Rays---he also loves the Tampa Bay Lightening and I don’t really follow hockey. Good thing he didn’t like curling or badminton---I would have wondered what happened?

If there is one thing that truly defines my son, it’s politics; he really knows his stuff. Although suffering a slow start when he was in grade school---for example he described Gorbachev as having a “red blotch on his head” in a paper---he moved on to take real interest in the topic. He has met many politicians in his life-- one of the first was former VP Walter Mondale---who we met in London. Throughout our European journey, we saw he and his family a number of times and Jason wanted to talk to him every time. I assured him he wanted to be left alone. Besides this is a kid who wore a cowboy hat purchased in Ponca City, OK and wore it every place we visited while we travelled around Europe. Think you could tell we were tourists?

So where does this take us?

Move ahead a decade and you will find a man who has followed his passion. He took a journalism course in high school and today he makes a living doing it; he is one heck of a writer and has wisely moved into the digital world just like the rest of us. Now he has taken his passion a step further----no he still likes the Milwaukee Bucks---he has met someone who is showing him what life is all about. Nothing could make me happier.

The photo above is of Jason “Jase” Rosenbaum and his girlfriend, Lauren. To see them together is to know he has grown up a lot from the days when he had a ferocious appetite, cried at the drop of a hat, and didn’t know a red blotch from a birthmark. That’s my son Jason---my firstborn!

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“The House That Built Me.”

“I know they say you can’t go home again,

I just had to come back one last time.

Ma’am I know you don’t know me from Adam,

But these handprints on the front steps are mine.”

- Miranda Lambert

For many of us, we don’t live in the home where we grew up. In some instances our parents have moved to another home, down sized, or have divorced and moved on to a new relationship. No matter what the circumstances, there will always be a connection between the house “that built me” and who I am today. I am lucky however, because my Dad still lives in the house that I pretty much grew up in. My Mom and Dad moved into the house in the summer of 1964---six years after I was born.

When I go home I see subtle changes. Sometimes it’s a wall that has been painted, a bathroom remodeled, or something as simple as a new car in the garage. Our house on Heather Ridge Drive is where I grew up, and where my most precious memories of my early life still reside. On the street you will see some familiar names on the mailboxes; after all of these years, there are a handful of neighbors who have not moved.

What’s interesting is when you go home, and of course people are not going to know who you are, and you just take time to look around;all of the memories come rushing in and you visually travel back through time---some are funny, some not, but all are part of who you are today. Every once in a while, you connect with someone from the days when you were being molded; in my case, it happened through Facebook. Cherie Leeser and her family lived on our street, her parents still do---and even though I didn't know Cherie too well, we have a common bond. She's a few years older than I am, still is, but through the process of “increasing the years in our life---AKA getting older”---we have reconnected. As we all know, when you get older, years mean less and less.

Recently Cherie went home to visit her family; like myself and my sister, she lives out of town. The other day she sent me pictures from her trip back to Westbury Manor (The subdivision where we grew up) and it's the reason I wrote this blog today. Since she is a reader of “Snap.Shot,” as is my sister, I sense when we go home we search the home for reminders, connections, and remnants of our lives that still live in the walls where we grew up. Memories are powerful reminders of our past---I love knowing they are a part of the person I am today.

I know there is going to be a time when I will not be able to walk in the door of the house where I grew up. That’s something I am not looking forward to experiencing; but then again, we don’t live forever. This is the house where we sat around the dinner table discussing the day’s events, the yard where my brother and I played catch, and most important this home contains the room where I grew up.

One of my favorite shows as an adult, was the “Wonder Years.” Like Kevin, who stars in the show, I have that voice in my head that tried to assume the future---and like Kevin I was often wrong. But what a life I had in the “House That Built Me;” with an older sister and brother---and a Mom and Dad who raised me through my "Wonder Years" all I can say is, "Thanks."

The photo above is the “House That Built Me.” For the last 46 years I have always known that no matter what point in my life I happened to be in, there was always a place I could call home. Built with trust, care, and love---Miranda Lambert sings it best, “If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave, won’t take nothing but a memory, from the house that built me.” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQYNM6SjD_o)

Thanks for stopping by.