{"id":15600,"date":"2019-05-03T17:55:36","date_gmt":"2019-05-03T21:55:36","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=15600"},"modified":"2019-05-03T17:55:36","modified_gmt":"2019-05-03T21:55:36","slug":"last-call-in-leola","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=15600","title":{"rendered":"Last Call in Leola…"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

It’s a cruel, cruel summer.
\nLeaving me here on my own.
\nIt’s a cruel, cruel summer.
\nNow you’re gone. <\/p>\n

— Bananarama; Lyrics<\/a>
\n_____________________<\/p>\n

It was my daily hangout for a good many years, back there. And then not so much the last while. Still, I stayed connected enough to hear the news when it first pulsed out a couple of months ago. Vinola\u2019s was closing. It had been sold. My bar, the last bar I ever hung out at. It had been sold to some Mennonite ice cream people. Fox\u2019s Ice Cream. That\u2019s a good thing for anyone who likes ice cream, which includes most of us, I reckon. But I figure it\u2019s just not that good a thing when the ice cream shop is replacing the neighborhood bar. Even the bar I quit going to. <\/p>\n

I have a lot of really fond memories of Vinola\u2019s. And, sure, the whiskey played a good part of making those memories. You go to where your heart takes you. And, mixed in there with all those years of drinking, there was a void of some kind. A void that I was trying to either fill or get lost in. That\u2019s how I see it from where I am right now. It makes sense, I think. When you\u2019re trying to fill a void inside you, you gravitate naturally to the spot where others might be doing the same thing. The bar. I\u2019ve said it before. I\u2019ll say it again. The bar is one of the most honest places in the world. You can shake your head and argue all you want, it\u2019s still true. The bar is a safe place where the human condition meets itself, unflinchingly, without judgment. It would behoove the church to take notice. <\/p>\n

And I was in such a season back when I discovered Vinola\u2019s. A time in my life when I was stumbling along. And if there was going to be a whiskey journey anyway, well, Vinola\u2019s made stretches of that road a whole lot more easy to walk. You could take it, you can always take what life throws at you, if you have friends around you. And the whiskey always greases the skids. If you hang out at the bar often enough, you get to be a regular. Your name is known, you are welcomed and loved like family. It\u2019s all about belonging. <\/p>\n

Not to rehash the details of what happened when. At some point back there, I decided that the whiskey was detrimental to me and how I felt. Healthwise, I wasn\u2019t going to get much lower than I did. Twice, my heart almost gave out. Both times, I took a break. But then, I went right back, full swing. Back to the whiskey, and back to Vinola\u2019s. I talked about it with a few close friends. My good buddy, Amos, the horse dentist, I told him. Amos is a good man and a good friend. He never made much noise, just quietly supported me. I told him. I\u2019m quitting. It\u2019s just too much. <\/p>\n

And Amos told me later. \u201cYou were drinking yourself to death. That\u2019s what was going to happen, if you didn\u2019t do something about it.\u201d Yeah, yeah, I thought. I know that. But it was a little startling to hear it spoken so boldly. Amos. If you knew I was doing that, why didn\u2019t you say something? Amos shrugged. \u201cFor the same reason you don\u2019t say something to anyone else who\u2019s doing the same thing. No one can make you quit any bad habit until you decide to do it on your own.\u201d Made sense, I thought. Well, I told Amos. I\u2019ve decided to quit. I guess we\u2019ll see how it goes. <\/p>\n

I wrote about it, when it happened, as it happened. And some version of those events will make it into the book. It\u2019s a given. The hardest thing about quitting drinking is quitting drinking. To stop, cold. Boom. Give it up. The next hardest thing, well, that\u2019s debatable. A few things stand out in my mind. Every afternoon, as I was heading home from work, those were the moments of truth. The ideal time for the body to relax with a drink. After a long day at work. And it hit me every day as me and my truck got close to home. I need a drink. All else in life paled in comparison to that one gnawing, desperate desire. Whiskey. I need whiskey. It was a persistent, running battle, not to turn Big Blue to the left and Vinola\u2019s. NO. I told myself. Over and over, day after day. NO. Turn right. Go home. And once I had trained my truck to turn the right way, everything else just kind of fell into place. The weeks slipped by, then the months. At some point, I figured it out. Hey. I\u2019m dry. I\u2019ve changed some habits. I’ve lost forty pounds. I can do this. I feel good. I want to do this. And slowly, my desires changed. That\u2019s what happened. Not saying they won\u2019t change back. I don\u2019t know what tomorrow will bring. Today, though, I\u2019m good. Right now. <\/p>\n

It took a while to work up the nerve to walk back through the doors of my bar. Early last year, in 2018, I was chatting with Amos. We talked about it. And that week, I walked into Vinola\u2019s to meet Amos and to get some good food. It was the same place. Some of the same people. Ola, of course, was there in all her stunning beauty. The woman is and will be forever young. Even before I had left, she and Vince (Vince and Ola = Vinola\u2019s. That\u2019s where the name comes from.) weren\u2019t together anymore, as a couple. She connected with a fine young man. None of us had ever seen the guy before. Matt. Ola and Matt and Vince and Nichole. The four of them were usually around the bar the last few years. Amos and I stopped in to eat, too, now and then. There were long stretches between the times we went. A few months, sometimes. When a place like that is open and accessible anytime, you don\u2019t think much about how it would be if it wasn\u2019t there. <\/p>\n

I remember that Monday morning when Amos texted me. He had been at Vinola\u2019s over the weekend, and he heard the place had sold. They were closing in a couple of months, sometime by May or so. I wasn\u2019t that surprised at the news. There had been rumors, here and there. And now those rumors had come to pass. Vinola\u2019s was closing. That\u2019s too bad. We need to get over there a few times before that happens, I texted back to Amos. He agreed. <\/p>\n

And we met regularly at the bar after work, me and Amos. A couple of times a week. Happy hour specials, for food and drink. I never paid the drinks any mind. The menu had changed a little from back in the old days. We sat at our usual seats at the center of Vinola\u2019s long and unique and beautiful bar. I always kept an eye on whatever game was on the closest large screen TV. We chatted about a lot of things, me and Amos. We chatted with the other regulars, too. The place was still as comfortable and welcoming as it had always been. <\/p>\n

Five years ago this week, we buried Mom up in Aylmer. On a Wednesday. I remember how it was. And how it went, the next time I walked into Vinola\u2019s. That next Friday night, after getting home. I took a seat at the bar at my normal spot. Amy was working. Vinola\u2019s always had the most stunningly beautiful barmaids. They fussed over you and treated you nice. Amy was special to me. My favorite, pretty much. When she flashed her dazzling smile, you felt as if you were the only man in the whole world. Well, the only man in the whole bar, at least. And that night, Amy and Rachel were working. They both offered their condolences. \u201cI\u2019m sorry to hear about your Mom.\u201d Thank you, I said. I had a drink, and then some food. The bar was buzzing. Lots of people. Soon it was time to settle up. I asked for my check. <\/p>\n

Amy smiled that dazzling smile. She flitted about the cash register, then came to me with a long face. \u201cI can\u2019t find any check for you, Ira,\u201d she said, mournfully. I looked at her. \u201cYou have no bill here,\u201d she went on. It finally sank in. I was getting comped, because I had lost my Mom. Ah, Amy, I said. You don\u2019t have to do that. She looked blank. \u201cDo what?\u201d She asked innocently. I laughed and thanked her. That was one of the nicest gestures anyone did for me after Mom died. Right there at Vinola\u2019s, at the bar. I never forgot. Down the road, the time came that I said good-bye to Amy. I haven\u2019t seen her for a couple of years. She was a single mom, studying pre-med. One day, it\u2019ll happen, probably. I\u2019ll walk into a doctor\u2019s office, and there she\u2019ll be. <\/p>\n

The book was a good part of my identity at Vinola\u2019s, too. Growing Up Amish<\/em> had been on the market for a few years when I first started hanging around. I never made a fuss about it, just casually mentioned the fact when I could slip it in without seeming uppity. I gave away a good many copies to the servers, there. And to Vince and Ola, too, of course. Ola looked astounded and pleased. Vince bragged in a great loud voice to many of his other customers. \u201cLet me introduce you to Ira, our NY Times bestselling author.\u201d He seemed proud of that fact. And it was funny, too. I brought a copy of the book in, signed it to the bar, and asked Ola to place it on a shelf, surrounded by many colorful bottles of hard liquor. She set it up on a little stand I bought just for that reason. The book glinted in the lighting, and I beamed with pride. I figured that was a special privilege. <\/p>\n

\"Book<\/a>
\nMy book at the bar. <\/p>\n

I traded copies of my book for drinks, for a few years there. More than a few strangers agreed to buy me a drink for a signed copy. I had many interesting conversations with people who seemed startled to find a real author sitting and drinking at a bar. <\/p>\n

The closing countdown plugged along. Ola put the date on the sign outside. April 25th. Thursday. That was the last day, ever, for Vinola\u2019s as we knew it. I flirted with the idea of not showing up that night. But I couldn\u2019t stay away. I ate at home, then sat at my desk and worked on some editing. And then, around 7:00, I headed out. Amish Black and me drove the two miles to Vinola\u2019s one last time. The place looked full. I found a parking spot and walked up the steps into the back door, which is technically the front door. The place was always strange, like that. <\/p>\n

The bar was full. People sat, nursing their drinks. A great many others milled about. Old time regulars. And looking around, I recognized a lot of faces from the past. A lot of servers that I had not seen for months and years. I strolled about, greeting people and snagging as many hugs as possible from the beautiful girls I knew. I had not contacted Amos. Tonight, I was alone. I found a seat at the bar close to the middle. My usual spot. I sat here hundreds of times before. From here, I have watched the ebb and flow, the tides of life. And I remembered a thing that happened years ago. It was a Saturday night. I usually hung around Vinola\u2019s at five or six. Early. I never was a late owl at the bar. Maybe that\u2019s why I never got nailed, driving home. The cops weren\u2019t out, yet. I always drove real careful, but when it gets late, the cops will harass you and wreck your life for no reason. <\/p>\n

Anyway, that evening I had a few drinks and some food. I remember sitting there, mulling over things. Looking serious, I guess. And somehow, I must have nodded off a bit. I wasn\u2019t sleepy. I don\u2019t know why it happened. I paid and got ready to head out. I noticed that one of the barmaids hovered close. And then there were a couple of people standing behind me. \u201cWe\u2019re taking you home,\u201d one of them said. I looked startled. What\u2019s up with that? No one knew, really, except they saw me swaying as I was sitting. Vince walked out with me. We boarded Big Blue. Vince drove. Another regular, John the Wise, followed us, to bring Vince back. And the two of them took me home. I guess I should have been ashamed. I was, a little. Mostly, I was grateful that the people at Vinola\u2019s were looking out for me. I felt pretty mortified, though. And I vowed in my heart that such a thing would never, never happen again. It never did. <\/p>\n

Back in mid-April, just a few weeks ago, a funny thing happened. I was sitting at the bar, minding my own business, chatting with Amos. Matt was tending bar. Ola stood a little way down, chatting with some friends. Somewhere in there, I beckoned Matt over. That lovely lady standing down there. Isn\u2019t she the owner of Vinola\u2019s? I asked, feigning ignorance. I\u2019d like to buy her a drink. Matt grinned and allowed he could take care of that. Some time later, he served the drink to Ola. She smiled down the bar, in thanks. And a few minutes later, she came over to thank me in person. <\/p>\n

\"Ira<\/a>
\nA kiss from the Queen. Ola and Ira.
\n(And no, she’s not rolling her eyes. It just looks that way.)<\/p>\n

I always sneak a hug from any beautiful woman when I can. Ola and I chatted a bit, she hugged me, and we talked. Then she introduced me to another lovely lady sitting there. The second lady, I didn\u2019t know. I\u2019d never met her. She was quite stunning. Ola dragged me over and made introductions. \u201cThis is Ira. He\u2019s a book writer.\u201d The lovely woman turned to me with a huge smile. She was almost swooning, which puzzled me a little. And pleased me. I\u2019m not used to any woman swooning when I come around.<\/p>\n

She smiled again, a big bright smile. And she gushed. \u201cWhat kind of bulls do you ride?\u201d She heard \u201cbull rider\u201d when Ola said \u201cbook writer.\u201d Oh, my. If a smile could melt you, I\u2019d be a puddle. No, no, I protested. Book writer. Not bull rider. She had to absorb the brutal truth. We all laughed and laughed. It was too funny. Turns out she came from Texas a few years ago. I guess you hear what your ears are tuned to hear. <\/p>\n

On this last night, Ola and Matt were scurrying around frantically, serving food and drinks. Ola smiled and welcomed me. Water with lemon, I told her. She brought it and I thanked her. And I sat there and sipped from my glass and surveyed the scene. Then I took my lemon water and walked around. Mingled. Vince was working the room, and I chatted a bit with him. Thanked him for all he\u2019s done over the years to keep such a place running. Some of the customers were old timers that I had not seen since I quit drinking. I laughed, I chatted, I shook hands, I sipped water, I talked real loud. Just an ordinary scene at an extraordinary bar on a special Thursday night. <\/p>\n

\"Ira<\/a><\/p>\n

I mingled and socialized until around 9:00. That\u2019s late, for me. Always was, at any bar. And I thought about it, then. Do I go and formally taking my leave, or do I just walk out quietly, with no fuss? I looked around at many familiar faces. The place was getting loud. I approached a small knot of friends. Shook their hands. I\u2019m leaving, I said. And that was it. I turned and walked out of the bar that had been like a second home to me in one season of my life. Some of the people there that last night, some of them I will probably never see again. I walked out of there, out to my Jeep in the crowded parking lot. Inside, the music and the laughter thumped and rocked. I drove to the highway and turned left into the darkness toward home. <\/p>\n

And now, Vinola\u2019s is no more. Such is life.
\n**************************************<\/p>\n

Mostly, I write about what I have a mind to write. Don\u2019t matter if my views are heretical to people who rattle on and on about the law. There are a few subjects that I have shied away from, historically. Tar baby stuff. The stuff that can\u2019t get resolved and never will. For instance, I have always steered clear of the head covering debate. I guess there\u2019s actually a group out there, called the Head Covering Movement, proclaiming the great news of a great \u201ctruth.\u201d Women must cover their heads. It\u2019s the law. I\u2019ve seen their posts. Not so much, lately. But in past years, it\u2019s been out there, the apologetics of a fledgling movement trying to break into the mainstream. It ain\u2019t gonna happen. Sorry to tell you guys that. You seem sincere, just vastly misguided. <\/p>\n

I guess there\u2019s no reason to hold back how I feel about it. I have no use for head coverings on anyone. It\u2019s bondage. It’s legalism. It\u2019s idol worship. I will not walk in chains. And in my opinion, the headcovering tends to make the woman wearing one feel superior to the woman who isn’t. Not saying it always does. But I bet if you could look deep down in the crevices of the heart, you\u2019d see a good bit of smug satisfaction from women who feel they are more pure because their heads are covered. I bet you\u2019d be surprised how prevalent it is. Not saying it has to be that way, and not accusing anyone, here. This is how I see it. That\u2019s all. Nothing personal at anyone. <\/p>\n

It was a long hard slog, to break free from that world. And now, I have very little patience for anyone pontificating about the law to me. The whole thing has always made me weary. If you choose to wear a covering, fine. People have deeply held beliefs, and I try to respect that. But. There\u2019s always a \u201cbut,\u201d and this is a big one. BUT if you believe that failing to do so will cause you to lose your salvation, you are in bondage to the shackles of the law. Period.<\/p>\n

It always makes me shiver to hear the hoarse, rasping voice of any man insisting that the woman is responsible to dress \u201cmodest\u201d and wear a large bag over her hair, so the man doesn\u2019t have lustful thoughts. Many years ago, I heard a visiting Amish preacher go off like that. On and on about the Reine Jungfrau, the pure young virgins who had oil for their lamps at midnight when the bridegroom came. The preacher man roared around like a hoarse and rasping bear. I was highly suspicious of him. Later, it came out that he had sexually abused his own daughters for years and was doing it right at the time I heard him. You don\u2019t forget a thing like that. <\/p>\n

The scriptures are often used as a club to berate and suppress the \u201cweaker vessel.\u201d I have a few words for such men as that. You alone are responsible for the darkness in your own heart. Stop blaming women. Repent from your wicked ways. Seek forgiveness. Walk in the light. <\/p>\n

Anyway. This whole headcovering thing came up because I came across a link last week<\/a>. It\u2019s the most sensible exegesis I\u2019ve ever seen on the subject. Written from a good old Reformed Presbyterian (that would be Calvinist) perspective. At last, a rational explanation to counter the incessant clamor of the Anabaptist headcover legalists. I think it\u2019s quite refreshing. <\/p>\n

And the first of the month came around again, this week. May 1st. The due date for my manuscript. I communicated with Virginia a few times, and she told me the other day. She\u2019s still finishing up her current project, so she didn\u2019t need my stuff for another week. May 8th. That\u2019ll be the big day now, I guess. I\u2019ll definitely be working hard all weekend, to wrap up a few things. It seems like my mind splices out into a thousand different threads as I\u2019m writing. Well, how about this? And over here, what about that? It just never stops. <\/p>\n

I won\u2019t say I feel good about it. But I feel calm. Virginia sent me a sample cover layout the other week. Broken Roads: Returning to my Amish Father<\/em>. That\u2019s the title. I can\u2019t remember that anyone came up with precisely that suggestion. If you did, point me to your post, and I\u2019ll get you a free copy of the book. <\/p>\n

From what I\u2019ve seen, the cover of my second book will rival the cover of my first. It\u2019s that good. I never expected such a thing. The art and design people are total professionals, there at Hachette. I can\u2019t tell you how grateful I am. I\u2019ll share the cover layout the second I have permission, and after they get it tweaked just right. I\u2019m excited.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It’s a cruel, cruel summer. Leaving me here on my own. It’s a cruel, cruel summer. Now you’re gone. — Bananarama; Lyrics _____________________ It was my daily hangout for a good many years, back there. And then not so much the last while. Still, I stayed connected enough to hear the news when it first […]<\/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-15600","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15600","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=15600"}],"version-history":[{"count":40,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15600\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15651,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15600\/revisions\/15651"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=15600"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=15600"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=15600"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}