This weekend could be an instant replay of the same weekend a year ago: Balloon rally in Hartford, Arab World Fest in Milwaukee, last weekend for State Fair in West Allis, car show in Waukesha, Bluesfest in Delafield. Heck, it even rained on Saturday afternoon, same as last year! Guess you have to stick with what works.

A little nervous when I heard that the only change to Bluesfest, beside performers, would be the ticket prices. Not enough people showed for the first one and, though we enjoyed it, thought it would take something major to bring it back again this year. It was $37.00 for a one day ticket last year compared to $15.00 each for advance tickets this time.

The restaurants were the same as last year, vendors same, artists same. Same park, Naga-Waukee. OK, even the same person accompanied me, Mom-in-law. But are fourteen artists in a tent gallery enough of a distraction for a 9-1/2 hour fest? Is there anything for kids to do?

Yesterday I'd heard that Friday's crowd was pretty light. I was afraid of that. I wanted to see this work for people like myself who enjoy this type of music, and for Waukesha Rotary Club's Charitable Fund, recipient of the proceeds.

We arrived around 1:00 for it's start and found everything as we left it from last year. All eyes were on the people, ears on the music. Would more people show than last year, and did the lineup suffer from the ticket price cut? The same tent with the same amount of chairs were filled with a similar number of blues fans. But then something started happening. A couple decent local acts played and people started arriving. Portable chairs were set up, picnic tables filling, artists seeing customers. It was a relaxed atmosphere where us mainly middle-aged folk could go barefoot, smoke, drink or get the blues without much restriction. I didn't see anyone get out of hand, mom-in-law excepted.

By the time the first of the three head-liners played, the tent seemed to be 3/4 full. We were really getting into the artist born in Two Rivers who later moved to New Orleans. His nieces took the stage to toss Mardi Gras beads to us and I caught one for Ma. People started cheering for me and I didn't know why. Correction, people were cheering for Bryan Lee not Brien Lee and it was because his group was really great. He signed my t-shirt the same way I often sign my name, B Lee, a neat trick considering he's blind.

As the evening wore on the tent filled almost completely and I was satisfied the one change made to the ticket price was enough. Younger fans appeared as day turned to night. Many dancers were enjoying themselves, especially to the tunes of The Bel Airs. We had an enjoyable night and will go again next year.

I hope there will always be somewhere to go where they know your name, and I'm not talking about an automated voice reading it off your frequent shopper card. There are few places left where you can pick up your cup where you left it the day before and share conversation and coffee with the butcher behind the meat counter every day at the small mom and pop grocery like my dad used to do in Mercer. Doesn't really matter how big the place is.

Even though Pick 'N Save takes way too much of our money we still like shopping there. Prices are comparatively low, people know us there and we run into people we know there. It's like the small town post office, where conversation is free-flowing and eventually, it seems, you'll bump into everyone. 

P & S does what it can to cut down on aisle clogging conversation. They make narrow aisles (the most popular ones of course) even narrower with free-standing displays. The end result is there isn't room anywhere to even park a cart out of the way. On busy Saturdays you have to wait for traffic to pass before reaching for some things (if they're going to make aisles that narrow they need to make them one-way or have narrower carts).

Even though P & S has installed some self-serve check outs for smaller orders, it's still nice to talk to live checkers who know you. We've know some of the checkers going back 15 years and more. They want to know how everyone is, where my wife is when she's not with me, and they comment on how big the kids are getting (I blame that on them). When we went shopping there yesterday we didn't go to the shortest line, we went to Linda's line. I love kidding with Linda. When she gave us our whopping total I told her to catch this one and I'll get the next. I love her laugh.

They tell Linda and Sally and others not to talk so much, that their lines are too long. But I say their lines are long because people want to wait for checkers that know their names. We did.

Pick 'N Save is running a promo of a $25.00 gift card if we transfer a prescription to their new pharmacy. Don't want it. Walgreens has usually treated us fairly. Went there Friday and the pharmacist called me by name as I approached. There was no waiting. The order was ready and he was efficient and friendly. He could have been extra nice for the survey I could take for a chance to win $3000.00, but maybe the new competition in town is forcing it. Either way, as long as Walgreens continues to take care of us and acts like they know us we'll continue to do business there. 

A fellow blogger passed away a week ago today. He was born and died in June... with eighty years in between. He led a very interesting and full life, spoke many languages and had friends around the world. 

He began blogging three years ago this month and, while I've read them in the past, the posts have new meaning for me now. He was a somewhat eccentric character, and his writing certainly helps to demystify his complexity.

I travelled 600 miles to Omaha by Greyhound Sunday night for the Monday memorial service. I had wanted to visit while he was still alive but something always came up. The last time I saw him was by way of a Skype video connection. He knew he was dying.

The memorial service was a fitting send off for an extraordinary man. It was the perfect mass with stories and testimony from many of his friends and colleagues. It celebrated his long, fruitful life and quirky nature. There was read a long poem about him, songs and readings he would've enjoyed, tears of joy and sadness... and plenty of humor. If I live to be a hundred, I will not again witness such a wondrous mass for as unique an individual.

I was to return to Waukesha the following day, so while there I had to explore the Iowa dish antenna farm known as SCOLA started by him. It's an imposing sight in the middle of an unimposing cornfield. Huge dishes sprout from the fertile soil like trees in Arthur C. Clarke's imagination. The bowls in the corn stand ready to accept flakes of information. The studio digests programming from around the world and spoon feeds it to subscribers via a regular schedule. (SCOLA used to be seen on cable in the Waukesha area several years ago. It was the channel with the foreign news broadcasts.)

Before I left Tuesday, I wanted to sign the guestbook for the room on the Creighton campus I was staying. It was started in the late 1980's, and as I paged through it I wondered if I'd see him mentioned -- he had taught at Creighton for many years. Right there on the second page, a note from a Frenchman visiting SCOLA, thanking Father Lubbers, SJ, my uncle, for the hospitality.    

My Uncle Lee was uncommon and we had a lot in common. He loved to book shop, more than he'd ever have time to read, it seemed. He gave me a enormous "The Last Whole Earth Catalog" and "The Zen of Running" years ago. He left me his well-used "Roget's International Thesaurus" which I will use in blogging and used for this one.

He took the nieces and nephews skiing many times, and these are favorite memories. It took Lee's enthusiasm to get teenagers out of bed before dawn on a freezing winter vacation day, cook us a hot breakfast of grits, drive for miles to the ski hills on snow-covered roads, and ski all day even when it was coldest. Three times he took us skiing out West and you will see skiing and mountains prominent in his art from that period.

After Uncle Lee's brother died in the 1960s his sister, my mother, began an Easter egg hunt tradition. It was the first big holiday after the plane crash and she wanted to do something to help the five orphaned kids get through it. Again my uncle's enthusiasm took over and he really, really, enjoyed hunting for his own colored eggs well into his 60s.

It was always fun seeing my uncle for holidays. He'd share stories and ideas from his travels and get us to try foods and drink we were unfamiliar with. He liked strong, black coffee and liked sweets and French foods, especially cheeses.

I could go on and on about his art, his marrying us and baptizing our baby. About a trip to Missouri for an antenna. About sailing ... Maybe later. 

My uncle began the art department at Creighton University and is still instructing even in death. His body was donated to science. 

The theater was packed - even the $500.00 seats appeared to be sold out. The Pabst is absolutely beautiful and, even though it's older than Les, he'd never played there before Saturday. The stage had a relaxed and comfortable feel to it. Several people sat at pub tables and chairs around the perimeter giving the setting a jazz club atmosphere. The tuxedoed gentlemen falling off his stool just added to the realism of the bar scene.

Les played many decent tunes accompanied by three other men, but he could have played tiddlywinks and we would have applauded. The three hour program was kept interesting with new introductions every few songs, and with stories about him and by him. One of the first introductions was quite auspicious because he represented the future to Les' past. An eight year old boy played guitar beautifully with Les and even sang a blues tune. By our tickets, we were all contributing to the new "House of Sound" educational exhibit, and by this young man we knew we were doing the right thing. It didn't take much imagination to think of this boy as young Les as he played beside the 93 year old. Les was eight when he began playing an instrument.

It's harder to imagine what Waukesha was like 93 years ago when Les was born. It had been 80 years since the area was first settled, and 20 years after Waukesha became an incorporated city. He was born around the same time the health resorts were dying in a little house that used to be where the downtown Walgreens is now. He entertained at Waukesha Beach on Pewaukee Lake and his first concert was at Marquette University. 

Several other friends performed with Les, mostly those he plays with Monday nights at the Iridium in New York. Besides the eight year old guitarist, a singer, a violinist, harmonica player and tap dancer all performed to much applause. Bob Reitman was the logical choice of MC as both gentlemen are legends.

After meeting Les last year and watching his biography I thought I knew him pretty well. I was pleasantly surprised last night that there is much, much more Les.

Happy birthday Les, and many more!

I usually get the blame for things that go wrong around here. If something should leak or break ten years after I repair it, it's got to be my fault. Car not running right? Yep, it's me. Not enough snacks / bread / milk / money... you guessed it.

I don't always agree that I'm responsible indefinitely for something I may have fixed years ago, but with the sewer flooding our basement this morning for the fifth time in a week, I will accept most of the blame... this time.

I'm upset that tens if not hundreds of thousands of tax dollars were spent a year and a half ago replacing sewer pipe on my street. (We were informed it would fix the flooding problem)  And I'm upset that I didn't just plug up the floor drain before last night's rain. Last week plugging it worked OK, though water poured in through a different orifice anyway. I thought checking the basement throughout the night would be enough. I finally got some rest after the heavy rain let up. Unfortunately for us, the backup didn't happen until after the rain stopped. This morning I found the largest puddle yet; about a quarter of the basement, but still not as bad as many others in the area.

I'm mad at myself for not remembering other times when the backup started after the rain stopped. We could've prevented so much just by plugging the drain once we heard how bad the weather was going to be.

Yesterday was almost perfect; the weather sunny and calm, many things are in bloom, not too hot or cold and no bugs. This is a great time to welcome the birds that were away for so long. There's cute baby bunnies hopping around the yard lately, and there's just a couple huge bees busily polinating around the house.

Once again I was able to avoid yard work so Sir Fido had time to take me for a walk. Of the three rummage sales we encountered, two were closing for the day, and we fortunately didn't come home with any more junk. He loves the walks as much as I do; while he's eagerly checking out every scent like a curious child, I'm enjoying the people I meet and nature I encounter. 

The Waukesha Farmer's Market opened for the season yesterday with live music, give-aways, police and fire departments and lots of delicious food. Because I put so much thought into some hanging baskets attracting more bees, all I left with was a sturdy cloth shopping bag full of fliers, however. The market has come a long way. When I had produce myself to sell 25 or so years ago, we just went down to the river on Saturday and set up a table. There was little advertisement and few customers. Take a look now and you'll see all kinds of food, plants, handmade things... and lots of community support and advertising. Many downtown businesses have taken an interest in the market now because, thanks to the BID and stall charges, word is getting out, there is variety and freshness, and people are coming.

The Pewaukee River Run was finally held yesterday - the water too high in April when it was originally scheduled. It was fun seeing canoes and kayaks full of people wildly paddling toward Frame Park on the Fox. Hopefully no one piled their boat into a river obstruction, of which there are quite a few.

North picked a great day for it's prom. At the grand march we saw hundreds of teens in their finest, my son and his girlfriend among them. The gym was packed with enthusiastic parents, relatives and friends for the introductions and prom court selection. After the march a dozen or more limos were among vehicles used to transport the juniors and seniors to the PAC  Milw. for a night of music, food and fun.

The best part of the day for me was waking up at 4:50 in the morning because that meant HOT AIR BALLOON SEASON HAS STARTED! Two balloons launched from a field next to Boomer's Pub in Pewaukee and headed south-west with me driving one of the chase vehicles. They both landed in the area of Wern Valley Sportsmens Club, a beautiful area with lots of birds and farmland. The couple in our balloon were a pleasure to meet - very friendly and funny - and it was their wedding anniversary. The light wind was so perfect for their flight, taking them over Retzer Nature Center and much wildlife. What a great way to celebrate 22 years of marriage.

Over the river,

and through the woods,

to Grandmother Lee's house we go. One hundred horses know the way, to carry the Toyota, through ice and wind and snow.

There was a nice treat waiting for us at Mom's this morning. She made this delicious treat using Pillsbury Crescent dough layed flat and covered with Mascarpone, a soft Italian cheese.

Mom picked this iris from her yard a couple weeks ago and helped it bloom indoors.

There is a dingy little hole in the wall at 6th and National in the Walker's Point area of Milwaukee. It's called Coney Island Hotdogs and it's been there since July 1926. My dad used to take me there as a kid. I'd order burnt hotdogs with nothing on them and Dad would order their chili dog chili served in a bowl.

After working in the area for almost 20 years my curiosity finally got the best of me, so I struck up the courage a few years ago to find out if Coney Island was still in business. It was always dark and dirty on the outside, kind of reflecting the street it's on, and because I pack a lunch, I was in no hurry to try it again. But I found out it's still open, 10:30 to 2:00 Tuesday through Saturday, and THE SAME GUY IS RUNNING THE PLACE! Mike bought it in November of 1949 and is still selling hot dogs and hamburgers there -- 57 years now. My first dog I ordered plain and burnt and he didn't get it right, after 30 years, so now I just order with the "works" and they're delicious.

Coney Island is clean, not tidy - I swear some of the same appliances and furniture were around when my dad first brought me there. The menu is a handwritten piece of paper on the wall. You can have a hotdog, hamburger, cheeseburger, chili dog, fries and soda. They used to have floats but discontinued them. They have ketchup and mustard but no pickles.

There's been a lot of talk lately about a different gentleman still working at the age of 91. Mike turns 87 this month. He doesn't have a golden hotdog on the wall but he's as satisfied in his work as the people he feeds.

Just seven hours ago my newest nephew was born. Joshua is 18 inches long and is his mom's first baby. I hope I can be half the uncle to him that my uncle was to me.

My Uncle Lee spent a lot of time with the eight of us kids in our youth. He didn't have a wife or kids so he had freedom to take us skiing, mostly to the U.P., but occasionally out to Aspen or Jackson Hole. We spent hours sailing in his small boat and loved that he took us to movies and used book stores. My brother and I made a couple of dollars and lots of memories helping out in his art studio one summer. He was in his blacksmithing phase of art that year. We helped cast pieces at a foundry and saw him work with smashed railroad axles that were hammered flat and placed in front of a library as sculpture. His work was big and heavy, hot and loud, and he had the muscles to prove it.

I've always admired my uncle. He was and is a free spirit who loves the outdoors and the open road. He loves to read and travel and speaks many languages. He founded SCOLA, a worldwide, educational, satellite network at Creighton University in 1981. He's met Arthur C. Clarke. It's hard to imagine he's a priest.

My Uncle Lee doesn't see as well, doesn't ski anymore and isn't built like he used to be. We still see him occasionally when he's not off travelling the world. I'll next see him May 20th at Marquette's Commencement Exercises where he will receive the Honorary Doctor of Science.

My uncle taught me a lot by example. His love of art, sports and learning. The unpretentious way he conducts himself. The attention he gives the person he's with. I feel he's the reason I'm comfortable around other clergy, because he never used his position in any other than a good way.

My wish for Joshua? A long and happy life, of course, but also many good influences. My uncle would approve.

Happy Thanksgiving. I had intended to do today's blog on things my readers are thankful for but I've had computer problems. I'm at a relative's right now and can't access my email to see what you've written.

Besides the obvious: family, home, church, clean air and water, job, there are two things I most thankful for this year; an old friend and an old wood.

Like the woods I gravitated to in my youth when I had too much time on my hands, my friend of 30 years has changed. Still recognizable but, in some ways, more fragile.

My son visited a friend this week in a neighborhood so new it's not even on the map yet. His house, just east of Meadowbrook Road, is so new it still lacks any grass in the yard. It took a while to find him because we've never been in that area before, at least not in any car.

His new neighborhood is going up in an area I used to roam as a young lad so I stopped to take a quiet walk in the woods by myself after dropping him off. It used to be risky going there and it's still risky, if for different reasons.

The land used to be owned by farmers that didn't seem to mind, or didn't know of, our presence - we didn't get yelled at until we destroyed corn for a mini bike path. There was so much exploring to do, an old dump and limestone outcroppings. After crawling through rusty barbed wire my brothers and I would watch out for cows and their pies as we made our way toward the crick and pond - what I now know as Pebble Creek. We sometimes risked swimming in the pond and had to check out the tadpoles as long as the cows were away.

Today the cows are gone, the pond too shallow to swim in and the houses are closing in. Without any animals to keep the growth down it's a lot harder to get around and you're taking a risk because there's a lot of "private property" signs (don't tell anyone I was there). There's a small amount of trash in the creek but for the most part the place looks relatively unchanged. The moss-covered limestone is still there and the rare cold water creek will always be there. There is a lot of development pressure in that area but it seems great pains will be taken. Millions of dollars will be spent by the developer to cool rainwater run-off from the neighborhood before it reaches the creek so it doesn't change and harm it.

I regret not having the opportunity to travel more in life but enjoy one of the benefits of living in one place for so long; the woods of my youth are still around for me to show my kids, and will be around for them to show their kids. The Pebble Creek area is an area worth preserving and the developers know that. There are or will be paths constructed for the use of the residents in the area. For once, street names reflect the land not as it was before development but as it will always be - Coldwater Creek Drive and Rockridge Way. For once those expensive new houses that always seem too expensive will actually be worth it because of the area and the pains the developer is taking to preserve it.

As I picked my son up hours later he told me he had the best time. They climbed on the rocks and walked in the woods. I smiled.

Looking inside my van Friday, I noticed it's just the way I left it when I stopped delivering the Journal Sentinels, including the "Bulldogs", 8 weeks ago. Paper delivery had been part of my life the past 20 years and the van's a reminder of the good and bad times. I remember my friends, quiet nights, deadlines, weightlifting hundreds of bundles of Sundays', and getting paid - something lacking the last two months.

I must admit to not putting up a very big fight when I was asked to sub the weekend New Berlin haul this last weekend, even though our Westowne block party was Saturday. I really needed the cash.

It was good to see familiar faces and places, but there's been major changes since I left too. Probably the biggest change is the New Berlin/Brookfield station is now crowded into the Waukesha Distribution Center on Dolphin Drive. Wooden nooks for each carrier's papers now fill most of the available warehouse space, making cart movement very challenging. Another major change is, in addition to the five publications carriers handle besides the Journal Sentinel, they now distribute the Chicago Tribune.

Don't think of the Journal Sentinel delivery of the Chicago Tribune as a conflict of interest or monopoly, think of it as a wise business decision. The Journal Sentinel now has an additional pool of quality workers to choose from since the Tribune haulers lost their jobs.