Halls of Fame

Deep Thoughts from 2009:

Last month, I found time to catch up on some magazine reading. In the back of the January 2009 issue of Smithsonian magazine, I read an entertaining one-page commentary on the American fascination with Halls of Fame. The author, Richard Conniff, describes some of the country’s most unusual Halls of Fame, like the Freshwater Fishing Hall of Fame in Wisconsin and the Alabama Road Builders Hall of Fame. He asserts that there’s a Hall of Fame out there for everyone, most of them for the Unfamous.

After reading this, I noticed Halls of Fame everywhere! I saw a story on msn.com about somebody I never heard of getting inducted into the Olympic Hall of Fame. I received my Spring issue of Triathlon Life announcing new inductees to the Triathlete Hall of Fame.  THEN I drove on Sixth Street by the Sportsman’s Hall of Fame right here in town. Suddenly, everywhere I went, I saw Halls of Fame.

Curiously, I emailed my friends and family and asked them to tell me which Halls of Fame they had visited in their lifetimes, and into which Halls they had been inducted. Their responses were clear. My friends and family don’t give a damn about Halls of Fame. For them, very few halls have been visited outside of Baseball, Country Music, and North Carolina’s own Auto Racing Hall of Fame. Not coincidentally, everyone who had visited the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown NY, was in the same station wagon - it was part of my family’s vacation in 1977. My cousin Jean, who has been to a zillion countries, has never been to a Hall of Fame anywhere in the world!  My sports fanatic husband claims that the only one he almost visited was the Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield Massachusetts the year we spent Christmas with my sister. I didn’t remember. He reminded me that we stopped there to use the restroom. Ah, yes.

I pondered these responses. Visiting a place where legacies are exhibited of so many young, fit, and brilliant people is inspirational! Halls remind us all that we can reach the limits of our hopes and dreams. But what could have kept my nearest and dearest from taking advantage of such sources of inspiration?  Could it be that the Halls of Fame available to them don’t match up with their own hopes and dreams?

My email also asked, “Into what Hall of Fame, real or fictional, would you like to be inducted and why?” Surely I would hear all about their hopes and dreams!  Nope. Disappointment again.

Other than Angie, who aspires induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame for her stellar Guitar Hero skills, my friends and family expressed very little inspiration, hopes or dreams - real or fictional. This says a lot about my social circle.

For example:

- Monica chose the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, stating frankly, “because I rock.”

- Dad said that he would belong “to the Imagination Mediocrity Hall of Fame for obvious reasons.”

- Lindsay declared, “I'd be in the Hall of Fame for people who have NEVER been to a Hall of Fame.”

With so many Halls of Fame out there, why did this group express so little interest in them?  Do these Halls ever serve some greater purpose than as a quick rest stop for weary travelers?  What is their purpose?

One person offered me clarity. This person was the only one of the bunch that I emailed who had actually been inducted into a Hall of Fame. In the Elizabethtown College Hall of Fame in Pennsylvania, you will learn that the 1961 women’s field hockey team played an entire season undefeated as well as not allowing any opponent to score against them that year. The members of the team were inducted in 1989 because their accomplishment had not been repeated in the 28 years that had passed.

Mom is the inductee. She was an 18-year-old sporty redhead at the time. Now she is well over 60, more gray than red, and training for her first sprint triathlon. I asked her what being a Hall of Famer means to her and she replied, “I was pleased that the college honored our team in this way. It was a reward for hard work.”

So perhaps right there was the reason Halls of Fame are so diverse and obscure. They offer thanks and recognition to ordinary people and what they accomplished in their sport, science or craft, no matter how small those personal accomplishments may be to others.  After all, not a lot of ordinary people are ever acknowledged for the small aspects of their hard work. Yes, so many Halls of Fame seem ridiculous. Who cares about record-breaking yo-yo-ers anyway?  I’ll tell you who:  Record-breaking yo-yo-ers! Halls of Fame have nothing to do with fame. Perhaps it’s a misnomer, and Halls of Personal Achievement would be a better term. Perhaps most ordinary Hall of Famers ascribe to Mom's way of thinking: “There isn’t any plate hanging up in my house to show everyone, it is just an achievement in my life that I have to be proud of in my quiet way.”

In reality, don’t we all belong to our own private Halls of Fame?  My friend Terri remembers, “I was the Hopscotch Champion of my grade school, but we didn’t have a Hall of Fame. Current generations will never know about my playground prowess, but being acknowledged as a champ even in the most obscure field is satisfying.”  And I, at age 6, received a small tacky plastic trophy in a bubble-blowing contest, which I kept well into my 20’s. Perhaps small triumphs like these are what we all keep in our own private Halls of Fame.

So the next time I drive by my city's Sportsman’s Hall of Fame, I think I’ll go in. The inductees may have achieved interesting things, but I’ll bet not a single one was a hopscotch queen or bubble-blowing star. I will look at their photos and read their stories and say about them what others might say about Mom's field hockey team:  “Isn’t it nice that they have been remembered?”

The Freshwater Fishing Hall of Fame, Hayward, Wisconsin.

Driving Miss Daisy

Mom and I wrote separate posts about driving in England. The best part about this experiment, is that we did not see each other's post prior to writing our own. This is what we ended up with.


Shannon Writes:
Vacationing in England last month with Mom was a total treat.  Except for one thing. DRIVING. I am used to steering wheels, ignitions and stick shifts in their logical proper places. But in England, they are not in proper places. They are in illogical, improper places. So is the direction of traffic.

If you've ever driven in a country that drives on the opposite side of the road than you're used to, then you know how stressful it is.  Now imagine that stress, and put your mother in the passenger seat.  Additionally, if you've ever ridden in the passenger side of an opposite-vehicle, you know how stressful that is also. This was the perfect storm for mom and me to argue.

Mom Writes:
“Mom, you want to go to England with me?”  “Sure, we will have so much fun!” This will be so exciting, I have never been to England. But then there was the rental car experience!  I elected not to be a driver. It is bad enough being a passenger on the wrong side of the car let alone trying to drive. Shannon was confident she could drive, after all she had done this before. Well let me just say my neck has not recovered yet from her slamming into the wrong gear and my head flying forward at the speed of light. Thank goodness for seat belts holding me back from the windshield!  And let’s not forget about the stalling out in the middle of a busy roundabout and her blaspheming Jesus when it was Jesus that she needed at that moment!!  Thank you Jesus for not letting anyone rear-end us (He loves me and knew my neck was already hurting - no need for more).

Shannon Writes:
Me: (entering busy traffic circle, known as a roundabout) Road construction! I hope our exit isn't blocked.

True photo of the construction we faced in Durham,
at Leazes Bowl roundabout. NOT FUNNY. One of
the hundreds of roundabouts we navigated.

Mom: You'll want to exit.
Me:  Which one?
Mom:  THAT ONE!
Me: What? (I swerve, car honks, I shift up instead of down. Car stalls.)
Mom: You should have exited there.
Me: (starting engine) Well I was already past it and in the wrong lane. Give me more notice!
<We loop around again, and exit.  Soon we come upon another busy roundabout.>
Me: Three lanes in a traffic circle?  Are you kidding me?  Which lane do I need?
Mom:  Hold on.
Me:  Let me just loop - What's this?  Who puts a traffic light in a roundabout? (I shift to the wrong gear; vehicle stalls).  JESUS CHRIST, TRAFFIC CIRCLES!
Mom: Stop swearing!
Me: Why would they have a LIGHT if they are going to have a CIRCLE?
Mom: I don't know, but stop swearing.
Me: (mumbling) Bullocks.
Mom:  What?
Me: Nothing. Okay, the light is green. Which lane?
Mom: That one (pointing).
Me: The outer lane? Where are you pointing?
Mom:  Yes!  Exit!  This exit!
<Swerve, exit, accident avoided>

Mom Writes:
So she is the driver and I am the navigator. Is this a good idea? She hands me these maps that she had copied - copied from what? What order are these pages in? Where are we?  2458A exit here. Here? Yes, here, oops we missed it.  I take verbal abuse and surrender maps since I can’t read them!!  But we always have the trustworthy GPS!  It says, take the 3rd exit off this roundabout. Sounds easy right?  Guess again!!  First off, was that the second or third exit we just passed and which lane should we be in the first, second or third? Good grief, I said, “well just keep going round till I figure this out”.  Not the right answer, trust me!

Shannon Writes:
We didn't use the "Sat Nav" (GPS) for our wandering until we knew where we wanted to end up for the day. Mostly we liked to wander without agenda. When we activated it, the GPS would provide polite instruction in a British accent.
Mom: I didn't hear her, what did she say?
Me: I think she said continue straight at the V.
Mom: The map doesn't show a V.  Rewind her.
Me:  It's a GPS. I can't rewind it.
Mom:  Turn up her volume.
Me: I don't think we can. Do you have your hearing aid in?!?
Mom: SHHH!  We missed her again. Close your window so I can hear her.
Me: But it's sooo pretty outside!
Mom: SSHHHHH! Close it!

Mom Writes:
So we finally get into the country and I think, "Great! This is easy, no traffic, just sheep roaming everywhere. I can navigate out here." Have more copied maps now. The road ends. I hear, "Do we go right or left?"  The map says go straight!  SCREAM!!!!  I guess we are on different roads!!

Shannon Writes:

Mom:  Okay up here in a few miles there is a town called 'Once Brewed.'

Me: We just went through Once Brewed.

Mom: No, it's ahead. Who names a town Once Brewed?

Me: I don't know, but we just went through it. I drove past a sign that said "Welcome to Once Brewed."

Mom: Well, look!  <points to road map but I am driving and can't see tiny map.>

Me: What's after Once Brewed?

Mom: Are we on the yellow road or the red road?

Me: MOTHER. The roads are only yellow and red on the map you know...

Mom: Well if we are going west, it should be Haltwhistle. Are we going west?

I think that was the point where I gave up entirely.

Mom Writes:

I won’t even mention the tiny, narrow roads with stone walls on both sides and you see a huge tractor coming in the opposite direction. Just use your imagination!!  Or the times she forgot to be British and drove on the wrong side of the road till we saw a car coming head-on!!  By the end, I had no fingernails left or skin left on my thumbs from nervous chewing. They hurt so bad!!   But I must say on the very last day driving to the Manchester airport, first in the country and then in the city, we did very well together and I think we finally had all our fears conquered but then it was time to return home!!  Nothing like Mother-Daughter time travelling in a strange country. What fun we had and memories we made. I’ll do it again anytime, my thumbs are healed now. Love you my dear daughter. Thanks for asking me.

Shannon Writes:
This is how "driving on the wrong side" always seems to be! Stressful. Memorable. Accident-free (so far). We were always relieved to park and get out of the car, laughing and hoping we could find our way back in to the hotel more easily than we found our way out. But the next time I venture into the UK on 4-wheels with Mom, I'm going to do it with Uber.

New Foods

At the time I was establishing my New Year's Resolutions, Cole suggested trying a new food from time to time. I decided not to make it a resolution, but to make it common practice! I will go to Iceland in October and can't wait to try skyr, hákarl, and Brennivín.  In the meanwhile, here is my list, in order of deliciousness.

Steak and ale pie over mashed potatoes with carrots.

Steak and ale pie: Eaten piping hot on a rainy day in a pub in Hawkshead, England. Seriously, what's not to love? The Brits KNOW how to make meat pies.

Barramundi: I first heard about this fish on a Food Network show, so when I saw flash frozen fillets at the store, I purchased a few. Other than shark, I don't think I've ever tasted fish I didn't like. I pan seared it and served it with a sauce made from butter, white wine, lemon, onion and capers (thanks, Food Network!).

Albariño wine from Rías Baixas: delicious, crisp white wine from Spanish albariño grapes. Never heard of it, can't pronounce Rías Baixas, but bring it on!

Tatsoi: Asian leafy green (spinach). Prepared for me with butter and roasted radish. I guess I can also add roasted radishes to this list, which are so much better than raw ones. Delicious, in fact.

Chayote: I made a chicken poblano stew twice before and excluded this ingredient because I didn't know what it was. Not this time!  In the squash family, it has a cucumber quality. Like Rías Baixas, I can't pronounce it, but I'm down with chayote.

Tomato jam: Found in a blob on a delicious cheese plate appetizer, made with allspice. Tasty and strange. I can't imagine how else you would eat it if not with a slab of yummy foul-smelling cheese.

Homemade roasted radishes with carrots.

Roasted radishes: They were delicious with my tatsoi, so I tried them at home. I roasted them with carrots, olive oil, and thyme. They were not as delicious as the restaurant prepared them, but tasty still. I need to experiment further with them to perfect the flavor.

Farro: Not sure why it has a special name, but it's wheat kernels. Hard to rank, because how bland it is depends on how it's prepared. Mine was tossed with roasted vegetables and sauced with lemon, served over pureed peas. Meh. How excited can anyone possibly be about wheat kernels? Or pureed peas?

Goat vindaloo: Smoky, earthy, Indiany, but my portion from the Indian buffet had large hunks still connected to bone shards and occasional gristle. Maybe boneless goat vindaloo nuggets would be more my speed.

Pickled celery: Found on the same cheese plate as the tomato jam. Marty snatched it up. If you pickle it, Marty will eat it, even celery. For my palate, it was entirely tooooo pickled.