Yesterday, we lived out my bright idea of going to the far western reaches of Indiana for the day. Well, it was mostly a bright idea, although at 11:30 last night, still a few miles from home, it didn’t quite feel so bright – part of the problem was I hadn’t figured the time change in, and that if we would stay to hear Fr. Stan until around 8, that would be around 9 our time and so….

…there we were at 11:30. It was okay, though. Both boys had slept most of the way, and if they’re asleep, the drive is no problem, although Katie was cursing herself for not bringing a reading light, meaning that perhaps she’d read only three, not four books over the weekend…

I liked the Dunes – the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore. From reading around, I see that the water suffers from high e. coli counts now and then, and some travelers expressed disgust at the visible smokestacks from Gary to the west and Michigan City to the east, but hey…I think the purpose of such a place is to be an oasis, and if you can see what you’re oasis-ing from, ah well. We couldn’t, though, since most of the time we were there it was misty and overcast – not unpleasantly so, but enough to shroud the distance.

(And the history of the park shows the struggle, beginning in 1916, to create said oasis against business interests that would very much liked to have breached the distance between the two places with even more industry.)

This was the first time we’d been, and if the drive weren’t just a bit long – about 2 1/2 hours – I’d say it would be on the calendar more often. It’s very beachy, as you can tell from the photos, good sand for building and burying, and water that seemed clean to the naked eye, at least. Chilly water, though, but not much different than what I grew up with summering in Maine. Not that I went swimming this time – Katie was somewhat incapacitated by a foot problem, so I did most of the keeping-Michael-at-wading-level duty.

Because that baby certainly loves water. Of any kind, any place, especially forbidden places like the bird bath – a constant battleground. If there’s an outbreak of bird flu in Fort Wayne, check us out – we’ll probably be the source. At the beach in Florida, as well as here, he just strides right into it, and would keep going, I think, if not stopped. Just as he strides after the gulls, fearless. Joseph is content to fight battles against the waves with any weapon at hand, as well, surprisingly, to immerse himself in sand. Surprising, I say, because Joseph is a fairly fastidious child and insists on changing his shirt if he even gets a drop of milk on it. But perhaps he’s just the definition of appropriate.

A nice day – the parking lot by no means full, since by the end of summer, everyone seems to have tired of such activities. I notice this at the pools, which are packed in June, but nearly empty even on a weekend in late August.

The dunes are, as you can tell, gorgeous. Rising, sweeping from lake level upwards, giving sweet spots for climbing and tumbling down, as well as a good launching point for a kite run, if you had one. We didn’t, but others did.

The bathhouse is a pleasantly retro structure, as are the markers at the entrances, replete with quotations from Milton and the like. You can see the bathhouse behind Joseph in this photo:

After we had endured the great effort of cleaning up, de-sanding everyone, and changing clothes, we headed over to Michigan City, found the location of the concert at which Fr. Stan Fortuna would be playing, then went to eat, past the Blue Chip casino – its parking lot was full, as usual – and then back.

(a Michigan City note – I’d only been once before – for some reason we were over that way, and stopped by to the Outlet Mall. Last year, when UT played Notre Dame, for some reason, the UT football team stayed in Michigan City. At a Holiday Inn, I believe. A weekend Christopher will never forget. He was, as long-time readers know, duly freaked out by the politeness of the Notre Dame staff and even fans, but will always retain even fonder memories of his time in Michigan City. Not.)

So, to the event, which had been going on all day with various musicians and speakers. Not an enormous crowd, and I daresay maybe 20% were actually in the target "youth" demo – maybe we could stretch it up to a third if we included the under 5’s. Not exactly Steubenville, but they obviously had worked very hard to put together a meaningful, fun day. We went to Mass, at which Fr. Stan preached – it was a good homily which Michael briefly summarizes here, although I could only intermittently follow it – with no nap to speak of, Michael the Baby was approaching "berserk" stage, and you know it’s bad when he can’t even stay in a Mass that’s being held in a gym with a praise band providing the music. The very definition of "tired."

Katie thought it was fairly awesome to meet Fr. Stan, which we did before Mass, and before Michael took him off to do a bit of business talk. He rather stunned the boys, who knew who he was (well, Joseph did), and knew that they’d be seeing the man who sang this album we’d been listening to in the car. Michael the Baby particularly liked the track B16 Bomber, because it’s got a really strong, deep beat, and every time it would start, he’d thrust his little fist in the air and start rocking out. We told this to Fr. Stan, who got up close and started (quietly) singing it right to him. Another definition: "Wide-eyed."

Unfortunately, we only could stay for about 4 songs from Fr. Stan in concert – it was just getting too late (Mass had started late because the speaker before Mass went on and on, and then Fr. Stan had real problems getting his own set-up connected.) But I will say this:

I’d never seen Fr. Stan in concert before – never met him, actually. I’m thinking that his persona is maybe a little different in concerts in front of thousands of kids than it is in front of three hundred or so of mixed ages – including a troupe of mostly over-50 sisters (Franciscans, of some sort, I think), one of whom had earplugs in – but maybe not.

His homily was totally energetic, expressive of his inborn gift and talent for mimicry, as he bounces from one example to the next, but what I saw of the concert was far more introspective and intense. His background is of a jazz musician, although he famously blends that with all sorts of other musical styles, and standing up there in his habit, hunched over his bass and the microphone, he is almost the picture of it – a person totally involved in his music, a music he’s creating for the cause of the love of God. I had no idea of his process – that what he does, with his 6-string bass- is to start off each song, laying down tracks. Whatever gizmo he has, he sets to record as he goes, so he gets into one groove – a backbeat, records that, then starts playing another, melodic track over that, records, that, a couple of harmonizing vocals, and then, on top of all of that, when it’s all down…he starts singing/rapping, etc. It was pretty fascinating.

I haven’t listened to all of this new album – Michael’s still got in his car, and he’s off to the races today, not having driven enough yesterday, naturally. But I’m really struck by the sneaky complexity of the songs I’ve heard. "Got the Mike on" starts off as a yo-yo-yo mike check to some unseen "Frankie" – "Frankie? You got the mike on?" and transmutes into a all-over-the-place energetic meditation on St. Francis and St. Michael the Archangel, Frankie got the Mike on – protected by St. Michael. "Catholic Party" shouts out that "there ain’t no party like a Catholic party ’cause a Catholic party don’t stop" – interwoven with a litany of the Saints, the point being that this is the Catholic party – all of God’s creation, his saints, joined as one in praise. "B16 Bomber" is about, naturally, the Pope, and has this kind of amazing refrain that gets more amazing the more you think about it, in which the B16 Bomber is called on to put on his armor and get ready for the ‘Dogma drama"  – Fr. Stan preached about evil in his homily. "Deliver us from evil" = "Dogma drama" – you might say.

Wish we could have heard more, but at that moment, needing to head back east, watching Fr. Stan, head bowed,  work his bass guitar, improvising, scatting, chanting about the power of God’s love – that was good.