I’m a selfish sports fan.

I not only want my team to win, I want my team to win in such a fashion as to please all of my sometimes conflicting desires. So, Saturday night as the Cleveland Indians were losing, I didn’t feel bad. Why? Because their magic number was at 2, Detroit was also losing, and…wait for it…I had tickets to Sunday’s game. I didn’t want the Indians to clinch the division the day before I was there. Not only would I then have to watch a bunch of AAA Buffalo Bisons take the field in the name of the Indians, but I wouldn’t get to be part of the big moment. That some 40K other human beings, including my friends Andy and Cindy and the whole Greater Cleveland Youth For Christ organization, would be disappointed didn’t faze me all that much.

Yes, I’m a terrible person.

So, Sunday afternoon there I was, sporting my Tiffin University t-shirt under my Indians jersey. I was wearing my TU gear, which sadly sports the Oakland A’s colors, because “Up In The Air”, TU’s fantabulous acappella vocal group was singing the national anthem. Three of the members (Nelly, Noelle, and Ben) are current or former students of mine, and Sherry’s had some of the others. Director Brad had reserved a block of tix for TU folks who wanted to go support the singers, and we thought it would be fun. Turned out to be even better than fun since The Powers That Be decided that Sherry, Pat, and I should receive some of the comp tix the Indians gave Brad for the group. So we were sitting pretty in row S behind first base. Wow!

The game itself ended pretty much in the 4th inning when the Indians exploded for four runs making the score 6-0. At that point, everyone was just hoping to close the game out as quickly as possible. I for one was nervous going into the 9th because I thought they might put in our “closer” Borowski, a man who creates WAY too much drama for a closer. Thankfully, reliable Betancourt remained on the mound and finished out the game in short order.

Then came the screaming.

Sherry and I worked at Jacob’s Field during the 1995 playoffs and World Series, so we remember how loud and electric the Jake can be. That happiness and elation were present, but there was an interesting reserve. Indians fans know that we need to celebrate this great accomplishment, but we also know that there’s more work to be done.

So, good job, guys! We love ya! Now, let’s finish out the season and get to work on that Division Series.

So, this morning Sherry and I are in the car driving to school. I’m nattily attired in sport jacket, shirt, and jeans. Sherry is sharply dressed. We pull out of the driveway–obeying all traffic laws–behind a school bus toting its young charges to the local elementary school. We’re minding our own business, listening to Morning Edition, when all of a sudden I notice that two little girls on the school bus–they must have been all of eight years old–were giving Sherry and I the “shame” sign: pointing an index finger at us and stroking the finger with a perpendicularly postioned other index finger. And their faces were quite solemn.

At first I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. The bus turned the corner, and I asked Sherry, “Were they shaming us?” Sherry said that she believed that they were. We, too, turned the corner and found ourselves waiting for a stop light behind the bus, and once again the young girls began shaming us.

I checked my shirt–buttoned–the headlights–on but not bright–distance from the bus–perfectly fine. Believing that we were being unfairly shamed, I pointed my finger and shamed right back at them. At which point, the girls, having been discovered and responded to, spun around in their seats in a giggling fit. I thought that all was well, until the next stop light when, as we parted ways with the bus, we were once again shamed.

Sherry and I have often thought that a good college slogan would be “Stamping out ignorance and bringing back shame,” but this, I say, is too far: little girls randomly shaming people out the back windows of school buses. Next thing you know they’ll be waggling their fingers at passersby.

This morning I was sitting in my house in Tiffin, OH at the dining room table, stacks of papers on three sides, dirty dishes in the sink staring at me from across the room, more items languishing on the breakfast bar inbetween. While eating my peanut butter toast, I was reading Henri Nouwen’s _The Return of the Prodigal Son_ and preparing myself for a day of rating written responses for ETS. Yet, while my body and mind were firmly ensconced here in Northwest Ohio, my soul was breathing powdered sugar and sipping au lait at the Cafe du Monde in New Orleans. Such is the power of taste and smell.

Two days ago I’d brewed the last whole coffee bean in the house, what I call our house blend but what is really Garuda Blend from Peet’s Coffee. I muddled through yesterday, but was a bit concerned about getting through a scoring day without the coffee goodness. While rummaging through the caffeine cupboard, taking stock of our tea situation, I found a can of Cafe du Monde coffee that we’d purchased in the spring while on our big road trip south. I rejoiced.

Cafe du Monde coffee is a blend of coffee and chickory. My guess is that the peasants of the New Orleans area long ago used the native chickory to stretch the expensive, imported coffee. Today it’s a trademark flavor of the Big Easy. The chickory adds an acrid bitterness that can be a bit harsh when served alone. It’s one of the few times that I like milk with my regular coffee. The coffee, chickory, and milk blend together to produce a taste that is all NOLA, creamy soft, roasty smooth, all with an undertone of bitterness that reminds us of the harsh realities underlying the bon temps.

Nouwen’s book was the product of being entranced with a detail from Rembrandt’s painting of the Prodigal Son parable. That moment sitting in a colleague’s office, staring at a poster, transported him to a place of contemplation where his deepest longings were revealed. Sitting in the outside cafe of Cafe Du Monde, sipping au lait and nibbling beignets, I was able to turn out a rough draft of the story I workshopped at the Glen. This morning, I contemplate the power of a single cup of coffee to transport me a thousand miles. It’s perhaps not the deepest longings of my soul, but it is a comfort.

To crib and mutilate a phrase, this morning, this cup of coffee is evidence that God loves me and wants me to be happy.

Thank you.

I was pretty excited about batch 8. Besides being the last brew in the summer of Pale Ales, it was also going to be the first ale I was going to make according to my own original recipe. Sure, I’ve tweaked kits here and there in the past year, but I hadn’t actually started something from scratch. After much deliberation and reference to various books, websites, and podcasts, I decided that I wanted a piney ale. Something to remind me of a northern forest (more…)

The Morefields were visiting during the turn-over between batches, so Cindy got to see the entire brewing process, if in reverse. She helped me bottle T-6 and then got to brew T-7 with me. Since Cindy has developed quite a taste for hops, I chose G&G’s American IPA–Alpha King, which features 10–TEN!–hop additions. Almost 6 oz of hops for a single batch. Since this batch was going to be Stage Two of the great Yeast Reusing Experiment, (more…)

Batch Six turned out to be a smooth as silk operation. I didn’t really have any concerns about the recipe itself since I was simply using the G&G American Pale Ale ingredient kit. I’ve said it before; I’ll say it again. G&G provide excellent service and excellent products; they are what a store should be. If there was going to be any drama, it would be in the various new equipments I purchased to avoid the problems of T5.

So, on July 1 I cleaned up the kitchen and got to brewing. (more…)

Been away from the blog for a while due to the beginning of the semester craziness AND my redesigning of Cindy Morefield’s website. She’s got a bunch of new work on display (and for sale). The site was launched Wednesday in preparation for an art salon at the new home of Dan and Laura Morefield.

So, please take a minute to visit Scratching the Surface Studio.