Are your little squirts at home more worried about the weather since last month’s flooding?

Mine seems to be. Our younger daughter is much more interested, and concerned, about the weather and weather warnings these days.

Maybe Sarah’s just becoming more aware, but it sure seems as though it started right after we and others in the neighborhood — and across the state — were told to leave our home because of advancing floodwaters on the weekend of June 7-8.

We were blessed. No floodwaters affected our house, but they were lapping at the edges of nearby lawns west of us.

The odd thing is, that Sunday night, she was pretty excited about getting to sleep in The Tribune office. She didn’t seem that bothered by what was happening.

But she seems bothered now, even calling me at the office some mornings to check the weather report with me.

Ironically, our older daughter, Hannah, seems to be comforting Sarah these days. I say ironically because she’s the one who’s generally needed comforting during storms and who’s always been quick to flip the TV to look for storm watches and warnings.

They both have always looked at me skeptically when I tell stories about how we’d pile on to the front porch to watch thunderstorms when we were kids. I still like to watch lightning streak across the sky, especially out in the country where you can really see it race.

How about you and your children? Are they more sensitive to weather alerts since the June flooding?

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Are you a gardener?

My daughter, Sarah, and I planted a few toamto plants along the house this spring, as well as a few pepper plants in my mother-in-law’s garden near Cortland.
My mother-in-law, by the way, always has a great garden, much of which she shares with us. I love her spinach salad, made with spinach and green onions straight from her sandy soil.
And I’m eagerly anticipating sweet corn from her first of several plantings.
January Wetzel shoulfd be reporting eports on Page 1A of Wednesday’s edition of The Tribune that more Hoosiers are planting fruits and vegetables this year, partly because of the rising food prices. I’d imagine part of it’s an effort to heat a healthier diet, too.
We love food out of the garden, or from the farmers market or other growers selling their bounty. In case you missed it, January wrote about the Seymour Farmers Market on Monday. You can look it up at TribTown.com.
We always had a garden growing up on the southside of Indianapolis. Pop was a fanatic about growing tomatoes, and Mom planted other vegetables.
I enjoy growing tomatoes, probably because of the connection with Pop. But I really don’t like eating them raw. Pop would eat them like an apple, straight off the vine.
However, I do like tomatoes cooked just about any way imagineable — stewed, in a sauce, in a paste, on pizza or as a soup.
Just don’t ask me to eat them raw. Something about the texture, I think.
Anyway, are you gardening? Share your stories with us online at ddavis@tribtown.com.

My brother and his son recently outlined plans for a trip to Boston’s Fenway Park to see St. Louis take on the Red Sox in interleague play.

Bill, one of my older brothers, is a Cardinals fan. His son, Brandon, backs the Sox.

Knowing that I’m a Cards’ fan, too, they asked me to tag along. Getting the OK from the boss (it was all right with work too), I said to count me in.

Between deciding that I’d go and saying that I’d go, the trip was expanded to include a stop at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx, too, since the House that Ruth Built will be demolished after this season, as well as a stop at the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio.

I thought about pointing out that the Nationall Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum was in Cooperstown and that the Soccer Hall of Fame was in nearby Oneonta, N.Y., but I was afraid our weekend trip — which had already been expanded to five days — could mushroom into a week-long trek. Afterall, Bill was already noting that the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame was along the route to Boston in Springfield, Mass.

But we decided the trip was ambitious enough and passed on Springfield. How could it be any better than the Indiana High School Basketball Hall of Fame in New Castle? That was my rationalization, anyway.

We enjoyed the football hall of fame, although Bill likely got more out of it than me. He’s a longtime Packers fan, and I’m a longsuffering Vikings fan. The shrine room was impressive, although I’ll argue the shrine at Cooperstown is more so. And if Cooperstown had a bust of Joe Namath, I’m sure it would look like Joe Willy White Shoes, not Soupy Sales.

Boston was pretty cool, too. We took in the Boston Commons the first afternoon in town, Friday, and I headed to the North End that night for a closer look at historical places, such as the Old North Church where Paul Revere saw that two lanterns signaled the arrival of the Red Coats by sea, while Bill and Brandon sought out Fenway.

On Saturday we boarded the USS Constitution and then went to the ballgame. The Cards won, 9-2. I tried to control my glee for Brandon’s sake. I probably didn’t succeed very well.

Stopping in the Bronx on the way home, we sought out Yankee Stadium for a tour. The guide, Ritchie, led us around the ballpark, including stops in the memorial garden (where Yogi Berra didn’t look like himself, Joe Namath or Soupy Sales), the Yankees’ dugout and the press box. I got goosebumps, there was so much history there.

I’m hoping this trip will rekindle my love for baseball, something that likely started when another big brother, Richard, took me to my first Cardinals game at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. What had once been a burning passion for baseball was all but extinguished with the 1994 strike that not only shortened the season but also canceled the World Series.

Again, I’m hopeful, and I appreciate being asked to tag along. It’s a trip I’m sure we’ll long remember.

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My first blog this week talked about my meandering flight to San Antonio. I mentioned that one flight I passed on would have taken me to Chicago.

 

That seemed a bit odd since Chicago is north of Seymour and San Antonio is south of Seymour.

 

I should have known the flight home was going to be more convoluted when I saw that it was going to be a couple hours longer to arrive in Louisville than it did to get to San Antonio.

 

Yep, the flight home went to Chicago’s Midway Airport. After an hour layover, which became a two-hour layover, a second plane took me to Louisville.

 

I thought about asking the flight attendant if they could toss my bags out and give me a parachute as we flew over the house en route to Louisville, but I learned long ago that flight attendants – like TSA workers – generally don’t have much of a sense of humor, especially at 12:15 on a Friday night.

 

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Still in San Antonio on business. We’ve transitioned from Freedom School to what’s now called our Content Meeting. It used to be our editors conference. That’s another story.

I always miss my family when I travel for work, but that’s especially true today.

Our younger daughter will be “crowned” this morning as she completes kindergarten, and our older daughter has an hnonor’s day program.

If you see them today, tell them their daddy loves them and misses them.

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Pop would likely be excited about the Class A basketball final this weekend between Lutheran High School of Indianapolis and No. 3-ranked Triton at Conseco Fieldhouse.

That’s because there’ll be a Davis on the sidelines.

My brother, Bill, served as an assistant coach for the freshman Saints at Lutheran this season and has been on the sidelines with the other coaches as the varsity squad has made its way through the tournament.

Among those other coaches, of course, is head coach Tom Finchum.

Like all us Davises who grew up on East Hoefgen Street, Tom, or Tom-Tom as we knew him when he’d visit his grandparents two houses down the street, is a graduate of Emmerich Manual High School on the southside of Indianapolis. Unlike all us Davises, though, Tom played for the Redskins. I was, however, a student manager, including two of Tom’s seasons (he was a couple classes ahead of me).

Bill’s son, Brandon, played for Lutheran before graduating last spring. He’s a freshman at IU Bloomington this year. I’m sure Brandon will be in the stands rooting on his alma mater, and his dad.

While I’m excited for Tom and his wife, Audrey, who was a good friend through grade school and high school, I’m also excited for my brother.

Bill’s coached his own children through Little League, football, baseball and softball for what seems like forever. Oh, and possibly soccer, too. Like a lot of youth league coaches, he’s labored many years with little fanfare about the hours he’s put in with practices, dealing with parents, getting fields ready, dealing with parents and juggling his home schedule around practices and games. Did I mention dealing with parents?

Back to Pop. Unlike his sons, he played high school basketball. He was likely a guard for Helmsburg High School in Brown County back in the late 1930s. I say “likely” because I don’t know, but his nickname was “Shorty.” I also know he played basketball and earned a letter sweater. It was either dark blue or purple (it’s been a long time since I last saw it in Mom’s cedar chest).

When I moved to Jackson County in 1984, I mentioned to Peck Forgey, who was then the Jackson County building and planning commissioner, that Pop, who died in 1979, had played at Helmsburg. Peck, who played at Freetown, said he recalled watching a scrappy, hard-nosed Davis boy who played for Helmsburg. It sounded a lot like Pop, so I’ve always imagined it was him. But who knows.

Anyway, I wish Tom, Bill and the Indianapolis Lutheran Saints the best as they prepare to take on Triton in the state final.

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Do you remember what you were doing in the great Blizzard of ‘78?

How about the blizzard of ought-eight? No, not 1908. I’m talking about today’s blizzard.

OK, OK. It wasn’t really a blizzard, but it was pretty cool, despite lasting less than a few minutes and despite unleashing less than, oh, a quarter of an inch of snow.

I do remember what I was doing in the Blizzard of ‘78 — deliverying copies of The Spotlight, a free distribution weekly newspaper that covered the southside of Indianapolis. 

It was something else. Snow, like the brief squall this afternoon, was blowing horizontally. But it kep falling and the wind kept whipping.

I don’t recall how long we were out of school, but it seemed like forever.

 Sarah, our younger daughter, was disappointed this afternoon with the outcome of the snow. She apparently told her grandmother she just knew there’d be no school Tuesday with as much snow was falling, or at least appeared to be falling.

So how about it? What do you recall about the Blizzard of ‘78?

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My family’s been pressing for a dog. Especially my younger daughter, Sarah.

 I think Hannah, her big sister, is kind of ambivalent, although she’s also weighed in on the subject. Really, though, she’s a cat person and may be concerned that a dog in the family would lessen the attention lavished upon her three feline friends, Fuzzball and her two adult kittens, Socks and Houston.

I’d like a dog, too, but my preferences and those of the kids, and even to some extent Karen, my wife, differ greatly.

They used to want a shih tzu, in part because my brother-in-law in Texas has one. She visits with us each time they come home.

Recently, one of Sarah’s friends brouth their Yorkie-poo to school. Guess what Sarah now wants? Yep. And I can’t even tell you what they look like.

Karen’s also expressed interest in the past in buying a Yorkie or a Westie.

Nice dogs all, I suppose, but they fall into a category I’ve never enjoyed being around too much — the yip-yap variety.

You know, those that barely make it to your ankles and that yip-yap, yip-yap, yip-yap at you (or at least me) all the time, their little teeth vibrating like buzzsaws with each shrill yip-yap, yip-yap, yip-yap. I can’t stand it.

Me? I’d like a beagle. We had one growing up. I don’t know who named her, likely my older siblings, but it wasn’t too unique or creative. Her name was Snoopy. We also had a chihuahua (I can spell chihuahua without the aid of a dictionary because of Les Nesman of “WKRP” fame) named Pancho. I was always glad Pancho came along before the Frito Bandito, although I’m not sure how Pancho escaped the name Speedy.

Despite my siblings’ lack of creativity with names, Snoopy was a great dog.

She had a wonderful, melodic bay, especially late at night, and she loved digging her way out of the yard. The neighbors loved her. Well, OK, not really.

She was also a good rabbit dog.

And she just loved us kids.

With my fond childhood memories of Snoopy, our version as well as that of Charles M. Schulz, I was pretty excited to see that Uno the beagle captured the top Wistminster title last week.

Maybe this could be the thing I needed to sway Sarah my way, I thought. Yeah, honey, we’ll get a beagle, just like on TV.

But then the next morning I heard a report on National Public Radio where someone from some animal shelter somewhere on the East Coast was saying that he was saddened and worried that Uno had won.

Saddened and worried? About Uno?

No, he didn’t have a deep hatred of Uno or of beagles in general. That wasn’t it. No, he was saddened and worried because Uno’s title meant many people would soon be buying up beagles and that soon afterward many people would be dumping their beagles at shelters like his and others across the country, if not across the countryside.

That’s a sad thought.

So maybe I’ll not push a beagle on the family. I’d rather not be part of a fad that leads to an unhappy ending for a great breed of dogs.

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Our younger daughter began her basketball career this week.
Sarah’s first practice with her Enter His Courts team was Tuesday night, and her first game is set for Saturday afteroon.
She’d been pretty excited about getting started. We registered late last fall, so she’s been anticipating the season’s arrival for what must seem like an eternity for a kindergartener who’s never been involved with a team sport.
We bought a basketball goal last summer after she started shooting baskets at a family get-together for one of her older cousins graduating from high school.
We’ve had fun shooting baskets in the driveway and she finally seemed interested in playing with Enter His Courts, a basketball ministry overseen locally by Tim Goodpaster. So we signed her up.
More than 250 youth and young adults age 5 to 22 have also signed up for the program this winter in what’s called the Seymour League.
At Tuesday night’s practice at First Baptist Church, Sarah met her five teammates and coaches.

She seemed a bit chagrined that only one of them was a classmate, but all the kids seemed to warm up toward each other as coach Jim Shephard talked about dribbling and passing, playing offense and defense and shooting and rebounding the ball.
Family and friends have been telling me that playing in the league would be fun and that Sarah would enjoy it. And that there would be lots of laughs or at least smiles.
We saw a bit of the laughs as the kids practiced defense Tuesday.
When Sarah was instructed to put her arms up to guard her man (or woman?), her arms were cocked, erect and motionless. She looked like a cactus, one of those big dudes in western B movies orin Spike’s Needles neighborhood in the Peanuts comic strip.
We’ll see how she does in her first game Saturday. All we’re concerned about, though, is that she enjoys herself, gets some exercise and learns a little about working for what you want.

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