All kinds of rumors swirled in that little Flemish village about America.  “Money grows on trees,” some said.  “They drink Coca-Cola at every meal,” said some others.  No one knew the truth.  But these rumors were enough to plant a dream in my grandfather’s head.  Oscar Ingels and his wife, Rachel, would bring their family to America.

This wasn’t some ill-thought idea.  Oscar and his family had been through a lot in Belgium.  My grandfather was a child when the poppies of WWI grew across the countryside of West Flanders.  The Depression had taken its toll on the economic fortunes of their home village, Wevelgem.

But World War II might have been the most destructive blow.  Two of Oscar and Rachel’s kids - my uncles - had died in the war.  One was a baby when a bombing raid shattered a nearby window.  The shards cascaded onto the nearby crib.  Another of my uncles died because there was no medicine to cure a wartime illness.

To this day, my aunts and uncles tell stories of how the family hid in their root cellar and prayed as the Germans marched into town.  I listen in wonder as they tell me how the bombs lit up the night sky.  That generation has lived an epic life.

So, it came to be that my grandfather led his family to the ship on which the picture above was taken.  It was named the Great Bear.  And when it sailed in 1954, it carried my father, aunt, uncle and grandparents on a great voyage.

The trip was not smooth.  Imagine spending two weeks on the seas of the Atlantic.  But finally, the ship sailed past the Statue of Liberty and into New Jersey.  Most of my family members spoke little English.  The picture seems almost ridiculous in its optimistic innocence.

But it was a new beginning.  And Monroe was waiting.  Michigan was not a bad place for a Belgian immigrant to settle.  There were many Belgian immigrants in the Detroit area.  The land was flat, just like home.  A great inland sea, the Great Lakes, mimicked the North Sea of my family’s past.

It wasn’t easy, but my family began to eke out a new life.  My grandfather fixed boilers for the IHM sisters.  And my dad and uncle and a partner started the Auto Body Plant.  Other family members cut hair and got married and lived the way that Americans live.

Most of my family has never been back to Belgium.  My dad certainly hasn’t.  They were and are forward-looking.  They taught their kids English and sent them to the best schools possible.  My generation of Ingels is filled with teachers, lawyers, accountants and entrepeneurs.  In short, my grandfather’s great dream has come true.

Monroe and America are not perfect places.  No place is.  But they are both places where it was possible for my family to realize a great dream.

I’ve been a regular poster on a website called thebackpacker.com/trailtalk since about 1998.  And as incredible as it may seem, I feel like I “belong” there.

And it is one of the strange turns of our modern society that a person could feel like they “belong” to what is essentially a few words on a computer screen.

But through posting, I’ve gotten to know quite a few people from almost every state in the nation.  And I’ve met quite a few of them, too.  The website is devoted to hikers and backpackers and there is a core group of Midwesterners there who get together on a regular basis.

And the regions overlap.  Some of the Midwesterners head off to California or Montana every once in awhile for an organized hike.  And if one of the “TTers” from Florida is in Michigan for any reason, there is always someone around for dinner plans or a place to crash.

The end result is that an entire social circle has developed around this website.  If I don’t post for awhile, people notice.  If a holiday rolls around, people send out nice little emails wishing the best of the season.  Birthday threads abound.  And, of course, there have been a series of weddings that can draw their origins to that site.

Personally, I think it would be great if these Monroe Evening News blogs could serve the same purpose for the local community.  I have this vision of a big ole’ blogger party at Munson Park.  And we could get the Luna Pier Cook to come up with some darn fine potato salad.

Arrrgh!  The snow has finally arrived.  And with it comes the black gunk.  You know what I’m talking about.  That stuff that builds up underneath the wheel wells.  It’s filled with salt and mud and all kinds of good stuff.  And now there are heaping glops of it melting on our garage floor.

Is there any way to keep a new garage floor looking clean?

I’ve also noticed that most of my neighbors are trying to just ignore the snow and are not bothering to shovel the 3 or 4 inches that we’ve gotten during the last few days.  It’s kind of like a 2 inch snowfall doesn’t exist.  Maybe it’s a corollary to the 5 second rule.  If it’s under four, you don’t need to shovel.

BTW, if you see anybody with blue hands during the next few days, they might not just be cold.  I picked up some of that fake driveway salt and every time I spread it, I get blue hands.  Even if I wash three or four times, my hands stay blue.

BTW#2:  I can’t wait until we get a big snow.  To quote George Bush, “Bring it on!”

Believe it or not, Monroe has a vibrant little contingent of software developers at Microsoft near Seattle.  My brother, Francis, is one of them.  This has many advantages for me.  I get to make semi-regular trips to one of the coolest towns on the planet.  But I also get to live off Bill’s largesse.  Microsoft keeps snack areas in almost every building corridor and the developers - and their guests - get all the snacks they could ever hope to eat.

But that’s not what I decided to post about.  Francis has a somewhat peculiar “Monroe” taste that he just can’t live without.  And it’s Meijer brand beef jerky.  Now, it’s good stuff, but I’m not sure I’d fly 2,000 miles to get some.  But that’s inevitably what happens when we pick up my brother at Metro Airport.  “Can we stop at Meijer on the way home?” is the usual question.  We’ve remedied this a bit by sending ample care packages filled with the beloved jerky.

So, that’s the question:  If you live in Monroe, what Monroe taste or experience could you just NOT live without?  And if you are a Monroe exile, what would you give almost anything to have right about now?

I picked up the sign above at a Democratic Party fundraiser at the Firefly Club in Ann Arbor during the last presidential election. Most of the Ann Arbor Dems looked at me with curiosity. They were from the progressive/liberal wing of the party and couldn’t completely understand the pro-life and pro-defense Democrat in their midst. They just couldn’t understand that gun ownership might be a positive thing. And, of course, they couldn’t understand how absolutely ridiculous the “Sportsmen for Kerry” sign really was. John Kerry was and is a lot of things. But he certainly wasn’t the social conservative that the ad tries to portray.

And this brings me to my political question of the day: Can Monroe Democrats and Ann Arbor Democrats stay together?

The modern, computerized gerrymandering process has already made both groups uneasy partners in the Congressional district of John Dingell. But can they stay together?

There are some interesting political variables at play in this question. Foremost among these is the War in Iraq. Ann Arbor Democrats are strongly anti-war. Most would probably argue for an immediate pullout. My feeling is that Monroe and Lenawee County Democrats are a bit more wary. Most probably wish we had never invaded, but now that we’re there, it’s not so simple to just leave.

The Joe Lieberman/Ned Lamont Senate race provides a cautionary note. While anti-war sentiment was enough to turn the Democratic Primary for Ned Lamont, it wasn’t enough to shift the entire electorate. The strongly anti-war Lamont lost. Could the same kind of dynamic play itself out in the 2008 presidential election and give the election to the Republicans?

If so, it would be a tremendously squandered opportunity for Democrats. The Republican Party has built a 30-year movement on a three-legged stool of tax cuts, abortion and national defense. The Republicans have been so woeful in running the Iraq policy that national defense is now in play for the Democrats.

So, it would be in the Democratic Party’s best interests to think beyond the Iraq War for a moment. The Iraq War is what it is. It may not matter what position any politician takes on Iraq. It may just be a failed policy. Once the smoke clears on Iraq, my feeling is that Americans will still want a strong defense. A Democratic Party built on an Iraqi retreat might be strong in the immediate future, but it might be exactly the opposite of what Americans want over the longer term.

And this is where the Ann Arbor/Monroe cultural split comes into play. There will be an enormous push by the Ann Arbor wing of the party to field an anti-war Democrat in 2008. We see this already as candidates like John Edwards stake out anti-war positions. Would Ann Arbor Dems stand for a slightly hawkish Democrat like Hillary Clinton? And would they support an Iraq War moderate Democratic nominee in the general election?

That is the question, isn’t it? It’s my hope that a hawkish Hillary Clinton - or someone similarly positioned - wins the presidency and moves to steal national defense from the Republicans. And if the Supreme Court eventually overturns Roe vs. Wade and throws abortion policy to the states, the Democratic Party could begin to build its own 30 year stool.

I’m still getting the hang of this blogging thing.  It’s a lot of fun, but I’m not always the greatest with the technical aspects.  Bear with me as I figure this out on the fly.  I’m also trying to figure out exactly what the topic matter on this blog should actually be.  I’d love suggestions, so feel free to post them on the blog or shoot me an email.  Finally, before I jumped into the Evening News blog scene, I was experimenting with a blog on a different site.  I will probably import some of the content here, but this site has a slightly different focus.  You should check it out, however.  It has some of my favorite Monroe places.  http://extremesouthmichigan.blogspot.com.  Thanks for reading.

It was the craziest thing that I had ever done. Kathy seemed like a great woman. We had common interests. We had similar families. We believed in the same things. But she did live 415 miles away. Still, our instant message chats and phone conversations during the past three weeks had been amazing. And I had always been one to believe that there are times that a person has to throw caution to the wind.

Why she had ever sent an email is beyond me. I had just joined a website called catholicsingles.com and I hadn’t even posted a picture yet. The chance that she would even notice my online biography was practically nonexistant. But the message had come.

Our odds were further diminished by Kathy’s location. She lived in Appleton, WI. I lived in Onsted, MI. That is a distance of 415 miles. And I had just ended a relationship because I didn’t want to drive an hour to Southfield every weekend. The chances that I would even consider dating a woman from Wisconsin were remote.

But, there I was, passing the beautiful refineries of Gary, IN on my way to Wisconsin. About half way through the drive, I began to laugh at how preposterous it all was. What if we hated each other? That was going to be one long drive home. But, I decided to push on.

After about seven hours, I reached the outskirts of Appleton. “This place looks nice,” I thought to myself. I stopped at a Kwik Trip and gave Kathy a call from a pay phone and soon, I was breaking every internet dating rule as I walked up her apartment steps with a dozen roses in my hand.

What can I say? Love at first sight is ridiculous. But this had to be pretty darn close. During the next two years, Kathy and I would make innumerable trips across that 415 mile distance. We got to know the freeways of Chicago by heart and learned the Badger ferry schedule to the minute. We even started to make friends with the other regulars on Northwest’s Detroit to Appleton puddle jumps.

It was and is a fairy tale. On Saturday, June 25, 2005, we were married. And when I think about it, 415 miles doesn’t seem like that far at all.

I know this might sound weird, but my wife and I are trying to cook with meaning.  And, since we live in Michigan, we thought we’d try our hand at making some pastys.  If you have a good recipe or know of a good SE MI/NW OH restaurant that makes ‘em, please post the info.  Thanks - Mike.

It may seem difficult to believe in this age of hyperpartisan politicians, but there was a time - not too long ago - when the visit of a sitting president was not the subject of political arm wrestling.

And so it was in the summer of 1996 when Bill Clinton’s train came to town. Clinton, of course, was running for reelection and our fine president was trying to wake up the echoes of Harry Truman. “Let’s take a train trip,” someone in the campaign must have said. And the governor-turned-chief-executive was soon riding the rails.

A presidential train trip was an event not to be missed, so I packed up the car with a picnic lunch and headed out to the crossing at Dixie Highway near I-75.

When I arrived, I could feel the growing sense of excitement. “Do you think he’ll give a speech?” someone asked. “Oh, sure, with this many people. No politician could resist,” I answered. As I scanned the crowd, there seemed to be hundreds of curious Monroe onlookers.

Soon, we heard the whoosh of copter blades as the secret service scanned the tracks. It is almost difficult to believe in this day of terrorism, but a middle-schooler came up with the great idea of placing some pocket change onto the tracks. And so it was that hundreds of God-fearing Americans began to place hundreds of tiny silver obstacles onto the very tracks that a sitting commander-in-chief would soon pass over.

Suddenly, a loud horn blew. “He’s almost here,” someone yelled. The crowd pushed forward, just in time to hear several of Bill Clinton’s trademarked Southern “Thank Yew’s” with Senator Carl Levin standing right by his side. The train passed quickly. There would be no speech today. But our disappointment was greatly outmatched by our brief brush with glory. “Ain’t that something,” someone nearby remarked.

It took a moment, but the crowd’s focus soon turned to the coins that had been scattered in a thousand different directions. Like beachcombers looking for a treasure, we all bent over to scan the grass below our feet. With a sense of history, I picked up my nickel and headed back to my little Ford Festiva. “I’m going to tell my kids about this one,” I thought to myself.

And so it was that Bill Clinton met Thomas Jefferson in the beautiful Monroe summer of ‘96.

“You aren’t going to keep that?” my wife asked as I placed the Kaye Lani poster in the “keep” pile.

We were taking part in an annual rite of Spring in our new house. We were going to have a garage sale and I was turning our utility closet upside down.

Sheepishly, I placed the 18-year-old poster onto the sale tables and sulked. This was a bit embarassing. I’m no pageant guy. I’d rather watch a game of hockey than teenage girls trying to find the solution to world peace.

But there was something about that picture that gave me pause. I remembered the day that Monroe’s Miss America landed in that little corporate jet at Custer Airport. My whole family stood there as her car passed along the airport access road. “She waved!” we all yelled excitedly.

Later that day, we headed downtown along with 90% of the county. People hung on bridges and others sat on every curbside. This was going to be a “Monroe Event” with no equal. This was a proud day and we were going to walk down the pink carpeting that blanketed the downtown streets.

As we neared the courthouse steps, we saw all of the usual suspects. Congressman Dingell was there. The mayor and local officials were all trying to bask in the reflected glory. And then the sparkle of the tiara passed on by, sped on by the clomp of carriage horses.

That day, Monroe was the small town that everyone wanted it to be. We were united in pride for one of our own.

So, it was with more than just a bit of happiness that Friday passed and Saturday, too, without any legitimate offers for the picture. No one in Adrian seemed to realize the emotional import of that little poster. It was going to survive the garage sale.

Now, every time I change the oil or try to figure out how to build that neat little Sam’s Club shelf that seemed like such a good idea to buy, I have Kaye Lani looking down at me.

I wonder whatever happened to that pink carpet?