On a clear, blue, warm day, you can take your girls to the big Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame, located on the shores of Lake Erie. Why do you suppose they call it Erie?
Do you like the architecture? I do. It was designed by the brilliant I.M. Pei. It’s suppose to look like a record spindle with some stacked 45s. The girls were mildly amused about the whole thing, which was good enough for me.
My father- and mother-in-law made the trip from New Jersey for my mom’s funeral, which I thought was incredibly gracious of them. The whole lot of us visited the Hall of Fame the next afternoon. There was a big Life and Times of Bruce Springsteen exhibit. Mrs. Wife and her kin are related to Bruce (hence, the backstage passes of a few posts ago), so the family photos and history resonated with them on a deep level.
Father-in-law is a stickler for details, so when he found one small, teensey-weency factoid that was incorrect regarding Bruce’s formative years, he quickly hunted down the exhibit curator and set things right.
…is one of my favorite activities back in Clevo. Those are bratwurst on the top rack. Have you ever had a bratwurst? Oh, holy sweet Mother of Jesus they’re good. Especially if my brother-in-law is at the helm working his grill magic. If you haven’t had the pleasure, please stop reading immediately and run out to your nearest butcher and pick up some links. And if you can arrange it, have my brother-in-law cook them. You’ll thank me later.
Dharma tip o’ the week:
Take it from me; it is virtually impossible to drift off into a state of meditative bliss while the lick from AC/DCs Back in Black is rattling around inside your head.