Dad took some time off work to take Monica and Erica and I down to the Lehr Bridge, which crossed the Nemaha River about a mile and a half from our house. There was a bend in the road, which made the southbound road turn west, and at that point, a white phone rang. It was sitting on the road. Dad and the girls went on to the bridge while I answered the phone. Monica and Erica jumped off into the water, which was only about a foot below the bottom of the bridge (unusually high). Dad stood at one end of the bridge and tried to jump across, but he just fell short, and his weight smashed right through the boards, the bridge began to fall apart. One of the beams fell down on Erica, who was in the water, and pressed her up against a clumping of broken off limbs and trees. I dropped the phone and shouted out something, as I was afraid that Erica was goig to come up impaled by one of the pieces of wood. She swam up to the top of the water and was just fine. I was very relieved. I asked dad why he broke the bridge, and he said that it would have been destroyed sooner or later (it was destroyed by the floods of 1993) so it didn't really matter.

The fallen pieces of bridge began to collect mud as the water flowed through them, and as more mud and junk collected, there was eventually a series of walls formed. This all occured while we were swimming there. The walls were collecting the dirt particles, so past each wall the water was progressively clearer. The three of us swam in the main "room" (nobody left--everyone made appearances in the river--but only myself and two others appeared at any given time) and found incredible amounts of trash. The one thing that caught my eye was a raft down at the lowest part of the river, about 25 feet. It had a big puncture hole in the side, and at least two life jackets still straped in. Whoever was wearing those life jackets more than likely did not unfasten the jackets, get out, and then fasten them back to the raft. Dad said that it looked like they died there, and that their flesh and bones had been eaten by fish and carried off by the current. That was unsettling.

Anyway, we got this bright idea that if we built the walls up sturdy enough, they could become a system of dams and could support a new bridge. We built little windows up towards the top of the walls, just low enough that water would flow through them before flowing over the banks. I'm not sure what the reasoning for that was, but I remember my dad did have an idea. All the walls were packed really solid and were soothed out on the top so that planks could just be laid across them, making a new bridge. We didn't actually lay planks, but I do remember that when carving a window out of the mud, I encountered a mouse and was afraid to move it.

We went back to the house where I realized that I was late for German. Ashley Volkmer, Kevin Burger, Mandy Snyder and I were all taking German at Lancaster, even though the class was being taught by Dr. Karch (UNL professor) in my living room in Nebraska. We all got out our textbooks, which looked strangely familiar to me, yet at the same time, very foreign. I didn't recognize the words inside, at least not completely. I figured out that they were using v's instead of u's, but the other big problem was that they were using Greek letters on about half of the words, and I didn't know Greek German. I don't even think there is such a thing as Greek German, so that would have made it even harder to know.

I went back to my dorm room. I wasn't in my house after all--it was a very modern dorm that was very comfortable to live in. As I walked out into the hall, I realized I had my guitar around my neck. Then Julee Dunekacke (or something like that) who I once knew from UNL came around a corner and said "Neal, play something, and I'll join in." She then picked up a guitar and strapped it on left-handed. I felt really uncomfortable, so I just started playing random chords. She said "Oh, I'm not too good at the Spanish guitar version of 'Hey Joe,' but I can play the American version." Then she started playing this weird style of music, where she would pluck two strings at a time over the pickup area, but then with the other hand, she'd pluck two more strings somewhere over the fretboard. It sounded like crap, but she acted like she knew what she was doing. I remember thinking to myself "So that's why people say not to teach yourself how to play guitar."

I met up with my family, and we were going to some big town for the weekend to soak up culture and go to a football game. We first went to this big huge modern auditorium. I wanted to dress up as a conductor for Halloween, and there were displays for the 8 greatest conductors in history at this auditorium. Mr. Falter, the Auburn High School Media Center Supervisor, grabbed my arm and took me up to one display. There were a lot of people gathered around this "thing." It looked like the little golden owl from "Clash of the Titans," only it had these 8 long golden pipes coming out of it and swooping around it. Mr. Falter explained that this conductor was actually a scorpion. He grew up in the desert and year after year, just kept teaching himself new things, until finally he learned how to conduct orchestras, and now he's one of the best ever. He has also directed several movies. I recognized some of the names. So I decided that he would be the best one to dress up as. They had costumes for sale right up there at his display, so I got one and put it on and walked back to my family. I had a terrible time going down the auditorium steps, and when I finally got to them, I fell over backwards and couldn't get back up. The costume was that big and awkward. I didn't really care though--it was cool.

Then we had to go to the football game, where I didn't realize I was playing. I was late, and it was already like 40-12 or something like that. We were on defense, and I was free safety, and right before the play, one of our players said to their quarterback "You'd better not pass, because you know we'll intercept it." Well, they threw it and I caught the...Coke can. I suddenly remembered that this wasn't football as I knew it--it was British football, where the idea was to take your team's can (either Coke or Pepsi) and put it in the opposing team's concession stand. If you got it in their stand, their company would make less money because it was selling less if its product, and if you put their brand back where it came from, their product would get less exposure, and more of your product would sell as a result. So I headed towards the sidelines while running this can back--not to go out, but that was the quickest route to their stand. I managed to dodge quite a few tackles, as the players weren't focused on tackling me. They were all trying to strip the can from my arms, so if I could avoid that, I could easily get past them. There was only one guy left--he clamped onto my arm. I had my arm bent at a 90 degre angle, so I raised it up and then straightened it, when sent him flipping over onto the ground. Then I ran up to the counter and threw their can at the cashier, who happened to be Chris Vinson. He roped in two of their injured players (one of which was the flippee) and pushed a secret button, causing the booth floor to rise. He had escaped.

My mom came up to me and said "Neal you shouldn't hurt people." I told her that more than likely it wasn't a result of my brute strength. We went back to the stands where the game was continuing...sort of. It was now soccer, and my dad and Matt Snyder had gone in as subs for me. Both of them kept using their hands. My dad had a big belt on that was so long he kept tripping over it. He finally grabbed it and tied it to one of his legs, only that made him stumble a bit. I turned to Mom to say something, but then I noticed the guy approaching from behind her--I recognized him somehow. I wanted to say that his name was Dellyn Feighner, only I knew it wasn't him. All I could think of was that he was #29 from Peru, except that wasn't right either. He had a big red afro and sideburns. He turned to go down the stairs into the seats. Behind him was Ron Heskett, a neighboring farmer. He plowed into my mom and almost knocked her over, but knowing Ron, I think it was an accident.

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