What do Clark Kent and I have in common?

My husband Bob lived in Jefferson City, Missouri, for about four years in the 70’s and attended the University of Missouri at Columbia as a freshman and sophomore. For super-legitimate reasons, I wouldn’t let him drag me up there for just over 30 years. (If you haven’t figured out that I really need a sarcasm font, we may be in trouble.) Anyway, in 2012, Mizzou became part of the SEC. Bob convinced me I needed to go to Missouri and watch them play Bama, my alma mater. Since I was pretty sure we would win and therefore I would have a good time, I agreed. We really like road trips, so we took the long way home. I had never been in that part of the country, so I needed to see the Gateway Arch, an actual famous landmark in St. Louis. You have likely heard of it. It is rather impressive.

This is Bob



The highlight, though, and the reason for this long narrative, occurred quite by accident. We picked up a tourist information book at the Illinois welcome stop. In it was a short feature on the town of Metropolis. I read it out loud. No response from the

Superman

hubs. I read it again. Then, I pointed out a billboard: “See the world famous 15-foot tall Superman Statue on Superman Square.”  He finally said something like, “Did you want to go there?” Oh, yes. Yes, I did.

Metropolis was at one time named something else. I don’t remember the original name right this minute, and anyway, that’s not the point. The city fathers (and mothers, no doubt) decided to reinvent their little burg as Superman’s hometown. They have that great name, and oh, so much more.

Barbara and Lois Lane

So here’s to you, Metropolis, complete with your world-famous (?) 15-foot statue, a nice little tribute to Lois Lane, stores and a museum with tie-in names and displays, and best of all, one of those cut-out forms of Supermans’s body for Bob to stand behind for a photo op. And to REALLY tell you who we are, he took that photo and had a life-sized Superbob made by a local print shop that he used when he ran for office that fall. He won, too, by golly. A big thank you to Metropolis, the birthplace of this blog.

Superbob

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Let it speak for itself-Acta non Verba

Elephants, maybe?

My grandfather put a mailbox way up on a pole and labelled it "AIRMAIL" because he thought it was funny. I am sure he would like Acta non Verba. He probably would have created it if he had owned a hay farm on a highway.



Two views of the tin man

He is quite big!

One of my favorites!

One of Forkland, Alabama's 606 residents, at least, is apparently a kindred soul. This wide place in the road is home to an absolutely exquisite slice of American cheese. I do not know the artist in residence at this living museum, but I have watched in amusement and admiration for years as he has created hay-bale-and-junk-metal art in a field alongside Highway 43 in Greene County, Alabama. This singular attraction changes occasionally, adding new pieces as the spirit moves. The owner asks for no donations, simply brightening up the countryside with a wink and a nod. The on the right of way leading to the exhibit are three large signs bearing one word each: "Acta" "Non" "Verba"--actions, not words--written on three large signs in the style of the old Burmashave ads. I think I should leave it at that.