Getting Back, Fini

Dad and I left Chicago intending to pass through Cincinnati, see the zoo there, and head home. We were waylaid at a Cabela’s store, thanks to my father's outdoorsman tendencies.  The various mounted animal exhibits and wild boar meat at the cafe kept me occupied while he browsed. However, by the time we left Cabela’s we had killed more time than we meant to, to the tune of a couple of hours. Further delayed by rain, we found ourselves about half an hour outside of Cincinnati at the zoo’s closing time.

I called Mom and asked if she could survive without the two best people she knows for an extra night. She booked us a room in Cincinnati, and Dad and I headed for Skyline Chili to try a dish that is, so far as I can discern, the only culinary specialty of the city. Cincinnati-style chili is rather soupy, more of a sauce or elaborate condiment than a dish in its own right. The traditional way of eating it is spooned generously over spaghetti, which is appropriate since its other distinguishing feature is an especially strong tomato flavor. This distinctly un-Italian pasta is then topped with multiple heaping handfuls of shredded American cheese. Eating this in the prescribed manner, which is to cut the dish with the fork like a casserole, I was put in mind of nothing so much as a Krystal chili-cheese pup: greasy, gooey, tasty without being especially remarkable, and satisfying.

The next morning, I headed off to the zoo, with my father in tow. I discovered in the midst of our outing that my father has an intense dislike for zoos, which is paired with a compulsion to voice this at any moment he deems appropriate, whether it is or not. This anti-zooism has a distinctly cynical flair, expressed in his constant mantra, “If you’ve seen one zoo, you’ve seen ‘em all.” However, I’ve known my father for almost twenty-one years, and I knew that if I put him in a room with enough colorful birds, his attitude would improve markedly. Once he had been thoroughly nibbled and squawked at, I was proven correct. We meandered through the impressive Cincinnati zoo for about another hour and a half. Notable were the series of bear exhibits, in which I saw Chinese spectacled bears and a polar bear with a penchant for the backstroke, and a truly impressive nocturnal house, where there resides the only living aardvark I’ve ever known and an interesting but grisly population of vampire bats, complete with a bowl of dark blood.

After the zoo, we made haste for home, stopping only to eat a bit of Chinese food. We arrived shortly before dinner, and I passed the rest of the evening blissfully reacquainting myself with kith and kin.

And now, dear reader, you must look forward to my future descriptions of the lessons I learned in the wider world, as well as the looming adventure of Great Britain. Peace and Grace.

Atop the Tower

This is the view from the Sears Tower. I was enthralled by the clouds around the buildings. As far as I know, I'd never before been above the clouds. It put me in mind of giant's castles in fairy tales, always built up in the sky. Delightful.

The lake was also incredible in its enormity. On sight, there is no way of distinguishing that lake from the ocean.

I also thought of the Tower of Babel while in the Sears Tower. Occasionally, I've heard commentators and professors use the story of Babel to illustrate their idea that the Hebrew God was paranoid and wrathful, constantly afraid of being overthrown by Man. They say that this is why He punishes men and sets His laws in place. Such "scholars" attempt to interpret the stories of Creation and of the wanderings of the Hebrew people in wilderness around Canaan in this light. Yet, considering the technology available to Neolithic Man, this notion is clearly absurd. The Tower of Babel couldn't have been more than a few stories high. Indeed, the Pyramids of Giza, built hundreds of years later, are believed to be about the tallest possible structure that the Ancients could create. Now, we have skyscrapers which are a dozen times the height of the Pyramids, and we have only succeeded in finding out that the atmosphere which rises above them does so for miles yet. To realize this is to know the absurdity of the people of Babel's arrogance, which is in turn a healthy reminder for modern man, who often becomes so impressed with his own accomplishments. The Sears Tower is a study in humility, and provides a perfect object lesson of God's sovereignty.