Cat-dog by Noel Aker

Who Knew I Wasn't Supposed To Amount To Much?

I had lunch recently at The Village Anchor with friend and Kentucky’s Second Lady (I guess that’s how one references the Lt. Gov’s wife) Madeline Abramson.  It was a pleasure to spend time with someone who's been a face of our community since 1989 when she and the now Lt. Gov. married.  We discussed, among other things, how children in rural communities might better be exposed to social, educational and (in general) growth opportunities outside of their current environments.

Madeline Abramson with Kevin Grangier at
TheVillage Anchor Restaurant

Madeline shared with me a number of successful state and local programs that drive exposure of teens to the arts, and various career-oriented programs like one which showcases opportunities in the hospitality industry.  Many of these programs team with  school systems to determine which students are best suited for said opportunities.  As one might guess, the students who are tagged as achievers (based on any number of legitimate criteria) are the ones who typically become candidates for these types of activities.

My question is, how do we expose those who are not necessarily at the top of the achiever list to opportunities that will foster growth and perhaps lay a seed of curiosity?   Take me, for example.  When I was a junior in high school, in a confusing conversation with my advisor, she said to me that I would be best suited for a vocational school; college probably wasn't in my cards (this given my not-so-stellar grades and my significant ADHD).  While I have nothing against vocational schools--they are perfectly right for many people--that path just  didn't seem right for me.  In an act of defiance, I applied to the University of Oxford (UK) because it was the most unlikely school I could think of (I wrote essays, took tests and lied about how it was that I would pay for it), and I got accepted.  My life-book has grown ever since, with that experience defining its first chapter.   

Point is, I wasn't one of the kids who would naturally be chosen to participate in extracurricular growth opportunities, or who was even on the top-25 list of those most likely to succeed.  I was one of those kids, however, who sought exposure and new experiences, and knew in my heart I would be successful at whatever it is I did...if I were just given the chance to do it.   Or even knew that there was a chance to do it.

Fast forward 30 years and I wonder how it is I (we) can help teens--not necessarily just the obvious picks--in communities that do not have the resources or in some cases even the inclination to enlighten kids to environments different than the ones to which they're accustomed.  I can't help but wonder how my life would have turned out if I had taken seriously the words of my counselor, or if I were one of the kids who was never told that I could do whatever I wanted, wherever I wanted (I am blessed that my own parents shared this message frequently).  

For many years now I've toyed with the vision of a program that develops teens by doing nothing more than exposing them to new environments and, therefore, opportunities.  If a spark of curiosity can drive just one student to study underwater biology in Florida; one girl to write music with a composer in New York; or one boy to want to do something other than that which might be expected of him in his rural hometown, then what a powerful--affective--program could happen.  And what a chilling motivator for an overlooked teen who is just on the brink of being "picked," but knows he isn't going to make the cut.   

If anybody else is curious, or sees the same opportunity, let's grab a beer and make it happen!    

Surprise At Dinner With My Long-Time Friends

You may recall that a few weeks ago I visited with my long-time and dear friends Wade and Betty Mountz and combed through Betty's hundreds of family recipes.  I worked for Wade just out of college (back in the day he was president of the American Hospital Association and, believe it or not, part of my colorful education and background is in healthcare administration).  Anyway, in his AHA role Wade spent a lot of time on Capital Hill and became fond of the Senate Bean Soup (that dates back to 1901) from the Senate Restaurant in the U.S. Capitol.  So last night I pulled a quick one on Wade and Betty (with my friends Sonny and Charlotte Tharp) and hosted dinner for the four at The Village Anchor.  To surprise the Mountz', Chef Patrick prepared both the Senate Bean Soup and another of Wade and Betty's favorites-- his grandmother Claudia Mountz' Dutch Lettuce Salad that goes back to 1935.   Here's the recipe for the Senate Bean Soup, if you're interested--it was simple, but absolutely amazing!  Thanks to Chef Patrick who prepared the foods that made our dinner special, and to Wade and Betty for sharing their evening, and their fond memories of two of their favorite dishes!

United State Senate Restaurant at The U.S. Capital

The Famous Senate Restaurant Bean Soup, 1901

Take two pounds of small Michigan Navy Beans, wash, and run through hot water until Beans are white again.  Put on the fire with four quarts of hot water.  Take one and one-half pounds of Smoked Ham Hocks, boil slowly for approximately three hours in a covered pot.  Braise one onion, chopped, in a little butter and, when light brown, put in Bean Soup.  Season with salt and pepper; then serve. Do not add salt until ready to serve.  (Eight persons.)

Okay. This is funny....

KRA Recognizes The Village Anchor's Cheoffrey

Just finishing The Village Anchor's second year of operation, it's great to continually be recognized among the best restaurants in the region.  There's so much work that goes into developing and operating a restaurant, and so many more touch points than any business in which I've been involved in the past.  This month's KRA industry publication highlights Village Anchor Chef Geoff Heyde as a "Chef that Sizzles."  He is deserving, for sure.  Not sure where to find the link, but here's a copy of the brief article which came out this week.   kg

Johnny Depp, Gonzo And An Old Black T

Kentucky-born Hunter S. Thompson was a chromatic character.  Until this week, though, my familiarity with him was limited to my Godson Chris' homage of the guy's work; an old paperback of "The Curse of Lono" on my nightstand; and scant knowledge of his unconventional friendship with his fellow Kentuckian Johnny Depp (their relationship began with Depp blowing up propane tanks in Thompson's yard, and ended with the actor bankrolling the writer's request to have his ashes shot out of a cannon).  I became a little more familiar with Thompson this past week when my friends Vijay Dias and Chapman Montgomery hung out with me at Bellewood on Tuesday evening.  Seems Chapman is a long-time Gonzo fan (Gonzo is the name given to Thompson's style of journalism), and Vijay actually has a tie to the guy--a friend of his was Thompson's best friend and the last person the writer called before he took his life.  That tie, of course, accentuated the stories on Tuesday evening, on my front lawn sipping bourbon, about a guy who lived life pretty much as it was presented to him, allowing few into his world, and labeling even fewer "friend."   Anyway... in white adirondack chairs beneath a dogwood-filtered moon under which we puffed Vijay's Indian bidis, we friends did what friends do, and pontificated Depp and Thompson, Bollywood, international soccer, x-relationships and, in part, each's colorful journey from boy to man.

Out of the millions we happen upon in our lifetime, I wonder what sparks the connection to just a few?  What makes a friendship elastic enough to bend to our complex lives, and enduring enough to withstand cracks and avoid breaks?  Depp and Thompson found synergy in their Kentucky roots, their friendship energized by the coming together of two eccentrics from the same part of the world--even with no particular fondness for said part of the world.  My friends Vijay and Chapman have a durable bond, for years resistant to geography, girlfriends and simple routine.  And Chris and I have a bond that remains solid, unyielding to three decades of class projects, puberty, rock bands and his recent marriage.

I can't help but query what attracts my friends to me?  My pal Adam once described me as  "an amazing mess of misunderstood."  I'm pretty selfish when it comes to my day.  And I rarely carve out quality time with my friends and, when I do, I'm generally preoccupied and focused on everything other than them--easily irritated and patience thin.  It's odd, really, that so many accept me for who I am, swallowing the quirks, mis-wiring and erratic behavior that comes with me -- my "gifts with purchase," if you will.  :) 

To better understand my quirky self and my own friendships under the scrutiny of philosophers, I recently read  "Emerson and Thoreau:  Figures of Friendship".  The book defines how the two friends not only wrote about friendship, but the lengths to which they went to affirm it, always recognizing it's potential as a source for deep pain.  In an environment that recklessly affirms friends with the click of a button (guilty), the book solidified for me the importance of driving friendships past surface, distinguishing heavily between the "ideal" friend and the "actual" person.  My take (and I enjoyed the read):  I can't even be what "I" want to be, much less what my friends want me to be.  :)

The next evening following our night of pontification, just before dinner at Chapman's, Vijay stepped out of the room for a few minutes and returned with a t-shirt.  "I have something for your Godson," he said, handing over a worn black t with writing on its backside.  "This was a gift directly from Hunter to my friend," he said, "I think Chris would like it."  I agreed, and arranged for a surprise gift-give the next day.

The following day at The Village Anchor when the two met for the first time, Vijay presented the t-shirt to Chris.  I watched an unsuspecting bond begin to materialize as Vijay shared his own experience with Hunter S. Thompson; Chris clinging to the words.   At the heart of this was a moment that probably happens a hundred times a day for each of us, that I know I fail to acknowledge.  Like this morning at coffee when a young woman asked the meaning of my tattoo; yesterday afternoon at the restaurant when a customer invited me to sit by her pool; or just a few minutes ago when I asked the guy next to me what he was reading.   I wonder what it is that would have inspired one of these chance meetings to advance to even the slightest of friendship?  And I wonder what it is that kept me from doing so?  

I wonder, too, if Vijay and Chris have friended each other on Facebook.

Nashville, White Castle and Dolly

Facebook post July 9, 2012.     Okay. So I've maybe seen better days. I've spent the afternoon in Nashville making things happen. I started out with a cup of java that I spilled on me person. Fortunately I had a semi-wadded up shirt in the back seat that had a tolerable amount of dog hair on it. I used a pad of sticky Post-It-Notes to get what I could off. It didn't really do the trick, however, and I had to wear a sport coat all afternoon -- it's not exactly sport coat weather. I then spent some time with the Fabulous (capital F) publisher/editor of Nashville Lifestyles Stacie Standifer. We updated about moving and shaking in the Music City. (I don't think she suspected the coffee spill or the slightly dog-hair-infested shirt or she never would have entertained my mover/shaker update). After some serious project review with Stacie, I next talked myself out of a ticket going down a one-way ally somewhere in downtown Nashville near a White Castle (sad, I know, that WC is my marker -- but I'm a chill-billy, remember) -- the Kentucky tags helped me out of the ticket; the California driver's license I suspect helped more (I know, I gotta fix that). Actually, I guess the day was turning out pretty good considering the coffee incident and the almost-ticket. But the really great part of the day was seeing some entourage of busses with what I'm sure was a collage of fancy music people (it sorta rekindled memories of LA, like when I saw Madonna yelling at a parking attendant because he couldn't get the garage gate arm to lift). Point is, I went into what I call corner-gawk-mode--you know where you look out of the corner of the eye, trying desperately not to move your head so nobody knows you are pathetically and unnaturally looking to catch a glimpse of the goings on--often times based around a celebrity, or somebody who has toilet paper trailing from their pants. Actually, most people go into corner-gawk-mode when they're driving past a highway accident, or when a friend gets pulled over. It's a horrible thing, but what normal person can't confess to that? Anyway, the brief gawking gave me no clues. I have opted to believe that Nashville Queen Dolly Parton was in one of the busses giving voice lessons to an up-and-comer starlet. The other bus probably included her clothes, wigs, nail polish, etc. (Dolly's, not the starlet's.) The third bus I imagine was full of fans who each won a ticket by singing a verse of a Dolly song on a radio station morning show (don't laugh; I've planned those promotions). Dolly or not, it was the perfect finale to what ended up being not so bad of a day in Nashville! You should visit this fabulous city…it's colorful and high-spirited, and the cops are pretty darn nice to Kentuckians! I'm headed home now! :) kg