{"id":11712,"date":"2013-11-29T18:30:18","date_gmt":"2013-11-29T23:30:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=11712"},"modified":"2013-11-29T21:06:44","modified_gmt":"2013-11-30T02:06:44","slug":"tales-from-the-bar","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=11712","title":{"rendered":"Tales from the Bar…"},"content":{"rendered":"

photo-2-small.JPG<\/a><\/p>\n

One of the marks of a certain type of bad man is that he cannot give up a thing himself without wanting every one else to give it up. That is not the Christian way. An individual Christian may see fit to give up all sorts of things for special reasons–marriage, or meat, or beer, or the cinema; but the moment he starts saying the things are bad in themselves, or looking down his nose at other people who use them, he has taken the wrong turning.<\/p>\n

—C. S. Lewis: Mere Christianity<\/em>
\n__________________________<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve written about it pretty freely, here and there. Spoken it when it happened. I like to hang out in bars, when the setting\u2019s right. And by that I mean, I\u2019ve never hung out in a bar like they did in \u201cCheers.\u201d Not that way, not as a daily thing on the way home from work. But still. I\u2019ve always been pretty comfortable there. Restless, but still more comfortable than the world I came from, back when I was running around. I don\u2019t know what it is, the thread that keeps those tense and desperate days connected to these good ones in such a generally accepted \u201csinful\u201d place. I think it\u2019s because when you\u2019re in a bar, everyone around you just accepts the fact that you are there. <\/p>\n

I\u2019m not talking about biker bars and such, because I\u2019ve never been comfortable in those. Strictly personal preference, though. I got nothing against those who are. And I\u2019m not talking about the fights and confrontations and such, the tales you hear now and then. I\u2019ve never been around that kind of stuff, much. That\u2019s just the human element, and it can come at you in any setting out there. But no one has ever questioned my presence in any bar. I\u2019ve always been accepted just as I was. And you always want to go back to a welcoming place like that. <\/p>\n

It\u2019s one of the most judged words in the modern \u201cChristian\u201d world, ever, I think, at least in this country. An evil word. Bar. He hangs out at the bar. What more needs to be said? That alone justifies judgment and condemnation. Jesus would never hang out in such a place. And He\u2019d sure never hang out with such sinful people. And it wearies me, such moralistic chatter, about as much as it wearies me to wonder if an Amish man will follow up on his threat and stop by at work and scold me about my book. I get so tired, hearing all that talk. And all that scolding. <\/p>\n

And I got no problem with anyone abstaining from anything because of personal convictions, or for any other reason. I got a problem with the moralizers, the ones who loudly proclaim that the thing they choose to abstain from is in and of itself is a sinful thing. It\u2019s just silliness, such incessant braying. I\u2019ve heard it all my life. They read and recite rote words, people who speak that way. It\u2019s not real talk. Not face to face. And you reach a point where you try to talk face to face, wherever you are. And that\u2019s why I can tell you I enjoy sitting at a bar. I enjoy it a lot, now and then. Judge me all you want, but that\u2019s just the way it is. <\/p>\n

It\u2019s been so sporadic, though, for me to even get to one. I do, when I travel. Just to talk to people and of course drink a little scotch. But I\u2019ve never been a regular in any local bar. Well, except for those days back in Florida, way back. We did it then, every week. And knew we would again the next. But not since then have I been much of a regular anywhere, except for maybe back in my law school days. We hung out at Blondie\u2019s pretty often. But other than those two aberrations, never. Not anywhere I\u2019ve lived. And it never was any conscious thing at all. It\u2019s just the way it all went when it came. <\/p>\n

And a little side note, here. If you\u2019ve read the profile on this blog all the way to the end, you\u2019ll know that one of my little dreams is to tend bar some day. Not because I have to. But because I want to. I want to serve drinks to people who are sitting there, hanging out and getting comfortable in one of the most honest places they know. You bet I want to do that. And I think I would like it, and I think I would be good at it. I\u2019ll never get that itch scratched, unless I step out there a bit and talk to people. And keep an eye out for a place where it all could work. If it never happens, I\u2019m totally fine with that. If it does, that\u2019ll be fine, too. It\u2019s not that big a deal, one way or the other. OK, side note over. <\/p>\n

And all that, to say this. I got a call one Sunday afternoon, way back last summer, July, I think it was. From a couple of friends from church. Hey, we\u2019re going to watch Nascar at Vinola\u2019s, just down the road from you. Come on over and hang out. And I didn\u2019t really want to go. Sure, hanging out would be fun. But I wanted to watch a little football, and maybe take a nap. And I made some sort of excuse of some kind. Thanks, but it just won\u2019t work out today. <\/p>\n

And they waited a little while. Never mentioned nothing, for a month or two. And then again, the invitation came. And again, I wanted to go. But not enough to get there. And they didn\u2019t mention it again. Not until I brought it up to them, oh, probably about a month ago or so. At church. I was going to the home of some real good friends for lunch. And I\u2019d be up and around, anyway, a little later. And I asked them. Will you be there watching the race this afternoon? \u201cOh, yes,\u201d they said. And they told me the time. I calculated it would all work out, that little loop. And I told them. All right, I\u2019ll plan on stopping by to hang out. <\/p>\n

And I looked forward to it, even though it meant that I\u2019d have to step out of my hole a bit. It meant that I had to make an effort to go somewhere, meet people, and interact. Thing is, I\u2019m pretty comfortable right here at home. Just putzing around, doing a little writing, watching a little football, checking Facebook now and then. That\u2019s the way it\u2019s been, ever since I started writing. You\u2019re just comfortable at home. Not that I don\u2019t like to get together with friends. But going to a bar to get that done just never seemed worth it, much. <\/p>\n

And I drove over when it was time. Late afternoon. Just a couple of miles down Rt. 23. It\u2019s a real nice place, Vinola\u2019s. A new owner completely gutted and remodeled it a few years back. It\u2019s a full service restaurant, with a nice pub room off to one side. I\u2019ve heard all kinds of good things about it. Just never bothered to stop in and check it out for myself. And I walked in through the double swinging doors, and looked around, my eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. It all looked real cozy. And there they sat, my friends, off to one end. The race was roaring on the big flat screen TV up behind the bar. It was a long bar, with a couple more TVs spread along. Small crowds huddled, nursing their drinks, mostly watching football. And yelling or groaning, now and then, as a group.<\/p>\n

My friends welcomed me, and I took a seat. A tall, real bar stool. The barmaid approached. These folks dragged me in here, I told her. So I\u2019m hanging out for a bit. She smiled and welcomed me. She was the owner of the place, I found out later. Get me a scotch on the rocks with a little water. Glenlivet, if you got it. She had it, and she went and poured me a good stiff one. A glass of water, too, when you get a chance, I told her. I always try to drink a lot of water, when I\u2019m in a place like that. Keeps your system cleaned out a little better, I\u2019ve heard. She brought that to me, and I just settled in with my friends. <\/p>\n

And I instantly felt a sense of connectedness such as I\u2019ve not felt in a long time. Not in a place like that, not outside church. It just came at me, and I walked right into it. We chatted. Talked about the race, who was leading. Nascar is a good thing to watch, but I\u2019d rather watch football. It made no difference what we were watching, one way or the other. We were together, hanging out at the bar. And just talking like good friends do. <\/p>\n

And this will seem strange, if you haven\u2019t been there. But it all just flowed out on its own. We talked about a lot of things, sitting there at the bar and drinking our drinks. And we talked about the sermon we heard in church that day, too. I probably brought it up. Because it just seemed like a natural thing to do in that setting. <\/p>\n

I attend Chestnut Street Chapel in Gap. It\u2019s a tiny church group, but the most comfortable one I\u2019ve ever found. And there\u2019s some real heavy stuff<\/a> being taught in there by Pastor Mark Potter. He could go wherever he wanted to, and preach at a mega church. But he doesn\u2019t. He stays right where he is, feet planted firmly on the ground. And he preaches some pretty wild stuff. Stuff that has taught me so much about what it is to walk with a free heart. He\u2019s not right where I am with everything, especially my views of the state. But it doesn\u2019t matter. No pastor ever will be, I don\u2019t think. And he preaches freedom from his pulpit, freedom in whatever world you\u2019re walking through. And he claims they\u2019re all connected. You walk free through one, you walk free through them all. Or something like that. The church is a hospital, not a country club, he keeps insisting. And when you really grasp what that means, it changes how you see things. The man\u2019s preaching has deeply affected how I think and how I view the world around me. And it has deeply affected the writing that comes out of me. <\/p>\n

And that\u2019s what we talked about a good bit, while watching the race at the bar that first afternoon. We watched what we came to see, but we talked about what was inside us, how things were in life, the things we\u2019d seen getting to where we are. And it all was a good place, a place I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve ever seen before. There\u2019s always honest talk at any bar, don\u2019t get me wrong. But not about what you just heard in church that day. That\u2019s what made this whole thing seem a little freaky in my mind. <\/p>\n

But it was real, and I embraced it. All of it. The setting. My friends, who had persisted in dragging me out of my hole at home. Persisted in telling me. \u201cCome and join us here at the bar. Come out from where you are, and just live this moment with us.\u201d That\u2019s a powerful and moving thing, to have friends like that. It really is.<\/p>\n

And from that day, I was all into going to watch the race at Vinola\u2019s with my friends. Not because I pay that much attention to Nascar, not when I can watch football instead. But I wanted to go watch the race with them, because I wanted to hang out with them. It\u2019s a pretty simple formula, when you think about it. And this whole thing just came at me, and all of a sudden, I was a regular again at a bar. Sunday afternoons. Such a place I have never seen before. And it was like it was before, when such a scene came at me. Walk into it, because it\u2019s coming at you. Not a whole lot of anything else going on. Just walk forward, and enjoy it as it comes. And I have, pretty much every Sunday afternoon since. Right up until the racing was over, all of a sudden. And now I\u2019m trying to figure out another reason for us to gather and hang out there, now and then. Somehow, I think that\u2019ll work itself out. And I\u2019m looking forward to all of it. <\/p>\n

I guess things come at you in bunches, because just a few weeks ago I had another good experience at another bar. Actually, I just thought it was hilarious. No big lessons on anything in this little tale at all. And it happened at a real nice local place right in the city of Lancaster, a place I usually stay far away from. I don\u2019t like cities. They\u2019re evil. But Janice planned this little event, and there was no way I didn\u2019t want to be part of it. She and Wilm had made the plans last summer, when Janice was around for a day. She found the place online. The Cork Factory Hotel and the Cork and Cap Restaurant. It\u2019s one of those big old vacant factories that was sitting around all gutted and doing nothing. Some enterprising group got together and made it nice again. And alive again. It\u2019s a beautiful four-story hotel, with a restaurant and bar attached. And a spa and coffee shop, too. It\u2019s a full service place. We met there for Sunday brunch, back last summer. And we were all really impressed. The food was outstanding, the help was totally professional, all of it was good. <\/p>\n

And Janice got to musing. How would it work sometime this fall to just meet here on a weekend and get rooms and stay? Wilm and I agreed instantly. Yes. That would be fun. A lot of fun. So we decided to do it, sometime when it would work for Janice, when she was stationed in Philly or Baltimore. And a few weekends back, it came together. <\/p>\n

Janice took care of all the details, booked my room. And they were doing the spa, too, and I would take some sort of treatment there, too, I was told. I will concede that I did actually allow those girls to drag me to a spa. And I will admit to getting some sort of treatment there. I will never concede exactly what that treatment was, because my man card would surely be revoked. And that\u2019s about all I got to say about that, except it was a little more enjoyable than I ever figured it could be. Probably because I went with such good friends.<\/p>\n

And yeah, yeah, I\u2019m getting to the bar part. Gotta lead up to it first. We ate dinner at the Cork and Cap Friday evening, and everything was absolutely perfect. The food, the drink, the setting, the company. And soon after seven, Janice was fading. She\u2019d had a hard week, been up since 3 AM that morning, so they went back to their room and she crashed. I just putzed around in my room, surfing the web and such. And so the first evening passed. <\/p>\n

And Saturday rolled in, and you could feel it was going to be a good day. We ate a late breakfast at The Baker\u2019s Table, a rather upscale little coffee shop. Not sure if they\u2019ll make it, with those prices. But we weren\u2019t complaining. Around midday, the girls went shopping, and I just drifted around the place and hung out in my room. And later that afternoon, Janice rode with me as I came home, did a few things, ran some errands. We stopped by to see my good friends, David and Esther. They were rushing around, getting ready for the youth singing the next evening. Esther and Janice hit it right off, just like I knew they would. On the way back to town, I stopped off to pick up some Superfood from my good friends, Elmer and Anna Beiler Lapp. Anna had just baked fresh pumpkin pie, and insisted on giving us a warm\/hot slice on a paper plate to take with us. I told Janice as we headed back to the hotel. These people I took you to meet, they are the people, they are some of my friends who keep me half sane. They know me from way back, and they are the ones who make sure I stay right who I am. <\/p>\n

The girls had made reservations at Checkers Bistro, and very nice little upscale restaurant downtown, over toward Franklin and Marshall College. And we just had the front desk call a cab for us. Not because we were figuring on getting all smashed or anything, but because you just can\u2019t be too careful these days. Especially not in evil cities. They\u2019ll nail you for DUI when your driving\u2019s as straight as an arrow. Most DUI stops and convictions are just a money racket. It\u2019s all a MADD power play that destroys countless lives and makes the insurance companies and the state a lot of money. I got no respect for any of it. Except I make darn sure I don\u2019t drive buzzed. <\/p>\n

We got dressed and went down to the lobby to wait. And I\u2019d told Janice. I don\u2019t know how fancy this place is we\u2019re going to. I\u2019m wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. That’s about the only status I\u2019ve claimed as a writer. I\u2019ll dress how I feel like, when I feel like it. If anyone has a problem with that, well, then that\u2019ll just have to be how it is. Janice had no problem with it. <\/p>\n

The cabbie was a good seven minutes late. Just as I was about to march in and tell the nice lady at the front desk to call again, he pulled up. He seemed a mite confused. Turned out this was his fourth day on the job. He got us there OK. I didn\u2019t think his driving was all that bad. But the girls fussed a good bit. Still he got a nice little tip. I made sure of that. And we walked in. It was all it claimed to be, looked like. The place was packed out. Tables and tables of diners. And the maitre de led us straight to the best table in the house, right by the only window in the place. Somehow, good things were coming at us. And we settled in, ordered our drinks, and then our food. And of course our order got lost. About an hour later, I waved the waitress over. We\u2019re having a real good time, the drinks are really good, and all that, I said. But some food would sure be nice. Two minutes later a kitchen helper rushed out and gave us free salads we hadn\u2019t ordered. Just to get us to eating something. That, and lots of apologies. And a few minutes after that, here came the food. And it was all good. Beyond good. <\/p>\n

We had the Checkers people call us a cab, then, and they fell over themselves to do it. And we tipped the waitress extra well. I know how that is, when an order gets lost in the kitchen. I\u2019ve danced that little dance with customers many times, back in my college days. And we got back to the hotel around nine, probably. Walked up to our rooms and hung out there for a while. The girls figured they\u2019d settle in for the night. And I told them. I think I\u2019m going downstairs to check out the bar in this place. \u201cWe might come down later,\u201d they said politely. I pretty much knew they wouldn\u2019t. So I wandered down alone. It\u2019s a beautiful setting, the barroom. Walls of old stone and brick, just as they were when the place was a factory. The bar is rectangular, a box, kind of. The bartender works out of the middle on three sides. I sidled up and took a seat beside a man and woman sitting there. The place has no TVs blaring anywhere. So people will talk to each other, I figured. <\/p>\n

The bartender approached and greeted me. A young kid in his twenties, probably working his way through college. Seemed like that kind of guy, maybe. And I told him what I wanted. The Executive Manhattan. A martini. I\u2019d had one with dinner the night before when we ate at the restaurant. And it was just right tasty. Yes, sir. He went to where the bottles sat, and poured this and that into a shaker with ice. Shook it all around a good bit. Then he sat a martini glass on the bar in front of me, and strained it out, keeping the ice back. And it filled, right to the brim. This guy was real good at what he did. I sipped my drink, and the woman sitting next to me couldn\u2019t help staring. She smiled and we said hi. Then she turned to her husband. <\/p>\n

\u201cWould you look at that?\u201d she asked. Clearly I was meant to hear. \u201cThis guy sits there in a red flannel shirt and jeans and drinks a martini. He must be pretty comfortable with himself.\u201d I laughed. The husband peered over and smiled. \u201cThat\u2019s a foo-foo glass,\u201d he announced. I laughed again. And he smiled at me. Look, I said. I usually drink scotch from a manly glass. I don\u2019t know a thing about martinis. But I had this drink last night with dinner. So I knew it was good. It doesn\u2019t matter to me at all what glass it\u2019s served in. I could do without this orange slice and the cherry at the bottom. But hey, that\u2019s how they serve it. Doesn\u2019t bother me at all. The woman kept exclaiming. \u201cHe\u2019s in a flannel shirt and drinking a martini.\u201d As if that were somehow odd. <\/p>\n

The bar wasn\u2019t real full right then, and the three of us sat there and talked. Spoke our names, although I don\u2019t remember theirs. It was just a good, fun thing. They were locals, had stopped by to see some of their friends who were in a wedding party upstairs. The Cork and Cap does a LOT of weddings. They told me a bit about themselves. What he worked. They had four children. And I told them what I do. General Manager of a building supply business. The woman got a little persistent, though, as we visited. <\/p>\n

And soon my glass was empty, and the bartender hovered. He\u2019d heard what I had said about scotch. And he told me. \u201cWe can mix that same drink, except with scotch. It\u2019s called a Rob Roy.\u201d Do it, I told him. And then he asked me, and I saw it in his eyes, how he was testing me. About whether or not I knew anything about scotch. \u201cWhat brand would you like?\u201d He might have been expecting me to say Dewars or some other awful blend. But I told him. Nothing less than Glenlivet. He smiled. \u201cWe have some fifteen year Glenfiddich here (as opposed to the standard twelve year stuff). Will that work?\u201d I beamed. That would be just beautiful, I said. And he went off to the side and started pouring and mixing and shaking. <\/p>\n

And he stepped up a minute later with his shaker. Set a clean martini glass on the bar in front of me. And he poured it out. \u201cI figured you wouldn\u2019t want a cherry or any fruit in it,\u201d he said. \u201cSo here it is, bare. What do you think?\u201d he asked, watching me closely. You are the man, I told him. And I sipped at the drink he\u2019d served me respectfully in a martini glass. A foo-foo glass. And it was better than the first one. Way better. The scotch did it. That, and no fruit. He must have overheard me talking about that. I gave him a big thumbs up. This is delicious, I said. This is real good. Thank you. You\u2019ve outdone yourself. He smiled. No, beamed. <\/p>\n

I chatted right along with my new friends. And like I said, the woman was persistent. And eventually she got to it, the question. \u201cWhat\u2019s your hobby?\u201d And right there, she had me. What am I going to say now? And yeah, I had some whiskey in me right then. Maybe more than some. Because for the first time ever, I told the strangers sitting next to me at a bar. I\u2019m a writer. That\u2019s what I do, when I\u2019m not working. The word \u201cwriter\u201d has some kind of mythical ring to it, I think. It\u2019s either boasting, or it\u2019s real. And the woman\u2019s face lit up. \u201cA writer!\u201d She exclaimed. \u201cWhat do you write?\u201d<\/p>\n

And that right there is why I don\u2019t like to tell strangers I wrote a book. Because it diverts the conversation from its natural flow, makes it go where it wouldn\u2019t otherwise. (Not talking about a formal “book talk” here. I’m talking about sitting at a bar.) It gets all plastic and contrived, when it\u2019s all about the book like that. But I\u2019d come this far, and there was no shutting the barn door after the horse had already left. So I told her. I wrote a book. And I told her the title, and my name. And bragged a bit, about how far it\u2019s gone, the book. All in humility, of course. She had to pry this far, so why not tell her? I never would have, if she hadn\u2019t asked. <\/p>\n

And they both made the proper astounded noises. She asked again, so I repeated it. My name, and the title of my book. And yeah, I had to brag a bit that it was a NY Times bestseller. I\u2019m not sure if they believed me, but they claimed to. And thankfully, right that instant, a swarm of people suddenly swept into the room and surrounded us. Their wedding friends from upstairs. Thank goodness, I thought. I have been saved from having to talk about how I\u2019m a writer. <\/p>\n

And I just sat there on that barstool and drank my drink and talked to the husband sideways down the bar behind his wife\u2019s back. She had turned away and was way busy talking to her friends. And the husband and me talked. About life, about things. He was a rum man, he told me. The Captain. That\u2019s the only thing he liked. I can respect that, I told him. Our tastes are our own. Don\u2019t care much for rum, myself. I like scotch. And he agreed. To each his own. And we just talked on about whatever you talk about at a bar. Just life, I guess. <\/p>\n

There were lulls, though, in our conversation. He turned now and then to chat with the people in the wedding group. And suddenly, through all that noise, in a little pause, I heard him speak. Or start to speak. Fortunately, no one was listening to him. So no one heard him when he said, \u201cThis is our friend, Ira.\u201d I heard it, though. And I leaned into the bar and looked over. Hollered. No. He heard me. I made a slicing motion across my throat. No. No. Let them talk. Just leave me out of it. He grinned a huge grin. \u201cI only know two people in that whole crowd, anyway,\u201d he admitted. I laughed hard. Just keep me out of it all, I said. And he laughed, too. <\/p>\n

And it was time to get out of there, then. Head on up to my room. I waved for my check, and the bartender brought it over. It seemed real low, but I paid it. Tipped about double the amount on the bill. Not sure what\u2019s going on here, I thought. But something ain\u2019t quite right. And after the man took my money, the husband leaned in and looked over. Beamed. \u201cI took care of one of those for you,\u201d he said. Ah, you didn\u2019t have to do that, I said. But thanks a lot. It was real fun, to hang out. I paid the guy what I would have paid him anyway. \u201cAnd I\u2019ll do the same thing, when I pay up,\u201d he said. Maybe we shook hands sideways along the bar behind his wife\u2019s back as she was talking to her friends. Maybe we didn’t. I don’t remember. But, either way, we understood each other. We\u2019d probably never see each other again. But tonight, we had hung out in a real way. <\/p>\n

I got up, waded my way through the swarming wedding crowd, and walked back to my room. And no, I wasn\u2019t staggering or anything like that. I was just feeling good. <\/p>\n

Take such a scene or leave it. Whatever works for you, or doesn’t. If you\u2019re honest with yourself, there is no wrong choice, as far as I\u2019m concerned. The way I see it, you\u2019ll never walk into an experience like that unless you hang out at a bar. You can judge that any way you want, from where you are. From where I am, I figure it\u2019s a good thing.
\n***************************************************<\/p>\n

And the season rolled right on in again. Thanksgiving. It was a good day. I could go off, listing all those blessings I saw and felt this year. But I won\u2019t. I pretty much wrote those out as they came at me right here on this blog. No sense in repeating all that. It was a good day, yesterday. I hung out and feasted with my brother Stephen and his extended family. They invited me, and it was a great time. Good food. Family. I generally stand off to the side a bit, try not to intrude too much. But they include me. And for that, I am grateful. It would be harder to celebrate such a day if they weren\u2019t around. But they are. I\u2019m grasping it more these days in my heart, I think, that all of life is a gift. I am thankful for all my blessings, and so grateful to be right where I am. <\/p>\n

Happy Thanksgiving to all my readers.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

One of the marks of a certain type of bad man is that he cannot give up a thing himself without wanting every one else to give it up. That is not the Christian way. An individual Christian may see fit to give up all sorts of things for special reasons–marriage, or meat, or beer, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-11712","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11712","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=11712"}],"version-history":[{"count":104,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11712\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11817,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11712\/revisions\/11817"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=11712"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=11712"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=11712"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}