Christmas Then and Now

                                Christmas Then and Now

It had been another long night, one of a seemingly unending string of long nights that comprised December that year.  I’d been pulling a train of about half-a-dozen or more 12-hour night shifts and the sleepless nights were really beginning to drag me down.  The work involved wasn’t terribly hard, but I was required to be vigilant during my work hours and was also required to perform a task every hour that could not be skipped. 

It was the winter of 1966, I was an Airman 2nd Class in the U. S. Air Force and I was stationed at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma.  I’d been a resident there for almost six months and this particular week I was covering for another man so he could go home on leave for the holidays.  I was one of the new men and therefore had last pick as to when I could take my holiday leave.  I would be getting a few days off a bit later on, but would be unable to go home then for various reasons, the primary one being money.  So I was doing an on-and-off shift, 8 p.m. to 8 a.m.

And this was Christmas morning.

I’d spent my last Christmas in the military also, but had only been in for a bit over a month and Christmas had come and gone in a blur – hardly noticeable.  But this year?  This year I could see it coming and it would be the first real one alone and far from family. 

I greeted my relief that morning with a quick turnover so he was aware where our job was, went down the stairs from the 2nd floor office I worked in and got into my car.  I sat there a few moments, my eyes encompassing nothing, numb to the world and trying not to be so damn depressed.  I eased out onto the street and soon was back at the barracks I called home those days.  I made the short walk from the parking area across the lawn and then upstairs to the second floor in the barn-like barracks to the room I shared with the man who had relieved me.  It was chilly, quiet and dimly lit from the one window looking out at the silent fort under the overcast winter Oklahoma sky. 

I sighed as I sat on my bunk and tried to blink the tiredness from my eyes.  Maybe there was even a tear or two as I contemplated the bleakness of my lonely morning.  My eyes happened to catch sight of a bottle of whiskey on my roommate’s dresser that he’d been working on that week.  Probably Canadian Club or something of that ilk.  He was fond of the cheaper blended stuff.  I looked at the bottle and thought to myself, hell yes I deserve a drink.  It’s Christmas morning and that’s just the pickup I need before hitting the rack for some desperately needed sleep. 

So I walked across the room, picked up the bottle and gave it a tentative shake.  Something gurgled in the bottom so I knew it wasn’t empty.  Perfect, I thought.  I’ll just finish it up.  I unscrewed the cap, put the bottle to my lips and tipped it up.

Unbeknownst to me, my roomie had decided that the last half-inch of whiskey would make a good place to put out his last 3 or 4 cigarettes last night, so my anticipated mouthful of 80-proof Canadian whiskey came with an ugly surprise.  I bent over the nearby trashcan and spit out the unholy mess of whiskey, ashes and cigarette butts.  I was barely able to keep the gag reflex from adding the sour mix in my stomach to the trashcan.  I quickly went to the latrine and rinsed out my mouth repeatedly to get rid of the nasty taste, then returned to my barracks room to sleep away the rest of that less-than-enjoyable Christmas.

The holiday that year was much better left forgotten.

I’m not saying that my sad little holiday 50 years ago was the worst it could have been.  I’m sure many of my friends who were in combat back in those days could recount Christmases way, way worse than mine.  I will not even begin to compare mine to theirs, but their memories are theirs, not mine.  Let them recount theirs and do their own judging.

So today I sat here at my computer keyboard and thought about that Christmas, the one almost 50 years ago.  And as the memories of that not-so-happy Christmas began to dance in my brain, I began to recall other Christmases I’d experienced over the years and tried to rate the ones that stuck out in my mind.  That one back in the Air Force was, of course, pretty close to the bottom of the list.  No other one was quite as bad as that one, but then again I might have blocked out some possibly worse over the years.  Most of the ones floating through my memory now were pretty good.  Most of the ones when I was a kid were good of course.  There was always family around, mom, dad and my brothers and mom had always been a big Christmas fan – always making sure the cookies and candy were around, always making sure the food was first class and always making sure that the kids had oodles of presents.  I shudder now thinking how long it took Dad to pay off the Christmas bills back in those years.  We were not a well-to-do family and paying the normal bills was sometimes difficult.  But as a kid all we saw were the gaily-wrapped presents and the shiny toys and games they contained.

For sure a few of the Christmases after I was married were really good ones also.  My new wife and I opening our gifts on those happy mornings, watching each other’s eyes as each box was opened and oohed and aahed over.  How much fun it was getting the perfect gifts for each other.  How our little family was laying the groundwork traditions that would grow and bloom and carry over to this very day. 

And then when our son was born there were more great Christmases.  We were able to see the holiday and all its grandeur anew through his eyes, to see the decorations and the holiday lights, the fancy dinners and the toys!  He really liked opening his gifts and playing with the toys.  Mom and dad would join him there on the floor under the tree, playing with the toys amid the piles of wrapping paper lying all around. 

And our traditions then enfolded our new family - the three of us. 

There were also some not-so-good ones interspersed here and there.  The one when our son was four and we had to put our dog down on Christmas Eve.  That was a real toughie.  The one where my wife had miscarried not long before the holiday was grim and others where loved parents, grandparents and friends had passed away were also not happy times.  There was little joy to be found on those particular days.

But to be honest, when they’re all ranked, the good ones and very good ones greatly outnumber the sad ones. 

And for that I am grateful.

So today might perhaps be a time for reflection, a time for all of us to sit down and remember our Christmas’s past, to mark the ones that taught us some hard life lessons and the ones that put a smile on our faces and joy in our hearts. 

To be thankful for our good ones, as many or as few as they might be.      

So from my little family to yours, may your hearts be full with the holiday spirit, may you belly be full from the delightful foods and may this Christmas be counted somewhere high on your top 10 list!

One Year In

                               One Year In


When I logged on and checked my calendar for today I noticed that it said “Bill’s Retirement Anniversary”.  I had realized over the past few weeks that this day was approaching, as it was again November and it was again fast approaching Thanksgiving as it was last year.  When I retired.  I remembered I retired not long before Thanksgiving.  Last year.  Just about 12 months ago.

I’m pretty quick that way…

Anyhow, here it is, one year later and yes, I’m still retired.  I just gave myself a quick pat down and am happy to report that yes, I’m still here and yes, nothing seems to be out of order.  Not working hasn’t made me disappear in any way, shape or form.  Still here and still me.  For better or worse I should add.

I asked myself some questions this morning in commemoration of this momentous anniversary.  “Hey Willie” I said.  “You ready to go back to work?  You ready to go back to saying ‘yessir’ when you didn’t want to say ‘yessir’?  You ready to go back to ‘playing the game’ for the paycheck?  Are you tired yet of being a retiree?” 

I think you can probably guess my answers to the above questions. 

Do I still miss some of the folks at the old shop?  Of course.  Do I miss the socialization, the give-and-take between people, the friends I had to stop seeing every day?  Of course. 

But damn I SURE like being retired!   Want to go on a walk on a Wednesday afternoon?  Or go grocery shopping at 11 am on a Tuesday?  Or go to a movie on a weekday afternoon?  Or sleep to the crack of nine tomorrow morning? 

Bet your patootie I do!

So I nodded a wry hello to the anniversary that popped up today, smiled at another milepost in the quickly zipping-by calendar and breathed a sigh of relief at my incredible fortune of being semi-healthy, getting along monetarily and enjoying life on my terms.

Hallelujah!

So, on to another topic if you don’t mind.

Damn if I don’t absolutely despise the political crap being posted on social media nowadays.  Yes I know we’re doing a run-up to a presidential campaign and yes I know there are very strong feelings out there, but please, in the name of everything holy, do NOT presume that I am in agreement with your political leanings.  Do NOT assume that I hate the people you hate and do NOT belittle my intelligence by assuming that if I don’t share your beliefs and see things your way that I’m a lesser person for it.  It is NOT obvious that so-and-so is an idiot, a buffoon, a criminal, a member of a sect you hate, a liar, a thief or a nincompoop.  I may hold a completely opposite view and probably do!  Imagine that!  I might just adore the scoundrel!

Or, then again, maybe not.  Politicians are generally not very likeable.

But believe me when I say that I’m soooooo tired of seeing your rants and mean-spirited postings. From both sides of the political spectrum.  Sooooo very tired…

And also believe me when I say that I used to let those postings bother me.  I used to get angry and pissed off at them, to let them color my day and to color my view of the person who posted them.  But now I just sigh and either ignore them or if they’re particularly vile, block that rant initiator. 

Adios.  Be gone.  Vamoose.

And try to continue loving the poster.  But sometimes it’s so very, very hard.

And in counterpoint, I surely hope I’m not in the minority in my OWN viewpoints (which I’m unlikely to share with the public).  I really hope that most voters will take a measured approach to their franchise, that they will dispassionately (double-check the meaning of that word if you’re not real sure what it means) view all sides of an issue or a candidate before making an informed decision.  I’d like to believe that is the case; that the ignorant will become educated, that the misguided will see the error of their ways, that the blind will come to see the light and that the emotional will calm down and become rational.

I’m the eternal optimist, but sadly I’d be surprised if that’s the case.

As much as I hate the speed at which time seems to be zipping by, I’d still love to get through this silly season as quickly as possible and to get back to the “normalcy” of a non-political time period. 

Of course on social media “normalcy” is definitely in the eyes of the beholder.

On another vein…

I was at my family doctor’s office recently, taking care of some routine health matters when I was asked how long it had been since my latest colonoscopy.  I gulped and said, “about a decade.” 

“Ahhh”, was the response.  “About time for another one, eh?”

I nodded and resigned myself.  Been there and done that.  So I scheduled the procedure and stiffened my spine for the upcoming trial.  I was glad to note that the prep for the procedure, a day full of flushing your lower GI tract, had become a bit more tolerable as of late.  Clear liquids the day before with a couple stiff shots of laxatives, making sure you didn’t get dehydrated and that was pretty much the worst of it.  You got hungry, yes, but that’s understandable.  Ya gotta clean the pipes, ya know!

The procedure was actually very anti-climatic when it rolled around.  Answer some questions from the intake nurse, get an IV started, get wheeled into the procedure room, watch the “happy juice” start to flow into you veins and then wake up a hour or so later in the recovery area feeling lazy and mellow and so, so very comfortable!  Easy as pie! 

And now comes the joy of counting the days until my next one in three years! 

Another subject, a bit less icky if you’d be so kind…

I’ve been in the midst of a flurry of eBaying recently.  A good friend of mine’s mother had moved into assisted living quarters and had sold her house.  She had a number of “things” that she thought might have some value, so I volunteered to help her sell them on eBay - for a small stipend of course.  After a long afternoon of picking and choosing what I thought might sell from a large pile of possibles, I ended up with about 80 pounds of “stuff” that I thought might make her a buck or two.  About 60-70 items perhaps.  So a couple weeks ago I started taking pictures and placing the ads on eBay.  I’d done some selling out there before, so I wasn’t a complete newbie.  And, to be honest, it has been mostly fun.  I enjoy the give and take of the auction site and trying to price items correctly as to entice a bid or two.  Sometimes I do a good job and sometimes not.  I wonder at why something sells fairly quickly and other things that look much more valuable can’t get a single bid.  Such, I guess, is the lot of the salesman.  Win some, lose some and the rest goes to Goodwill.  I’m glad to say that a good chunk of what I put out there did sell, but there were no fortunes being made.  By the time the fees and expenses were subtracted (and I got my cut) there wasn’t much meat left on the bone.  But this whole exercise was more a favor to the old friend of mine and not so much for the older lady who moved.  She was more interested in where this and that ended up than what they brought monetarily.  It has been a fun few weeks though!

Hope you’re all looking forward to the upcoming holidays as much as I am.  I’ll give you a holler the next time I get the urge to share.

California Dreamin'

                California Dreamin’

So gentle reader, it’s time for another travelogue!  Can you feel the excitement?
 
(Sure we can, Bill.  Tell us, tell us, tell us!)

OK gang, since you REALLY want to read one, strap on your safety belts and hang on.  Here we GO!

It had been a few years since we’d been to California to see my brother Chuck, too long actually, so we got online, bought a couple tickets and waited until the selected date to roll around.  Finally it was here and it was time to fly west to the Golden State.

Monday

Our flight was another early, early one – 7 a.m. out of Columbus, so we had to get up basically in the middle of the night.  Up at 2 a.m., clean up, finish packing what we needed and then we were off to our standby breakfast place for that time of the morning – good ol’ McDonald’s drive through.  Sipping our morning coffee and munching on some breakfast sandwiches we were on our way by 3 heading south.  Got to Port Columbus before 5 a.m. and after a smooth check in and an expedited TSA check (still don’t know how they determine expedited) we were sitting at our gate waiting for our bird.  On our drive down we noticed the huge moon in the sky.  It was one of those times of the year when the moon was quite close to the earth and very noticeable.  Very pretty! 

At 7 we were in the plane ready to leave when we began watching a drama unfold.  A man across the aisle from us was talking animatedly on his cell phone, waving his arms while he talked, and was ignoring the flight attendant who was telling him he had to turn the phone off for takeoff.  She told him this several times.  He finally called her a “jerk” and continued talking.  The attendant went to the senior attendant and told her what was occurring.  The plane then stopped its pushback and the senior attendant walked up the man on the phone and sternly said, “Sir.  Do you want to continue on this flight or would you like to get off right now?”  He looked at her and realized she wasn’t joking around.  The phone was immediately turned off and he was as meek as a mouse the rest of the flight.  Soon after that unfortunate scene we were taking off and enjoying a comfortable Southwest flight to Las Vegas and then onward to San Jose. 

We called my brother upon our arrival who was waiting for us in the cell phone waiting area by the airport.  He soon arrived and our luggage was quickly stowed in the trunk of his newer Kia.  Since we were quite hungry by then, with the early start and the time change, he stopped at a Vietnamese sandwich shop in downtown San Jose that he liked and we enjoyed our first California food this trip.  Then it was onward to Chuck’s place for some cool watermelon chunks, some catching up conversations and some relaxation.  After going out for supper we returned and called it an early night.  Jet lag was kicking in and we were all starting to nod off.

Tuesday

My brother did a great job with breakfast Tuesday morning with eggs scrambled with sausage, peppers, onions and cheese.  Tasty!  We then drove over to a Japanese garden in San Jose where we wandered around with the other tourists and took some great pictures.  It was a very pretty place.  Then off to History Park, which has 32 original and reproduction houses, businesses and landmarks highlighting Santa Clara Valley’s past.  We wandered around there for a while checking out all the history and reading the descriptions of what we were seeing.  While there we went into the Viet Museum on the grounds.  It focused on the Republic of Vietnam and the war, the “boat people” and their quest for freedom and the Vietnamese Americans today.  It was quite an interesting visit.  Since there is a large population of Vietnamese in the area it was fitting that that museum was placed there.

Chuck took us to the Santa Theresa Golf Club for lunch.  He plays there fairly often.  Sandwiches and cool drinks were enjoyed on the veranda while we watched the golfers and the deer take turns playing the 9th hole.  What a beautiful place.

We returned to the house and welcomed another of Chuck’s friends, Dave, who joined us for a while and then we adjourned to downtown S.J. again for supper.  The restaurant Chuck wanted to try was closed – a Mexican place – so we looked around and saw another one directly across the street.  Apparently this change in venue was meant to be as the supper was great over there!  I had a remarkable “lingua” dish (tongue in Spanish) along with rice and beans.  A cold Dos Equis Amber provided the liquid counterpoint to the spicy meal.  Then it was back home for more conversation among the four of us and then off to bed.

Wednesday

This was our “drive to Yosemite” day.  We ate a quick bite at home then hit the road eastbound.  Judy and I had wanted to visit Yosemite on our previous trips but the sojourn never seemed to quite take place.  We wanted to make sure it did this time.  After a couple hours we were through the Central Valley and stopped at a burger joint in the gold country – Mariposa, which is the “gateway” town to Yosemite.  The restaurant had a gigantic menu and it took many minutes to peruse and select our meals.  I was wondering what I’d like to drink there when I looked out the window at the misty mountains.  It was obvious.  Sierra Mist!  Then it was onward again.  You could tell we were really getting into the Sierra Madre itself, as the road became very hilly with many twists and turns.  After a while we passed the gatehouse to Yosemite (we had obtained a senior National Park pass earlier so there was no fee for us) and drove the remaining miles into the park.  Soon we were in Yosemite Valley and checking into our accommodations, which were in Curry Village.  We’d reserved tents there for our 2-night stay.  They were canvas-walled with heaters, cots, a safe, a shelving unit and a chair.  Quite spartan actually.  Chuck stayed in one and Judy and I took the other.  It was a gorgeous place with big trees all around and beyond the trees were the giant rock faces of which Yosemite is so famous. 

Supper was in the Curry Village dining hall – a cafeteria-type place with pretty decent food.  We enjoyed the dinner and the rustic atmosphere of the place.  And of course we enjoyed watching the other people there with us who were a mixture of every kind of tourist you could imagine.  I think I heard six languages just waiting in line for our food!  Sort of a rustic cosmopolitan if such a thing exists.  The fashions that our fellow Curry Village inhabitants wore ran the gamut from business chic (couldn’t figure that one out) to Euro-camper exotic to Oriental hiking clothes and the ever popular short shorts of the German dude.  It was fun trying to figure who came from where!

In front of our tents were large, lockable steel boxes.  We were informed that ALL food, ALL cosmetics, ALL etc. were to be put in the boxes and NOT left in the tents.  This was to stop varmints from trying to get at the good-smelling stuff.  One of the varmints they were referring to was bear. 

I must talk about bears here for a minute, gentle reader.  I knew Yosemite was known as a place where there were LOTS of bears and this fact was heavy on my mind for some weeks before our trip.  I don’t know why, but I seemed to be quite apprehensive about bears during that time.  And more so when I found out that Yosemite has between 300 and 500 of the rascals living there.  So my joy at being at this remarkable park was tinged with some goosebumps about the local furry residents.  I must report we did not see any bears and I’m a bit puzzled to report that I’m a bit torn about that.  Very relieved that we saw none near our tents, but a bit sad we didn’t see any at all.  My bucket list is still missing a large furry carnivore.

Another thing.  Yosemite is incredible.  You see awesome views almost in every direction and are struck by its beauty a hundred times a day.  We were truly blessed to be able to enjoy this wonder.

We hit our cots fairly early this day, as we were tired.  It may have been a bit because of the altitude or the long drive, but it was hard to be sure which.  The cot felt pretty good and we employed the tent heater both nights, which kept the tent quite comfortable.  The only downside was the necessary trek to the bathhouse to use the facilities during the night.  This entailed getting at least partly dressed, putting on shoes and using the flashlight on the trail to the restrooms.  For us old folks it seemed to be quite a chore.  But the upside?  No bears hulking in the darkness of the trail to the can!

At least none we saw!

It is supposed to rain tomorrow.  Of course.

Thursday

Before leaving home our honorable and revered Congress in Washington was debating whether to shut the government down at the end of September.  We were due to visit Yosemite 9/30 and 10/1.  This Congressional decision would have closed all national parks including Yosemite.  Right in the middle of our trip there.  Due to some honorable wangling they decided to keep the government open a bit longer and possibly make the also honorable decision to close it in December. 

So Yosemite was open this week.  Good for us at least.  Who knows about December.

After a decent breakfast in the big dining room we booked a valley tour that was to leave at 11 a.m.  It was raining before that time, so the three of us bought rain ponchos for our tour from the local store.  We’d seen the tour vehicle, saw that it was basically a flatbed trailer pulled by a truck and knew we’d need raingear. 

It would be wet.  Of course.

The tour went off as scheduled.  Our tour director was a National Parks Ranger named Eric and he outdid himself in humor, intelligence and a vast knowledge of the outdoors, specifically Yosemite.  He was asked many questions by the boatload of tourists on this tour and he was NEVER blanked, NEVER stymied.  He REALLY knew his stuff!  The tour was two hours and the magnificent features of this park kept revealing themselves over and over as we passed in and out of the trees.  Eric would describe what we were seeing and fill us in on the history and the physical descriptions of the glory we were viewing.  The rain was intermittent, so a lot of the trip wasn’t spent hunching over in the rain although there was a bit of that too. 

The rocks and giant formations and cliff faces kept popping up as we rounded each bend in the road, each one more amazing than the previous one.  Descriptions and even pictures only do a miserable job of showing off the almost indescribable beauty of the place.  First-hand viewing is definitely a must.  We saw many deer, a number of ravens and even a coyote nonchalantly walking in front of our tour truck.  But no bears.

The two-hour tour seemed to fly by in minutes.

The rain picked up even heavier as we were departing our vehicle and we felt sorry for the 1 o’clock tour, which loaded up right behind us.  They were going to get even wetter than we did!

We then adjourned to our tents and took a bit of a nap.  Judy woke me later in the afternoon and said the sun was out.  I gathered up my brother and we three drove up to Glacier Point.  This is a high place overlooking the valley.  It’s almost directly above Camp Curry, but the road to get to that place is over 30 miles long!  Finally toward the end of the day we were up there on the south wall of the valley, 7,214 feet high and the view was incredible!  We could see the big rock faces of El Capitan and Half Dome easily and many more of the huge rock formations.  We took pictures and marveled at the sights.  I chatted with an older couple who wanted me to take their picture.  They saw the sweatshirt I was wearing (it was chilly up there) which had the name of a college in my hometown and asked if I was aware of the light opera that was performed in the summers there.  I said I did and had attended 2 or 3 of them just the previous year.  They responded by saying their son sang in those operas and had done so for a number of years. 

What a small world this is! 

We got back to Camp Curry just before dark and the rains started up again even heavier.  Pizza was the main course for dinner and then it was back through the rainy night to our tents, crank up the heaters and relax.  The night went by quickly.

Sometime during the dark hours Judy made the trip to the showerhouse.  She almost kicked a raccoon, which was passing by right below the steps to our tent!  Don’t know which one of them was the most startled!

A side note.  It hadn’t rained in Yosemite since July.  Figures.

Friday

I went to the showerhouse not long after sunrise and almost walked up to a deer, which was placidly chewing on a pine bough right in my path.  The doe slowly moved out of my path when I was about 4 feet from her.  I looked up at the rock face directly above the showerhouse and marveled at the gleaming morning light, which blazed on the rocks overhead while I was down in the trees and the shadows. 

A magical place Yosemite. 

We grabbed some pastries from the camp store after our chilly showers that morning and started our drive back home.  We drove the remembered twisty road back to Mariposa where we had a more formidable breakfast, then the long drive from there across the green and tan fields of the Central Valley and back to San Jose.  Almost 430 miles were driven on this trip. 

Supper was prime rib at a restaurant that Chuck likes, then another early bedtime.  Old folks are just the worst, eh?

Saturday

Scrambled egg and sausage burritos were just the ticket for breakfast Saturday and we applauded my brother who was the cook.  We spent most of the morning chatting amongst ourselves and then adjourned to the home of some other friends of Chuck’s – Steve and Jill.  After reintroducing ourselves to the couple we piled into Jill’s car and she drove us “over the hill” (it’s what they call the coastal mountains) to Mott’s Landing on the coast.  We ate at a well-known place called “The Whole Enchilada”, a nice Mexican place.  Our meals were tasty and quite filling.  As a side note I don’t think I had a single moment of hunger all this week that wasn’t immediately sated! 

After the lunch she drove us a little ways to a beach they knew.  I walked along the beach for a while, but not too long as it was quite windy and chilly and the surf was very heavy.  (I was baptized by the Pacific when an unexpected big wave soaked me to the ankles.  I always seem to get a bit wet on my California trips, on purpose or not.)  Took some pictures and saw a dead seal on the sand – a truly unexpected sight.

Jill then drove us to Gizdich Apple Ranch for some dessert, which was Dutch Apple pie for this traveler!  Mmmm, good!  Then on the way back to S.J. we stopped at Solis Winery for some wine tasting.  This was NOT an unfamiliar spot for Steve, Jill and Chuck as I later figured out.  We tasted five wines, all decent, and Steve bought a bottle of the one we liked the best to take home.  I’m not a big wine drinker, but they were all quite tasty.  Apparently this is a big wine area there in the Central Coast area, perhaps you may call it a little Napa, and there are over 20 wineries close by.

We took our bottle of wine and headed back to Steve and Jill’s place.  We proceeded to drink the wine and some beer that seemed to appear whenever someone was thirsty.  Another friend from Chuck’s group named Randy showed up around then and joined the impromptu party that was going on.  He was a genial guy of an entrepreneurial bent and was a big fan of Longboard beer.  He provided his own brew too. We all gabbed and laughed for a number of hours. 

My brother let me drive home as he had imbibed a bit too much to allow him on the California roads.  Soon we were home and heading toward our beds to dream of beaches, tasty Mexican food and miles of wine grapes growing in the bright California sunshine.

Sunday

A nice breakfast at a busy place called “Just Breakfast”.  Omelets with the locals.  We went to the movies later that morning to see “The Martian” and enjoyed it a lot.  Boston Market for supper and a quiet night watching TV with my wife and brother. 

Monday

French Toast from the hands of Chuck was on the menu this morning along with some sausages.  A bit later we drove up Highway 101 to a place called the Hiller Aviation Museum near Redwood City, about halfway to San Francisco.  Randy (from Saturday night you might remember) and his wife Flo met us there and we wandered among the old planes for a while, chatting about our lives and experiences flying.  We ended up in the nose of a 747 exhibit sitting in the old seats there and chatted with one of the docents at the museum.  The old fellow told some flying stories and we all chatted about this and that for a while.  It was a pleasant time.  Soon Randy and Flo had to skedaddle to check in on one of their businesses and we three headed back to S.J. 

Chuck made spaghetti that night and we all ate well.  Judy and I packed that night and began getting ready for the flights back home on Tuesday.

Tuesday

A quick breakfast and off to the airport by 9:30 to catch a 12 noon flight.  Our layover this direction was Phoenix where we sat around for several hours before the last leg back to Columbus.  Finally, shortly before midnight Eastern Time we arrived back in Port Columbus.  Then the long drive home through the deep Ohio night. 

And so another fine trip is in the record books.

   

  

Bikes and Etc.

                       Bikes and Etc.



So it seems another month has zipped by since I last said hello on these pages and I know my loyal buds out there are hungry for more verbiage from you know who.  (Writers are SUCH egoists, eh?)  Time is becoming such a slippery thing for this retired ol’ dude and lately it’s even seemed slipperier. 

Nothing like stating the obvious, eh?

So what’s been going on here in our little corner of paradise?  Hmmm…?

Ok here’s maybe something to share.

As you may remember, I bought myself a “retirement present” last fall – a little something to play around with and to remind me of the proverbial “good ol’ days”.  Of course I’m talking about my orange scooter, the 125cc Yamaha Zuma.  I went to the license bureau not long after getting it and took the written test to be, in Ohio’s estimation, allowed to ride it legally.  I passed the written test handily (I studied a LOT) and then received my learner’s permit.  You have to realize that particular license was ONLY good for 12 months after issue, so I HAD to take my 2-wheel driving test on the scooter BEFORE that year was out to remain a legal scooter rider.  Sooo… 

As a lot of you may know about me, I just MIGHT have a tiny lil’ problem of obsessing about upcoming events that require something that I need to do.  I can see my wife nodding vigorously about now.  So I began to fret and fuss about the drop-dead date sitting like a giant roadblock in the upcoming autumn.  So what did I do about it?  I rode that lil’ machine all over this year!  I think I’ve zoomed over almost every street in town and lots of the nearby county roads.  I got pretty confident that I was ready to take the test, but that bad lil’ boy in the back of my head kept worrying and worrying.  “What if…?” he would say.  “Suppose you…?” he’d again holler  “And then…?” he would say.  And of course, “Oh my God…!” he’d finally howl. 

Typical me, of course.  Mountains and molehills…

So I girded my loins and scheduled my driving test. 

I arrived at the appointed parking lot at the appointed time, 8 am, and parked my scoot next to the other 4 motorcyclist’s machines who were also taking the driving test that morning – 2 were bigger bikes and 2 were dirt-bike models.  All the participants were WAY younger than yours truly. 

What a surprise, eh?

I was positioned to be the last to take the test, so I got to watch the other four rumble and wiggle and weave their way around the course as directed by the lady examiner.  All seemed to do some of the maneuvers more or less incorrectly, at least to my untrained eye.  One of the youngest guys to take the test even laid his bike down in some gravel as he was traveling too fast to make a turn.  A skinned elbow and some bent chrome were his rewards, although I found out he DID pass the test, even with the mishap!  Apparently he dumped his bike AFTER the last of his maneuvers, which he did correctly, so I guess he dumped it AFTER completing the test.  Dunno.  They did say he passed, so he was a lucky dude.  This was his second time around, so he should have known better.

The examiner told me that all the other guys had points taken off their scores that morning for various boo-boos.

So then it was my turn.  I drove up to the starting line and the examiner explained the maneuver I was to perform.  Then the next one, then the next.  Finally I was done and had scooted my way around exactly as I was supposed to.  The examiner said I had ZERO points deducted for errors, the ONLY person that morning that had did that well.  And she whispered to me that I was the only smart one, as I had brought the smallest bike for the test.  The test was WAY easier for us lil’ guys!

This old boy was very, very happy!  I got my coveted “M” endorsement for my driver’s license and have been utilizing it quite heavily ever since!

Going through this process of studying hard for the test, then passing it; practicing a lot on the scooter and then passing that test once again affirmed to me that the things you achieve that you have to work for and sometimes have to work HARD for are the sweetest.  Being handed the “M” endorsement JUST by paying a fee wouldn’t have been nearly as juicy or as satisfactory.  As the old Smith-Barney commercials starring John Houseman used to say, “We EARN it.”  Of course he was talking about money, but the sentiment still holds.  I EARNED it!

And on a maybe somewhat related subject:

My old friend Mike, another motorcycle enthusiast, (see the connection?) traveled down to my hometown the other day, a trip of around 50 miles from where he lives.  He and I used to work together when we both were employed for Alltel up in the Twinsburg, Ohio area.  He still sort of is, even though his paycheck says Windstream on it now – long story involving buyouts, mergers, acquisitions and other telecommunication business shenanigans.  I’ve been gone from that bailiwick since 2001 when I was caught in a protracted purge. 

Anyhow, over the past couple decades or thereabouts he and I and another of our fellow employees named Jeff liked to get together socially every couple months.  We’d go out on the town on a Saturday night, sometimes with some other guy friends, but almost always us three dudes. We’d have a few drinks and then maybe a few more. We’d end up going to some clubs after that and carouse around until the wee hours.

Lots of fun! 

Well, as the years passed they started catching up with us, the generally rowdy Saturday evenings eventually mellowed into a fairly sedate lunch every 3-4 months.  Mike and Jeff and I would meet somewhere convenient to us, share a meal and a few hours of conversation, catching up on our lives and who was doing what to whom back where I used to work and they still did.  It became a tradition that we all were comfortable with and enjoyed a lot.  A couple years ago Jeff found out he had contracted non-Hodgkins lymphoma.  Sometimes people with this disease are able to control it and live for many years.  Jeff was not one of the lucky ones.  They did a lot of procedures to him, but he succumbed to it last summer and it was a sad, sad time for all of us. 

Mike reminded me during our lunch that it had been a year since Jeff had passed and I sadly remarked at how FAST that year had gone by.  And although my wife Judy had accompanied me for this particular lunch, the empty chair at our table was very noticeable.

The plan was this: Mike was supposed to ride his motorcycle down to my town for our lunch this time around and meet me at a restaurant.  We would check out each of our rides – his big bike and my snazzy scooter, then both ride on down to my house.  And, of course, the day we picked for this rendezvous was a rainy one and he had to default to his pickup truck to get here. 

Luck of the draw I guess.

So we ate our lunch, glanced out the windows at the wet streets and chatted like we usually would do.  We then went from the restaurant to my house and chatted again for several more hours.  It was a very nice afternoon, two old friends chatting away the afternoon, telling their stories, telling their tall tales, comfortable in their own skins. 

And, of course, after he headed home the sun came out.

On the Road Again

                                          On the Road Again


Well, my friends, are you ready for another sparkling gem of a blog; one that might be a little informative as well as entertaining?  Perhaps it may even chase away the summertime blues?

(Look around Jude, is anyone still there?  Are they buying any of this?)

Yes, dear friends, it’s time for another travel blog!  To be specific, a road trip blog!  So if you’re in the mood for one of those boogers, fasten your seat belt.  It’s going to be bumpy ride.  For the rest of you, adios mi amigos.  See you when the blog express fires up again with something more to your taste.

So, here’s how it went…

On Monday the aforementioned road trip commenced, or, in layman’s terms, we headed out.  Our intention that day was to drive to Mackinaw City, Michigan from our northeastern Ohio town with a stop for lunch in Frankenmuth, Michigan.  The day was nice, the company (my wife) companionable and the drive was pleasurable.  We arrived in Frankenmuth around 1 p.m. and found the restaurant we were heading for almost immediately.  It’s called Zehnder’s and has been a fixture in that city for many, many years as the sepia-toned photographs and newspaper clippings on the walls attributed.  It is also very well liked as the large group of cars in the parking lot amply demonstrated.  We were seated only after about a 15-minute wait.  The servers were all dressed in Victorian outfits to apparently match the décor of the dining rooms.  We ordered our lunches and soon were served.  They were chicken dishes, quite tasty and we enjoyed the meal immensely.  After finishing I let my eyes sweep across the dining room we were in.  They stopped at a gentleman sitting two tables away.  I saw him in profile and thought to myself, my goodness – that looks remarkably like an old friend of mine, a guy I went to school with from elementary through high school.  He was even in the same branch of the military at the same time as I was.  I told myself I’d have to tell him about his “double” that I saw there in Michigan.  About that time the man and his wife stood up.  I immediately recognized the wife.  Yes, it was my friend Larry!  He stopped at our table after we hollered at him and we chatted for a minute or so, remarking on the coincidence of our meeting.  They were on their way home from their recent vacation up in the same northern territory as we were heading.  After they left, my wife and I chatted about the odd circumstance.  Two people who knew each other for many years meeting at a restaurant I’d never heard of the week before, on the same day, in the same dining room, at the same time.  Pretty strange, eh?

We headed north again after a visit to the largest Christmas store in the world – Bronner’s – 27 acres of Christmas-themed merchandise.  Of course we bought something!  You had to ask?

The roadside business’s pretty well disappeared north of the Saginaw area as we drove northward and we soon noticed that birch trees, virtually no where to be seen in the wild around home, were everywhere roadside along with elk crossing signs.  None of those down home!

We were getting into the North Country.

We arrived in Mackinaw City later in the day.  Our hotel was an older one but quite clean and entirely serviceable – a mom and pop kind of place albeit a bit small.  The air temperature was refreshingly cool compared to the muggy warmth of home when we left, many miles to the south.  The hotel was directly across the street from a small park, which fronted on Lake Huron and gave a great view of the Mackinac Bridge, which connected the mainland of Michigan to its Upper Peninsula.  The straits there also divided Lake Huron from Lake Michigan.  It was a very imposing sight, a little over 8 miles long counting the approaches with 552 foot high towers. 

A whopper in anyone’s book.

Supper was whitefish sandwiches at a small restaurant nearby (a local delicacy, apparently, and quite tasty).  I returned to that small lakeside park after dark to take some really cool night pictures of the bridge.

On Tuesday we took an island trip.  During the night we’d left the windows open at the hotel and enjoyed the cool night air.  No need for the a/c at all!  In the morning, after a nice breakfast downtown we boarded the Shepler’s ferry for a trip across Lake Huron to Mackinac Island.  We caught the 10:30 ferry as that trip would go under the Big Mac Bridge on its way to the island.  We were again impressed by the bridge when seeing it up close and were glad we took that particular boat. 

Mackinac Island, in case you didn’t know, is perhaps unique in the fact that it bans any vehicle with a combustion engine – cars, trucks, motorcycles, etc.  All traveling on the island is either by foot, by bicycle or by horse and there were a LOT of horses and bikes on that island.  If you lived on the island and needed supplies, they came by boat and were transferred to carts pulled by draft horses and carried to where you wanted them.  Bicycles were available for rent by the thousands and we saw tons of them.  We grabbed a geocache while waiting for our purchased carriage ride.  At 11:30 we got on a 20-passenger cart pulled by two matched Belgian draft horses and commenced our 2-hour tour of Mackinac Island.  (The guide joked that the tours used to be for 3 hours, but no one wanted to take “a three hour tour” referring to the Gilligan’s Island TV show)  Our tour guide was a young lady from New York who really knew her facts about the island and imparted a bunch of that knowledge as we rode around looking at stuff.  The lilacs were in full bloom that week and we were stunned by the vast numbers of, naturally, lilac-colored bushes lining the streets.  We clomped by the famous Grand Hotel on the island, the one featured in a couple movies – “This Time for Keeps” (1947 Jimmy Durante and Esther Williams) and “Somewhere in Time” (1980 Christopher Reeves and Jane Seymour).  It’s a huge white building having a 660 foot porch and is the largest seasonal hotel in the world with 385 guest rooms, none the same as any other.  Built in 1887 and refurbished a number of times, it’s very imposing.  We got off the carriage tour at Fort Mackinac and wandered around the numerous buildings there.  It was manned by the English and the Americans back and forth over its long history and contains many examples of how life was lived there in the “old” days.  We exited the fort through a long downhill path back to the downtown area and ate lunch.  We were then off to buy some souvenirs and fudge before returning to the mainland when we saw a lady lying on the sidewalk face down.  Apparently she’d tripped and hit her face.  There was quite a bit of blood involved and a nurse was already there giving first aid before the ambulance arrived – a motorized ambulance – one of the few motorized vehicles allowed on the island.  Since I had broken my nose a few weeks earlier in a vaguely similar manner, I commiserated with the lady and silently wished her well.

We returned to our mainland hotel around 5 o’clock and were quite tired from all the walking done during the day.  We grabbed a few more geocaches in the city and retired to the outside-air freshened motel room for another good night’s sleep.

On Wednesday we hit the road again.  Up at 7 and crossed the Big Mac Bridge soon afterward.  Apparently some folks are so scared of the bridge they let someone else drive them across.  We were not scared.  We’ve been on other bridges that were LOTS more scary!  The Sunshine Bridge down near Tampa immediately comes to mind.  After crossing we were on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan which is quite a different animal than the mainland.  We headed west on the major road going that direction – a 2-laner called Route 2.  Not far from the bridge there were numerous old cabin-style motels like out of old black-and-white movies, most of them abandoned to the elements and out of business.  Soon even those disappeared and we then traveled mostly through thinly populated areas.  Stopping at a rest area we discovered why the joke about what is Michigan’s State Bird’s answer is the mosquito.  It isn’t a joke!  Lots of the critters around.  Bazillions, seemed like.  We killed mosquitoes in the car for the next 50 miles!  Very pretty country, though, with the big lake on your left and what appeared to be mostly wilderness to the right.  Saw a number of deer and more elk crossing signs.  I could just imagine how this place was in the winter.  Brrr!

We stopped for lunch in Green Bay, Wisconsin at a place recommended to us by a friend of my wife’s.  The place was called Krull’s Restaurant and was located directly across the street from Lambeau Field where the Green Bay Packers play football.  We had their signature “butterburger” sandwich (pretty good) and were off again in under an hour.  We suffered through a major detour south of Green Bay, apparently due to an Interstate building project, and ended up going a long way around the affected area.  Saw a great big windmill farm in a hilly area and counted many dozens of the big turbine windmills slowly turning.  Then, at last, we arrived at Wisconsin Dells for our second major stop of the trip. 

I’d again booked us into a mom-and-pop place, the Indian Trail Motel, and we were even more pleased with this one.  It was furnished in what appeared ‘70’s fixtures, yellow in color.  I think my wife and I had yellow fixtures when we were first married!  The room was immaculately clean and much bigger than our Mac City place.  The bed, sheets and pillows were among the best we’ve ever had in a motel.  A nice choice, I thought, proud of myself!  You did good, Willie!  We grabbed a geocache almost immediately to make sure we had Wisconsin logged as a new state then drove through the business district.  It’s a regular resort-type area, stores, attractions, amusement parks, water parks, t-shirt shops, many restaurants and other attractions for people on vacations, especially if they had kids.  We ate at a nice Mexican place, The Mexicali Rose, right on the Wisconsin River and took pictures out the window at the scenery.  My wife and I had very sore muscles from all our walking yesterday.

On Thursday we toured Wisconsin Dells.  Breakfast was at a friendly IHOP and then we bought tickets for two tours – a boat tour of the Upper Dells above the dam (the prettier side) and a duck tour.  On the 10:30 riverboat tour we saw lots of sandstone formations along the banks of the river and got oodles of information about the area from the boat captain and the lady tour guide.  A lot of stuff happened on that river over the years!  Our first stop was at Witch’s Gulch where we disembarked and walked on a boardwalk back this dimly-lit canyon with fantastically-carved sandstone close to both sides.  This was, according to Indian legend, a haunted place and the white settlers were warned to stay away.  It was actually pretty cool!  Then it was back to the boat, up the river a bit more to our second stop - another land attraction.  We walked uphill to a viewing area where we could see two towering rock formations.  Back in the early days of photography a local man figured out a way to make photographs of moving subjects, an activity that didn’t work with the old photography equipment.  His photos were taken as fakes by the public, so he went to this place and had his son jump from one formation to the other while he took photos.  17 jumps later he got the proof that his technique worked!  Need I say it was a LONG way down from that gap the kid had jumped across.  Now days they have a German Shepherd dog do the same stunt and we got to see it.  I was lucky enough to actually catch the dog in mid-jump with a photo!  Then it was back to the boat and the refreshing ride back to the pier.  After indulging in a rare ice cream sundae (it was getting warm), my wife and I headed off to the duck tour.  In case you don’t know, a duck is an Army amphibious vehicle that travels on land or water.  A large part of the World War II fleet of ducks have been bought by tour companies here and there to ferry customers on land/water excursions.  That was the case here. 

We rode our 24-passenger duck, along with a driver and a tour guide through a lot of heavily wooded areas along specific roads just for the duck tours.  The guide entertained us with a running commentary on the area and many corny jokes and silly stories while the driver concentrated getting us through some of the tighter areas of the road.  We took the duck into the Wisconsin River for a while then back onto the land.  After another 15 minutes we stopped just before entering Lake Delton.  The guide asked us passengers whether we wanted the entry into the water to be “slow and dry” or “fast and wet”.  I don’t think you will get the answer to this one wrong.  The driver hit the gas and we hit hard with the water mushrooming around us.  The rear few seats got pretty wet!  Then it was back to the starting place. 

We walked around downtown for a while after that looking into a few shops and bought a few this-and-that’s, then went back to the hotel where I took a dip in the outdoor pool.  Nice!  We went out then for some more geocaches then had supper at an Applebees. 

Another busy day.

On Friday we took a day trip.  Since one reason for the trip was geocaching and since the states of Minnesota and Iowa were less than two hours to the west, we decided to drive over there and add two more states to our kitty!  The interstate west was smooth and fast and soon we were in Minnesota.  Luckily the first place I pulled off was right where our first geocache was hidden and we soon had it “in the bag”.  We drove south about 30 miles into Iowa on the Great River Road and before long had the second one.  It was a good day for the “states bagged” quota!  After driving back to the Dells I spent a lovely hour in the motel’s indoor pool and whirlpool spa.  Very relaxing!

Supper was at a Ponderosa that evening.  Lots of kids around but… what do you expect?  It was summer and this was a resort town.  I remember getting a BIG root beer with supper and how GREAT it tasted!  What a dumb thing to remember, eh?  Took another drive through the downtown area checking out the bustling people and the evening street performers, then back to the hotel to hit the hay.  And early day planned for tomorrow.

On Saturday we drove home.  I don’t have too much exciting to tell you about that trip.  It was long and tiring.  The high point, perhaps, is that we drove through downtown Chicago and that was a bit hair-raising even on a Saturday.  At last we were pulling into our own driveway and hitting the “relax” key.  Home, son, dog and our own bed for the night.

So another satisfying road trip comes to an end.  

Sure wish you had been with us!

Maybe next time?

Me, Trixi and Memorial Day

                Me, Trixi and Memorial Day





It was a good morning for a walk.  The trees were in full leaf now and all the birds in the neighborhood were busy with their nest-building duties and their many territorial disputes.  It was a day that evened the scales for all the icy cold ones at the other end of the calendar. 

It was a doggoned good day to be alive.

I take this walk every morning nowadays.  I’d like to think that I’d be out there walking anyhow, putting one foot in front of the other if I didn’t have the reason to do so that I do now.  For my health, you know.  I’d like to think those positive thoughts, but I’m honest enough to know that I’d probably procrastinate without that reason I mentioned earlier and not go. 

The reason for my walk is named Trixi and she’s our dog. 

She also dearly loves taking her morning amble with yours truly.

Trixi keeps me honest.  I can’t easily dissuade her or rationalize not taking her out every morning because my muscles are sore from yesterday’s activities, the sciatica in my back is kicking up or my knees are aching like the old man’s knees they actually are.  She ignores all those pitiful objections, looks at you with those trusting brown eyes and says with her doggie whine, “C’mon pop.  It’s time for takin’ your pooch out for her mornin’ constitutional!  Let’s go, let’s go, let’s GO!”

So I snapped on her walking collar, clipped the leash to it and out the front door we went.

Today was a bit different than a lot of our mornings, however, and I was reminded of that difference by hearing a hearty thump-thump-thump and ratt-a-tatt-tatt of drums echoing up the street from downtown.  Today was Memorial Day and our town’s annual parade was just passing by a few blocks away from where Trixi and I were taking our walk.  I listened as we walked and recognized several John Phillip Souza marches and some other familiar martial music.  The bands in the parade were doing a good job this year, as far as I could tell from this distance, and I found my feet sympathetically falling into the rhythms of the rumbling drums and bright brass.  Trixi might have noticed her master walking a bit oddly, but she wisely made no remark about it. 

She’s smart that way. 

I listened to the music and my mind began to wander.  I thought about today being Memorial Day.  I thought about its meaning.  I remembered my wife and I had visited her hometown just the day before and we had placed a floral arrangement at her family’s gravesite.  We’d done the same service a few days earlier at my father’s, mother’s and grandmother’s gravesites in my hometown.  The performance of these duties had helped us remember those of our families who were now gone and to especially commemorate those members of the families who had served in the military – her dad and grandfather, my dad and brother.  I placed small flags in the memorial arrangements especially for them.

As Trix and I continued our morning walk and the band music began to fade away in the distance, I began to reminisce about the old days.  I recalled quite vividly my own service as a young man in the U. S. Air Force and everything that had entailed.  I remembered my wife’s grandfather, his service in France during World War 1 and what a great guy he was.  And I especially remembered my dad and my brother, gone now for 23 years and their service.  How each had given some of the best days of their youth in the service to our country. 

I sighed at all the memories flooding my mind.  All at once, out of the blue, I conjured up an apparition of someone, possibly an old soldier from the late 1800’s who was walking along with my dog and me.  He’d look around and marvel at the shiny automobiles rumbling along next to us, wonder at the broad paved streets and traffic signals, stare skyward and puzzle over the contrails painted in the sky.  Then he’d hear the military-sounding music from the band down the street and suddenly he’d smile.  He’d recognize the music and, somehow I knew, would understand the meaning of the Souza marches echoing in the air.  He’d nod formally to me, come more fully to attention as he walked and fall into step with me and the dog, enjoying the morning, the sunshine and the camaraderie of two old military guys walking together.

We’d walk along, side by side, our feet hitting the earth in unison for a while, feeling the old rhythms of marching for a bit, then he’d turn to me, give me a half-salute and slowly fade back into my imagination from whence he’d come.

I grinned a little at how endlessly fascinating our brains could be, how we could catch a few notes of an old song and fabricate a whole scenario based upon the memories invoked by it.  Trixi was, as usual, enjoying the day immensely, sniffing out the vast aroma landscape that only dogs are aware of and digging the feel of green grass under her paws.  She’d glance at me occasionally to make sure I was still there and was still in control. 

She liked that.

So, I thought to myself, another Memorial Day has come around again, another spring has graced us with its vernal abundance and I have again been lucky enough to see it.  I gave silent thanks for the beauty of the day and for the good life I was enjoying.  But more importantly I gave thanks for those who had made it possible by their sacrifice and service to our country. 

At last Trix and I were almost done with our walk and were heading back home.  Our path was lined with many Old Glories, snapping and waving in the wind.  It was a beautiful sight.

Today was a day for remembrance; a day to honor those who had gone before us and a day to enjoy the liberties that had been won for us with our forebear’s strength, duty and blood.  It was another Memorial Day.  It was a good day for me and those around me, a glad day.

And Trixi, in her own way, was glad too…

 

Kansas, Neal and a Road Trip

          Kansas, Neal and a Road Trip


I got a telephone call a few weeks ago from a dear friend of mine.  Receiving a call from Chuck wasn’t actually that remarkable.  He called frequently or maybe I called him, usually to make plans for a get together with him and I and our wives.  Most of the time it was to catch a movie, grab a bite to eat and share some conversation on where our lives were at the moment and to express the usual “what’s new with you” sort of gab old friends do.  This time, however, the call was a bit different.  Chuck’s opening statement to me was, “Hey dude, wanna go on a road trip?”

I was taken aback somewhat by this out-of-the-blue statement, but recovered soon enough to respond with my usual well-thought-out answer.

“Huh?”

Chuck laughed at my confusion and proceeded to explain that he had recently talked to an old friend of ours who lived out of state, had actually talked with him for quite a lengthy period of time and had tentatively started making plans to get together at that friend’s house.  The out-of-state friend’s name was Neal and he had suggested to Chuck that maybe I might want to come along.  Since I had recently retired and had no particular appointments or pressing need to stay home, I said, “why not?”

We planned on leaving about three weeks hence and it wasn’t long before the scheduled departure date was upon us.

Chuck picked me up around 7 am on a Sunday morning in his new Chevrolet Colorado pickup truck, his vehicle of choice for this trip.  The clouds were low and dark gray, looming over us and warning that the oncoming day would soon become a wet one.  I’d been watching the weather forecasts for the last week or so along the route of our trip and the upcoming prospect of rain wasn’t a surprise. 

We were a little lucky, though, as the rain didn’t start for us until we were through Columbus and heading west.  The precipitation started then and would vary in intensity throughout the day from a light rattle on our windshield to some much heavier cloudbursts as we rode along. 

Western Ohio, Indiana and Illinois passed by in a rain-choked blur.

Driving and riding in the rain is not particularly fun.  Chuck and I made the time pass quicker by talking and relating to each other the stories we remembered about Neal and our childhoods.  Neal had been a neighbor of Chuck’s and ran in the same gang as Chuck and I did even though he was a year older than we were.  Our stories about the “old days” brought lots of grins and laughter as the wet miles hissed and gurgled by under our wheels.  Our memories of the shenanigans the three of us got into as youngsters sparked other recollections and the hours passed pleasantly.  Our conversations then started drifting into other memories of days past and a lot more stories were told.  I won’t say there weren’t some embellishments added to some of our stories, but I won’t say there weren’t either.  In any event we kept each other entertained for the majority of the day.

After a long chunk of that dreary Sunday had gone by, we passed through the northern suburbs of St. Louis and into a rainless Missouri!  Hurrah, we exclaimed in delight as we watched the roadway turn from a slick wet mirror into dry pavement. 

Since neither of us is as young as we’d like to think we are, we’d decided earlier not to make the whole journey to where Neal lived in one day.  Better, we thought, to call it a day halfway through Missouri, catch a decent night’s sleep and arrive at Neal’s place fresh late the next morning. 

We stayed at a nice Hampton Inn and ate supper right next door at a Cracker Barrel.  It was close enough that we could walk from the hotel to the restaurant.

And, of course, it was raining when we walked back to the hotel.  The weather gods apparently wanted one more crack at us.

The next morning, after a remarkably good hotel buffet breakfast, we hit the westbound road again and soon were skirting Kansas City and heading southbound for the last hour of the trip.  It was sunny at last and we were enthusiastic about the upcoming day.

We found Neal’s nice duplex with no problem and soon the three of us were shaking hands and smiling so hard it looked like our faces might crack open.  I hadn’t seen so many teeth since the last “Shark Week” on television!  It was a true joy to see Neal again after all those years – 42 or thereabouts.  That’s a long time, gentle reader, a very long time.  I looked at Neal’s face and wondered if I had seen him on the street would I have recognized him.  At first I thought not, but after about 20 seconds all the pieces fell into place and there was the guy I remembered standing there in all his glory. 

How cool was that!

We at once commenced jabbering at each other about our lives and what we’d been doing, both yesterday, the day before and over the past four decades.  Each of us told our stories.  Some of them may have even been true!  Naw, most of them were true although a few of them did stretch my credulity a little bit, but that was OK. 

We were among friends.

Neal’s health had taken a turn for the worse some years before and he was presently taking treatments for a severe disease.  I won’t disclose his disability in this blog, that’s no one’s business but his and whoever he wants to share that information with, but be sure that his problems were severe and he needed frequent treatments to sustain his health.  He was very open about his ailment and we expressed how concerned we were about his condition.  A little later that day we rode with him to a doctor’s appointment that he couldn’t break. We used that trip to continue our discussions and soon the waiting room of the doctor’s office rang with more of our stories and laughter. 

After his appointment was over he took us to a good barbecue place in one of the nearby Kansas City suburbs and we enjoyed some of the justly famous KC barbecue.  Lip-smacking good!

Neal drove us around after that, showing us places from his past. Where he used to live, where his business had been located back in the days before the depression, what he’d done there and how his life had been like a roller-coaster with a number of good highs and some not-so-good lows.  How he’d even lived in a travel trailer for a few years until he got back on his feet. 

We returned to his place after this grand tour and soon his wife Nancy got off work and joined us.  Chuck and I introduced ourselves then and we four then dove back into the conversations that we’d been having.  There was a lot of catching up to do as you may imagine!  We called it a day early that evening as Chuck and I had to drive to our hotel and we’d not checked in yet.  We said our good-byes and headed out, promising to meet again the next morning.

After a good night’s sleep at this hotel and another hotel buffet, Chuck and I went out and I got a couple geocaches before my cell phone buzzed and Neal said he was on his way to our hotel to pick us up. 

The three of us then went for a drive and I got some more geocaches that morning, bumping my total for Kansas up to 8 or thereabouts.  Then it was off to a good Mexican restaurant for lunch.  After this quite tasty south-of-the-border repast we adjourned back to Neal’s place for more catching up.  Later that day we drove to a nearby grocery store for steaks, spuds and salad makings and Neal soon whipped us up a wonderful juicy steak dinner.  Quite the chef he was that evening!

We took some photos of each other then to commemorate our visit and to remember each other by.  He drove us back to our hotel late that evening and we said our good-byes there.

It was tough saying goodbye that night.  We all realized we were older men, not in the best of health and who knows what fate had in store for us in our futures. 

Chuck and I talked that night a bit about how the visit had gone before settling in.  We both knew that Neal had gone through a very rough patch back in the ‘70’s and we’d wondered if he would open up about it.  We’d agreed beforehand that whether he did or didn’t, that was fine – it was his life after all.  We were curious about that time period, though, and hoped Neal would “fill in the blanks” in his history.  We were pleased, we agreed, when Neal had matter-of-factly told us about those bad days and how much he regretted the act that had initiated them.  He had done the required penance for his actions and had moved on, marrying a wonderful lady and living a much better life, perhaps, than he may have done without the cloud in his past.  Chuck and I applauded his courage, by the way he’d recounted his transgressions so forthrightly, by the strong faith he’d been blessed with and which had been so obviously good for him and by his steadfastness in handling his ongoing disease as best he could.

We both liked Neal and were very pleased to have seen him again.

Our trip home on Wednesday was almost the exact opposite of our westward journey, bright blue skies, sunshine and an inviting road leading us eastward and toward home.  Chuck even let me drive his new truck for a few hours!

So, gentle reader, what can I take away from my little road trip with a friend? 

Perhaps that it was fun to take a little break from the here-and-now of our everyday life and hit the road with a buddy.  Perhaps that it had turned out to be a bit of a pilgrimage to a land of lost days, half-remembered times and a childhood that seemed bathed in a golden light for all of us.

But mostly it was a chance to say hello to an old buddy, to renew a friendship that had lasted the long, long years and to hold on a bit tighter to our lives which seemed to be rushing by far, far too fast toward an uncertain future.

Adios Nine to Five

                       Adios Nine to Five


It was a happy day, a sad day; it was a day for long last looks and bittersweet thoughts.  It was a day for hugs and smiles, pats on the back, laughter and tears.  The workplace took on a different complexion today for her, a color never before seen when she realized that she’d never view it again as an employee.  She’d never climb those 22 stairs up to her office level again, never spend her weekdays among her “other” family, the folks she’d spent the long, echoing years working among.

She’d taken up her duties at this company 42 years ago when Nixon was president and the end of the Vietnam War was still raging.  Now it was Obama’s turn in the White House and the world had changed in uncounted ways.

I heard my wife Judy get out of bed early today, much earlier than normal for her.  I knew from her tossing and turning in the night just past that her rest had been fitful and her mind was already at her workplace, already shaking hands and smiling through the just-under-the-surface tears. 

Already saying goodbye.

I almost arose with her then, in the dark of her last day at work, to offer a ride to the office, to offer some funny remark, some bit of humor to make her relax a little.  But instead I stayed in bed as I normally did, listening to her go through her ritual of “getting ready for work” one last time.  This was her day and I wanted her to have that ritual unimpeded one last time.

I felt I understood her thoughts, at least a little bit, as I had gone through the same bittersweet period of time in my life four months ago when I did as she was about to do.

Retire.

When I heard her car leave the driveway I got out of bed and let the dog out of her crate.  She was raring to go, as always, and raced me down the stairs to await near her food bowl, her tail wagging madly, her nails clicking on the kitchen floor and her tongue already tasting her morning kibble.  She knew how mornings were supposed to go.  Food first, then outside where she would sniff the air, sniff the ground and watch the world all around with her bright doggie eyes.  She’d perhaps comment on a nearby squirrel, a robin hunting worms in the neighbor’s yard, a bicyclist zooming along or a noisy car passing on the street.  Hopefully she’d do her potty and we’d go back inside.  It was chilly this morning.

The dog never gave a thought about her mistress’s retirement that day.  Perhaps being a dog might be a good thing from time to time.

I drank my coffee and read the morning paper as usual, then got busy working on the project I’d been toiling on for a week or two – painting the kitchen.  It was a “normal” day for me, a “retired guy” kind of normal of course, but normal all the same. 

But my thoughts kept drifting to my wife.  Was she out of her last meeting with her boss yet?  Had she visited the workmen and engineers that all seemed to know her, even the ones she couldn’t quite put a name to?  Had she packed up the last leavings of her desk and turned off her computer for the last time?  Had she bid a heartfelt goodbye to the folks who worked closest with her, those whom she spent so doggoned many hours with.  Had she gazed around the office with the newly-minted eyes of a retired person, trying to imprint the sight into her mind, trying to place these images into a long-term memory that she could pull out sometime in the future and cherish.

Had she started home yet for the last time?

Around noon I heard her car come into the driveway and enter the garage.  Soon she was coming in the back door, her hands full with flowers, gifts and the final load of this-and-thats from 42 years at work.  She described her last day to me, first with a catch in her throat as she described the raw emotions of the morning.  As she recounted the events – the receipt of the flowers, a monetary gift from her supervisor, the many conversations of the morning – her voice cleared and the true joy of finally achieving retirement suddenly became evident to her.  She had arrived at last.

We chatted on for an hour or so, recounting our mornings – her's being the much more eventful one, of course – then took a drive to take care of some errands and to grab a bite to eat at one of the local restaurants.  The fresh spring air around us seemed lighter and more vibrant as we both realized that we had just embarked on a new journey, a trip paid for by us with our many years of toil. 

It was now time for the payoff, time to look around and see the world as a new and different place, a wonderful place, a place where we could do what we wanted on a Tuesday or Thursday as well as on a Saturday.  We could sleep in or get up early, be as energetic or as slothful as we wished.  We could grab a suitcase and hit the road for a few days if the notion took us.  We could take a class, learn yoga or pottery or how to speak Patagonian.  We could volunteer at a charity.  Hell, we could even take up skydiving!

And we were still mobile and not yet hampered by severe physical problems that would limit our adventures.

I could tell my wife was feeling much the same emotions as I.  Our conversation wandered around the future, things we could do, places we could see, friends we could have fun with and more idle chit-chat of that sort.

But deep down it still was a bittersweet day for her, I knew, leaving the day-to-day certainties of her work, the people there, the comfortable rhythms of the nine-to-five, the Monday through Friday, the relaxation of knowing that you were an expert at what you did and what you did you did well.

I also knew she was beginning to understand that the downside of work – getting up so darn early in the morning, dressing as someone else required you to dress, doing work that could sometimes be long, tiring and boring – was over!  All the rules, regulations and necessary behavior of the office was done! 

Finito! 

So now her last day at work is finished.  The sun has gone down on her time at the office and her being defined as “an employee of AABBC Company”.  Now she is retired, an independent contractor, footloose and open to whatever comes down the road.  She can do or not do, be or not be, enjoy or not enjoy as she defines each of those things. 

It was a bittersweet day, a tumultuous day, a day for emotions and tears, sorrow and smiles, farewells and I’ll-be-in-touchs.  A day both sad and happy.

So welcome to my world, wife.  May you find the happiness, the contentment and the joy you so richly deserve in the upcoming years.

Busy Days?

                           Busy Days?



I guess I could take a break from my busy day and sneak a few words into the blog. 

Did I say busy?  Hmmm…  Well, of course it all depends on your definition of “busy”.

“I’ve been so busy…” Well, you’ve heard that and you know how everyone says that – they’re busy doing this and busy doing that.  Too busy to do this and too busy to do that. 

But I’d be really surprised if that was actually the case.  Busy is such a subjective word.  What you consider busy I might think was an easy day and visa-versa.  It depends a lot on priorities, too.  What you consider important or what you actually want to do.

I’m pretty sure I was busy today, but of course it was a retired dude’s kind of busy. 

For example:

My mornings are busy with the routines I’ve developed (fallen into) since I retired.  Get up when I darn well feel like it.  (Yay!)  Clean up, dress and let the dog out of her crate.  Feed her and let her outside to “decorate” the side yard as she sees fit.  Pick up the decorations in a small bag and donate them to the trashcan.  And of course she has to bark a bit, usually.  Seems like it doesn’t take much to fire her up most days.    Another trait I have to work on dissuading her from.  Then it’s a fresh cuppa coffee and the morning paper, which I read more thoroughly nowadays than I used to.  Then?  Well, then I generally have some plan of attack for most days, a focus.  But, then again, not all days.  Some mornings I just log onto the computer and see if anything strikes me as something I might like or want to do. 

Usually something comes to mind.  Whether it’s applying more paint to something that direly needs it, cleaning this or fixing that, going here or going there.  Or it may just be a day where I write a nice letter to a friend or take the dog out for a long stroll. 

However the day turns out, whatever I do, essential or seemingly frivolous, at the end of it I always want to believe that the day mattered and that it made a difference. 

There is a lovely story that I want to share with you concerning this very thing.  It goes like this:

 “Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"

The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he turned to me and said,

"It made a difference for that one.”
― Loren Eiseley
It mattered to that starfish. 

And I like to think that most days mattered to me too, more or less.

And so let’s now divert from the philosophic portion of this particular blog and continue with some doggie stories. 

You probably knew that was coming, didn’t ya?

For those of you not interested in more Trixi tales, I bid you an affectionate adios.  I’ll see you back here sometime soon.

OK gang, you still with me?  Then off we go…

For those of you who are keeping track of the “incidents” concerning our new dog Trixi, you might want to click off a couple more.  As you might remember, she scared us a while back by slipping off her collar and making an unexpected sojourn to our neighbor’s front yard.  She was just checking out their concrete goose, apparently.  It’s one of those concrete goose statues you see all over, but this one happens to be wearing a red coat and that is, I’m guessing, what attracted her.  She did came back when I called, so that’s a point in her favor.  After that particular jailbreak I decided to replace her collar with a harness we’d bought her specifically for walking, an Easy Walk type.  It has its leash link in the front of it rather than behind the dog’s head, so if the dog tries to pull away from you, its design twists the animal to the right and back toward you.  It works pretty well, too.  Anyhow, I decided to leave it on in place of the collar that she slipped out of.  After a couple of weeks wearing it, I wondered if it might be a little uncomfortable for her as it was fairly snug, so I got a “regular” dog harness that I thought might be OK and feel a bit more comfy for her. 

She figured out how to slip that harness in two days flat!  Back on went the Easy Walk.  Unfortunately she had apparently been pondering the angles and straps of the EZ Walk too and ended up slipping that one also.  Again we were lucky and she returned from the neighbors when called.

What the heck do I do with this Houdini now?

After a hurried phone consultation with our vet, I got a recommendation to try asking a local dog trainer about collars. I called him the next day and he said to come on up and we’d do a “meet and greet”, the mutt and me. 

Or is it the mutt and I?

We drove (actually I drove and Trix rode) up to the trainer’s place on that rainy, dreary day, parked my car and saw the trainer stick his head out the door and wave me and Trix to come in.

The dog and I scooted from the car to the building, trying our best to stay between the raindrops and not succeeding very well.  Jim, the trainer, was a very friendly chap and we talked quite a while about collars and his training methods.  I agreed to join one of his training groups starting up in a week and also wrote down some of his ideas of collars I might try.  He first showed me a Martingale collar that is used on a lot of greyhounds.  Those dogs have smaller heads and strong necks, so a regular collar will slip right off.  That description sounded a lot like our buddy Trix.  The Martingale looks like a regular collar except it has a chain loop in the front, so when the dog pulls, the loop contracts and pulls the collar tighter.  It’s similar in effect to a choke chain except it shrinks the whole collar at once instead at one point like the choke chain and will not jam.  He also showed me a Sprenger prong collar, a nasty-looking chain device that has, like its name implies, prongs that point into the dog’s neck.  They are NOT sharp and are only there to attract the dog’s attention when it pulls.  I slipped one on Trix and we walked around the trainer’s big room.  Trixi was remarkably amenable to walking and NOT pulling when wearing that one!  So when I returned home I ordered one of each off the Internet.  Now we’ll see how things go when they’re delivered!  We’ll also see how the training goes as Trix and I start next week.

So wish Trix good luck and wish me patience, fortitude, resilience, courage and… more patience.

The Great Spackle Caper

       The Great Spackle Caper






Another doggone snowy Sunday, but at least it’s not a zillion degrees below zero like most of February has been this year.  This particular snowy day, to differentiate it from the myriad other snowy and cold days inflicted upon us this winter, started around midnight last night with a light dusting of snow and was followed by heavier stuff in the wee hours.  My son works third shift and reported this morning that it was pretty steady over the dark hours of the night and that driving home was more than a bit dicey.  So the calendar now says it’s the first of March and we haven’t been anywhere near normal this winter, in temperature or in snowfall.  One’s been way higher and the other way lower.  I’d like to say it’s been a typical winter for hereabouts, but it really hasn’t.  It’s been pretty grim.  Granted we’ve had worse in past years, but not a whole lot worse.  Anyhow, the calendar is wending its slow, methodical way toward spring and in a few weeks I’ll probably look back at these words and wonder at their impatience.

Now for the latest.

As some of you may remember, we rescued a dog back in November last year, about a week before Thanksgiving, and she’s been a real humdinger for us.  She’s a smidge over 40 pounds and a mix between Shepherd, Boxer and Terrier.  That’s according to the papers we got with her from the rescue place.  I’m not sure how they derived that lineage, but its probably close.  I’d probably peg her more likely as a cross between a pit bull, a whitetail deer and a goat.  I’ll get into the goat reference in a minute. 

Just remember that goats eat ANYTHING!

Our rescue people, One of a Kind out of Akron, received her from the Mahoning Pound.  That’s all the history that’s been written down about her, so her life is a mystery to us for its first three-four years.  She’s had puppies we do know, ten pups in the last litter we’ve been told, and more than one litter, too, according to our vet.  She’s spayed now so that’s definitely in her past.  Her color is what’s called brindle, sort of a medium brown with faint, almost tiger-like, striping.  Brown and white face, white chest and white paws.  Long, deer-like ears, one of which is bent inward like she’s giving you a military salute when you see her.

Our family has always had dogs as far back as I can remember and so has my wife’s family.  This new dog is fifth in a line of canines my wife and I have owned in our married life and she may be the largest.  She was 40 pounds when we got her and we’ve added a few since then, as she started out pretty skinny. 

She’s been a good dog, I suppose.  She’s friendly toward us in the family, but that’s normal and expected, as dogs consider their owners as part of their pack.  She likes other people when properly introduced to her, but can be a little intimidating to people knocking at the door.  I’m not too upset at that.  Larger more intimidating dogs can make a house very much less ripe for break-ins or other problems from outside. 

The rescue place where we got her had named her “Trick” as they received her near Halloween.  We preserved most of their name selection by renaming her Trixi. 

She seems comfortable with it.

Readers of my blog might remember her actions not long after we got her involving her ingestion of a LOT of Baker’s Chocolate and my procedure on how to make her “offload” the dangerous treat. 

I thought that I might get lucky and that would be the worst we would see from our new buddy. 

I should have known better…

Here’s the latest chapter in Trix’s ongoing story:

I retired a week before Thanksgiving last year.  I fiddled around for a while after that momentous day, doing this and that and helping my wife with Thanksgiving and Christmas preparations.  She makes lots of cookies that we give away and mail to various relatives and my assistance was appreciated.  At least I think so.    After the holidays were over I decided to tackle some maintenance issues with the house that had been put off for way too long.  Interior painting was the first on agenda.

I started of course by moving furniture to make various walls available for preparation and painting.  During which preparation I used spackle to patch various holes and other dings and scrapes in the walls.  This is an old house, so the imperfections in the walls were numerous and all over.  I’d just spackled a number of holes one day and not long after that noticed Trix eyeballing the pink stuff lower down on the walls.  (The spackle I used went on pink and dried white.)  As dogs have been known to do, she took a lick of the stuff.  And another.  Apparently it had an odor that was pleasing to her. 

I shooed her away.  Spackle was not a food item and the label said it was poison with a capital “P”.  So I made an effort to keep her away from where I was working. 

But good intentions and real life are sometimes not always synonymous.

On Wednesday this past week I was plugging away at another project upstairs in our house – repairing a wall.  A long time ago a hole was made in that wall of our bedroom.  It’s been so long ago I’m not really sure how the hole was made, but there are some vague recollections about someone (could it have been me?) taking a punch at the wall in a fit of pique and going through.  (Shame on whoever it was!)  I was younger and dumber back then, so I just “patched” the hole with some metallic tape, then painted over the tape when I painted the room.  The damage was behind our bed’s headboard so wasn’t really an eyesore.  But now, since I was doing projects, I decided to fix that hole correctly.  I started with the “screen and spackle” technique where you attach a screen or grill patch over the hole then spackle over it.  Then sand and respackle until it is smooth and able to be painted.  I’d put the first layer of spackle on the grid and used quite a bit of it to cover the metal, then went downstairs for a sandwich while it started to dry.  After eating it and fiddling around down there for a little while, I went back upstairs to see how it was drying.  When I took a look at the repair I was confused.  The metallic grid was clean and shiny.  No spackle on it at all, pink or white!  I rubbed my eyes and looked again.  Yes, clean.  No spackle.  Wait a minute.  I KNEW I had done the work – I wasn’t THAT senile yet.  I looked on the floor – could the stuff have fallen off?  No, nothing was lying on the floor.  I shook my head, trying to rearrange the cobwebs in there and looked again.  Could the stuff have oozed into the cracks of the grid and gone inside the wall as unlikely as that scenario was?  Nope, none evident.  Then an icy chill ran down my back. 

Could it have been that stupid dog? 

When I found her she was flopped on the couch looking sleepy and real innocent.  That is until I noticed the smudge of spackle on her lower lip.  Holy cow!  She’d eaten ALL of the stuff!

I called the vet immediately and was told to use the “table salt or peroxide” trick to make her vomit it up.  I only could get a smidge of salt into her pie-hole this time before she clamped down and stubbornly refused to open her mouth.  It would have taken a scissors jack to open those jaws then, so I bundled her up and ran for the vet so she could do… whatever it was she needed to do.

They muzzled her and poured some hydrogen peroxide down her gullet, then handed her leash to me to take outside so she could vomit.  So I stood in the cold and snow watching the dog watching me.  She eliminated the OTHER way profusely, but nothing out of her mouth.  She seemed oddly normal for a poisoned animal – no convulsions, no drooling, and no wheezing.  Just a patient look as if to say, “Are we done out here, doofus?”

I returned inside the vet’s office and reported the non-upchucking.  The vet said to just take her home and watch her.  Feed her a bit more than normal to “keep things moving” internally and if she demonstrated any signs of illness to bring her in no later than Friday morning so the vet could “get it out”.

So I took the obscenely normal-acting dog home and fed her.  And watched her.  And watched some more. 

She could NOT have been more normal.

The vet called the next morning and I reported Trix’s condition.  And she called the following morning.  I repeated the report.

I read the label on the spackle during that waiting period.  Not good reading.  “Call the Poison Control Center” and “Do not induce vomiting” were mentioned.

Trix just continued doing her doggie stuff as time went by, blithely oblivious to our anxiety.

I’m sure the vet thinks I dreamed up this whole escapade, but NO, I didn’t!  Honestly!

And that’s where we stand today.  It’s been said that cats have nine lives, so let’s add another ancestor to my mutt.  There’s gotta be some cat in there somewhere! 

Along with the goat…