The Butcher, The Monger & Me
10/18/06


I recently had the great privilege to hear General Colin Powell give the keynote address at a conference I attended in San Francisco. While much of his speech was worthy of repeating, I found one quote incredibly apropos. Whenever the general is asked if he misses being Secretary of State, he replies:

“I never miss the things I’ve done. Instead, I get excited about the things I’ll do next.”

It was as if Colin Powell had read my last blog entry and found my melancholic reflection on ‘the old bachelor pad’ to be too depressing to finish. After all, he wouldn’t necessarily be the first. Despite the lack of posted comments (insert subtle hint here), my last blog entry seemed to tug too hard at the heartstrings of my apparently cardio-sensitive readers. For those of you affected by my nostalgia, I do apologize, and henceforth promise to stick to what you have come to expect from “The Wedding”: mainly sarcastic nicknames and the occasional low blow to a friend or family member.

Despite what you (and the good general) might have taken away from my “Segment Lament”, I assure you, I have always heeded the words quoted above. When dating a Byrnes, one must thrive on the excitement that tomorrow brings.

Point and Case…

Two weeks ago I had returned to Manitowoc, Wisconsin, home of Byrnes Family Global Headquarters, Resort & Spa. Though I always try to stay for more than a day when I visit –there are simply too many activities to squeeze into 24 hours. Editor’s Pick: stay for a weekend and take advantage of the Saturday Night Outdoor Film Festival (seasonal) as well as Sunday Steak Dinner. Tell them Jared sent you and receive a free room upgrade.—unfortunately, this visit was cut short. But despite time constraints, 12 hours was more than enough time for Mr. Byrnes to give me a behind the scenes tour of how his organization operates at such an efficient and yet Southeast-Wisconsin authentic model.

The secret is Saturday morning. It’s not just for cartoons anymore. In Manitowoc, the weekend starts with a game plan. Reveille was at 0600 hours in the mess hall. (Apologies to Dina Byrnes, whose kitchen is always anything but a mess. I was simply trying to maintain the militaristic imagery.) General Byrnes liked to make it to the Farmer’s Market before the produce had time to ripen.

If you’ve never been to a farmer’s market (much like myself circa two weeks ago), it gives you a good idea of what life was like back in the days of horse & buggy. Farmers would spend their week in the fields, growing some of the most beautiful fruits, vegetables and beaded jewelry you had ever seen soil produce, and then fill up their wagons, don their best Green Bay Packer sweatpants, and sell their goods to the townspeople.

One loaf of bread, 10 pounds of potatoes and one very controversial pumpkin centerpiece bearing an uncanny resemblance to “Wilson” the personified volleyball from “Cast Away” later, the platoon advanced to the small town of Newton, WI.
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Captain’s Log 0630 Hrs: Troops are in good spirits. Terrain is rough, but passable. It seems the general has opted for a surprise attack on Newton. We are miles from any civilization, taking what I figure must have been the road not traveled referenced in Robert Frost’s timeless poem.
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Newton is a small town just south of Manitowoc, which is where the General likes to buy his meat. The aptly named “Newton Meats” is a small, family-owned butcher shop, which I would only assume is just down the road from the Newton Baker and Newton Candlestick Maker. While I do enjoy a good steak as much as the next guy (assuming the next guy isn’t a vegetarian) I had never been to a butcher shop outside of the meat counter at my local grocer. But even my novice level of meat education told me this place was special. Staring at the cuts of meat behind the glass counter, you could practically hear them still mooing. And if that wasn’t enough… Newton Meats also makes Bratwursts in 31 flavors. If that doesn’t win your meat business… nothing will.
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Captain’s Log 0700 Hrs: The carnage in Newton was unbearable. Quadruped casualties were at an all-time high, as we marched through the carcass-lined streets. The general must be made of steel as he seemed unaffected by this display. Despite what we’ve already been through, I fear the worst is yet to come. Intelligence in Newton reports an uprising in unincorporated Manitowoc. It feels like we’ve been marching for days. The sun and cornfields have confused even our compasses, yet the general marches on. Without street markings of any kind, he seems to be reading the land, like only a native could.
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After Newton Meats, the general decided to follow a hot lead that Mary, the local lamb farmer, had recently found her little lamb (along with her 11 closest lamb friends) and decided to teach them all a lesson for running away. And like AV nerds racing for the 12:01am showing of Star Wars Episode I, we ran over the river and through the woods, on nothing more than a Newton rumor. As if the butcher shop wasn’t enough “hands on” for this city slicker, we were now pulling into the long driveway of Mary and her “Silence of the Lambs” enterprise. As we piled out of the car, Mary innocently walked out of her no-doubt barn door of doom, and smiled at us behind her pink sweatshirt that read “Knee Deep in Sheep.” (Aha! So it was more than just genocide! She was after the whole woolen clad family.) She apologized that despite our bee-line from Moo-town, she was out of lamb, which in hindsight was probably a good thing, being that our car was quickly filling up, and judging by the fact that I did not come in a 10 pound bag, nor could I be roasted on a spit, I thought for sure the general would leave me behind for items that could.
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Captain’s Log 0730 Hrs: Moral victory in unincorporated Manitowoc. An important victory for company morale. The general has decided to reward us all (and a group of local nuns) with ice cream cones. Perhaps this is his way of getting right with God. I hear he is a religious man like myself. Though I don’t know how he makes amends after all of the killing we’ve seen so far today. I pray for him, but more importantly, I pray for our cause.
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Outside of Manitowoc, although I’m not quite sure where, due to the fact that every road looks the same, and now that the sun has risen and Lake Michigan has disappeared off of the horizon, east, west, north and south all look uncharacteristically alike. I begin to wonder if I could ever find my way back to civilization from here. I look down at my cell phone. No bars. God help us all.

But, the general knows exactly where we are, and before you can say “amber alert” we pull up in front of the man known only as the “Cheesemonger”. (funny… I don’t remember him being one of the men in the nursery rhyme tub)

(Sidebar #101307: So I had to look up the word “Cheesemonger”. My curiosity got the best of me, and I was somewhat disappointed to learn that it simply meant “someone who sells cheese”. While I’m not Merriam, or Webster, I would have to deduct from this conclusion that a “monger” is someone who sells. Yet, in my 25 years of life, I have never heard of someone being referred to as a “carmonger” or a “housemonger”, which surprises me. To me, “monger” has a certain mid-evil times authority assigned to it that you just don’t get from “salesman”. If you heard the “monger” was coming, wouldn’t you grab your torch and pitchfork and attempt to rally the townspeople? )

Despite my mid-evil fears, the Cheesemonger brought with him no wrath. Instead, he ran a friendly dairy where you could buy milk, ice cream, and cheese in the shape of a Green Bay Packer helmet. I couldn’t imagine what one would want cheese shaped like a helmet for, but I figured there were greater mysteries of the universe to solve before this one. (Like, which direction is north?)
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Captain’s Log 0800 Hrs: Victory is ours! The troops are headed home by way of the Manitowoc River. Keep the home fires burning and tie a yellow ribbon ‘round the old Oak Tree! We’ll be home before sunset.
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On our way home from his Mongerness, we noticed we had a little extra room left in our cavalry, so we made one last stop at what looked like Martha Stewart’s Garage Sale. Three pumpkins, 1 bag of potatoes and 1 bag of corn (for deer and squirrels, which Dina would soon roll her eyes at) later, we made what felt like one left turn and we had returned from the wilderness. It was much akin to what Dorothy must have felt like when the good witch told her she could have gone home all along, had she only clicked her heels together. All I had to do was make that one left turn? Now he tells me.

And so you see how living in the excitement of what tomorrow brings is a way of life for the Byrnes betrothed. If my tour of duty didn’t sell you on my open-mindedness, not even 24 hours after I left the Monger, I was headed to San Francisco, CA, city motto: “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

While I already live nearly 400 miles southeast of my bride-to-be, I often times like to test the geographical limits of this engagement so I’ll throw in a mountain range and a two-hour time difference, just to mix things up.

Actually, in all honesty, I was sent to California to attend a conference for work.

(Sidebar #3248125: In order to keep my promise of no longer depressing you, the reader, I will hereby skip entirely any attempt to describe what exactly it is that I do between the hours of nine and five. Instead I will tell you that I work in an outdoor candy factory, where they pay me in pixie dust and every Monday is Labor Day.)

The frosting on the cake (which is ironically, what I’m in charge of at work) of this trip was that I got to visit with my good friend Oscar. Oscar and I go way back to my early days at Marquette. He recently took a job as a grade school science teacher in Redwood City, CA, and thus, he is now a Midwesterner living among Westerners. His observances are hysterical and coming to a blog near you. (Seriously… really near. Check out his link above and to the right.)

A few days later, I was back in the Midwest marking the official 1-YEAR-TO-GO date on Friday, October 13th, 2006, with, what else… a road trip. At 8:00am I was on Interstate 90, embarking on what would be a 376 mile journey to the Twin Cities. As I drove, I thought to myself, 1 year from today this will all be over. Will I miss the miles? Will I miss the roads well traveled?

Then, maybe it was the fact that it was Friday the 13th, maybe it was the fact that I was tacking on close to 5,000 miles in one week, or maybe it was the fact that I had been in the car for 6 hours by myself, but whatever the reason was, I looked in my review mirror and saw them. The General, Robert Frost, and Colin Powell, sitting in my backseat, singing…

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
You know how the story goes.
Where the one less traveled leads,
Perhaps the monger knows.
Despite the roads you’ve traveled,
There are many more to trod,
But buy the nun an ice cream,
And keep things right with God.
Next year another road begins,
So leave these miles behind,
Get excited about the miles ahead,
Just keep an open mind!