A Day of Giving Thanks

    

     As Thanksgiving drew near I caught little snippets here and there from various outlets reminding us this is the time of year to be thankful. I appreciate the sentiment, though I do wonder: what about the rest of the year?

     I was musing the other day while driving to work about how glad I am to have been born during the time I was. I've been in the room for the birth of my daughter, seen a man walk on the moon, experienced the birth and explosion of the internet, seen every Super Bowl every played, plus pictures from the surface of Mars and the bowels of space. I've been witness to a few wars, great societal advances like the Civil Rights movement, the election of the 1st black president, to the adoption of gay marriage in some states, and the resilience of people in the face of major disasters like the World Trading Center going down, Hurricane Katrina, and the Gulf oil spill. 

     I could sit down and write a gratitude list and if I’m really honest about it the list wouldn't end.  I could include things that are around me and part of my day right now, from the family I married into that treats me like one of their own, to the awesome people that pass through my experience daily. Realistically though I could not leave out all those people, places and things I've known and been a part of over the course of my Life. I carry a little piece with me daily of all that has passed before me up to today, I do my best each day to honor the memory of those who loved me when I needed it, taught me tough lessons when required, kicked my ass when I was being hard-headed and took the time to share themselves with me to help nurture my growth along the way. Some days I can’t do it for shit, others I’m spot on; that is part of the struggle of the human condition.  I’m glad in a way I haven’t worked it all out yet, I like it here and since I’m still here I have another chance each time the sun comes up.

     Living through some of the things I've experienced and surviving some of the circles I ran in I am grateful for the Life I have today. I can get out of my own bed without assistance, in my own house, turn on the coffee pot in my own kitchen, then take a shower with indoor plumbing, drive my car to work to make a few bucks as part of the night crew, AKA The Breakfast Club at Night, only to return home to my hair tie stealing cats and a pretty wife who's eyes light up when she sees me.  As far as I can see it doesn't get much better than that.

     On this Day of Giving Thanks I want to thank everyone that is been a companion in the wild ride that has been this Life. And though I can’t thank those who are no longer on this plane, I hope they left here knowing how important they were to me during our time together and through the years since. To those of you in the reach of my existence, thank you for sharing you with me.  Life is great, pass it on.   

A Mini Quest

    

     I experienced a pleasant surprise while gazing into the wonders that exist within the vending machine at work. The kid that rattles around inside me on a daily basis spotted Zoo Animal Crackers, and since I was lucky enough to have a single in my pocket I had to indulge.  I hot stepped it back to my desk, awash in the feeling I’d almost found a misplaced treasure from my youth. It was similar to catching a big frog in the creek near my house when I was 9; it just kind of made my day.

     I went back to my desk and announced to my aisle mates they had animal crackers in the vending machine, well not ACTUAL animal crackers, just the knock off replacement of the original.  My announcement was met with a hearty exchange of our memories of the originals in their little circus wagon box. We all agreed the frosted ones in the big bags from the grocery didn't really cut it as true animal crackers, though they sufficed in a pinch. I set the bag aside to nibble at while I was finishing my usual end of day task list.  My crest fell a bit when I realized these were a bit crunchier than I remembered the texture of the originals. I made an executive decision I kept to myself; I was going on a hunt to find a box of the originals.  

     Fast forward to the weekend and it’s grocery shopping day. As the Mrs. and I wound our way through the aisles grabbing everything on our list along with a few , “Hey we need this too” items  thrown in for good measure, we passed the cookie aisle. I took off running, searching high and low for my prize; there it was in all its old time splendor, right down to the silly little string to carry them with. along with an added bonus right on the front - A good source of Calcium. I snatched a box from the shelf and hustled back to my wife waiting patiently, a puzzled look on her pretty face. All smiles I dropped my treasure in the cart.

     She looked at me with a half-smile; her eyes posed the question before she asked,

“What is it with you and animal crackers lately? You brought a bag home (yep, I bought another one), and now you ‘re getting more?”

 “After getting the first bag of the fake ones I had to get a box of the old originals.”

“Honey, I love you, but sometimes you’re just odd.”

“You say that like it’s a newsflash.”

     I received a head shake paired a giggle, topped off with a peck on the cheek, after which we paid for our groceries and headed home.  

     A little later that day while we were watching something on the DVR I decided to enjoy the culmination of my mini quest. I was a bit disappointed. I probably expected too much, the texture of this new version of my old favorite seemed to be a little crunchier than the old standby. I seemed to remember the crackers having more of a graham cracker like texture; soft with a little bit of a crunch, the kind that melted in your mouth and stuck to your teeth. I figured they may have been stale since they probably only sell about 10 boxes a year at $3.29 a pop.

     I looked for an expiration date to no avail. Not a good sign there. The newer ones didn't have one either, though I imagine that is probably only on the big box the little ones come in. The ingredients listed on the packages were essentially the same: mostly enriched flour that is enriched by vitamin tablets the size of shuffleboard disks to fill back in all the stuff that came out of the wheat during processing. The rest is pretty much sugar, salt, soy and whey, which I‘m sure would make Miss Muffett happy. One ingredient really caught my eye: calcium carbonate, which is used in everything from baby diapers to blackboard chalk, also as an additive to oil drilling fluid and to help purify iron in a blast furnace and finally antacids. Now that’s a hell of a resume, the Swiss Army knife of chemical additives. 

     

    Granted, I don’t for a minute expect animal crackers to be part of a balanced diet, though it sure was fun to revisit an old favorite. I make it point,sometimes to the world's chagrin, to take time to listen to reminders from the kid in me there is always wonder in this world, sometimes in the strangest of places. 

     

A Test You Can't Study For

     

     There is nothing quite like a cancer scare to make your ass pucker and push your thought in all sorts of directions. One of the aspects of something like that coming down the pike is the knowledge you’ll may end up running the gauntlet we all know as the health care industry if the test results force you to start down that path. I had a procedure done the other day that still gives me little reminders of Gregg’s Not Excellent Adventure in a paper gown. I came through all right, though the two weeks leading up to that result is really what this post is about. I've waited a couple  of days with the idea in mind that it would help cut down on the profanity that may erupt from the end of my fingers during what will follow here: I make no promises nor apologies.

     My regular GP sent me to a specialist to get something checked out that gave him pause.  After some research online using the list of names I was given I made an appointment. When I arrived they asked me to pee in a cup and I dutifully complied.  After the usual vitals stuff the doc arrived about 20 minutes later. His entrance set my teeth on edge for the days ahead:

“Hi I’m Dr. ___, we found blood in your urine we are going to check you for cancer.” 

“Um, what?”

     At this juncture I’m still a big groggy after getting up 3 hours earlier than usual to get this appointment in before I get to work, though he has definitely got my attention, so  I listen to what the has to say. Essentially the hook was set for me to come back. He rattled off a short description of what happens next, tells me I need another test first before I came back, and explains the procedure. He then proceeds to tell me he does over 750 of these a year and I start doing math in my head. He shoos me off to see the receptionist and collect my cares and ways so I can head home.

     I scheduled the other test, which was taking a ride on the Stargate machine, AKA a CT scan; since they can’t do anything but take the test then hand you a CD I had to wait another week to get back to the doc again after that the test. Needless to say more than once that week I woke in the middle of the night and had to talk myself down off the ceiling before the appointment day rolled around.  After all is said and done, I’m right as rain, though maybe a tad grumpy, which is pretty much my normal state if you ask some folks. Am I glad all worked out okay?  You bet your ass I am, though I am definitely torqued at what I experienced.

    

     I felt like I was run through a procedure mill, right from my initial conversation with the doctor to the fact I got the EoB from my insurance less than 2 days after I had the procedure done. I never get those EoBs that fast. Never. The doctor himself and his staff were very pleasant, professional, and efficient though almost too much so; I felt like I reached warp speed as I was hustled through every little detail of my visit. When I was on my way out from the first visit I was told that my CT scan had been scheduled with an imaging place right down the road from this doctor’s office. I told the scheduler I’d rather not drive a half hour for the CT scan and preferred to use a place closer to my house, she wasn't too happy. That unhappiness was reinforced on procedure day when the doc asked me why I used the place his look of disdain just didn't sit right with me. I get the whole referrals thing and the back and forth, though seriously don’t be so fucking obvious. I told the gal who took my vitals that I felt like I was being hustled through a procedure mill. Her response was, “You know what this test is for right?” “No, I’m a goddamn idiot that hears the word cancer in the first 15 seconds of talking to the doctor and decides instead that it’s a good time for tennis lessons.”  Meow. When the doc came in he asked me the same question and I told him to just get this shit done. When we finished he asked me again and I told him, “You pretty much hooked me to come back when you the word cancer popped out of your mouth in the first words you spoke to me.” His response to that statement was the same question; obviously he didn't get my fucking point and I doubt he never will or cares too. 

     The whole procedure mill phenomenon is just way out of hand. From doctors performing a half dozen Lasik surgeries before lunch, to being knocked out so someone can stick a camera up your ass to check your tonsils, and though I don’t have them I’m sure most women don’t enjoy putting their tits in a vice. In essence it’s about billing; a hard sell under the guise of healthcare.  What we have is one continuous call to grab our plastic sheeting and duct tape to cover our windows so we can feel proactive as we wait for disaster to strike.

     The whole setup is based on fear; making us afraid and using that as an advantage to justify the process, which really fries my onions. So much of our health costs and our time spent are about responding to fear. My issue here is really how we have been conditioned to be afraid of various and sundry diseases that we willingly submit ourselves to all these tests over and over. Once we get our results we are usually handed a pill or two and the cycle repeats itself.  

     For me, doctors are essentially body mechanics and I go to them when I need a diagnosis if I think something is wrong.  Being stubborn as hell some times that noticing needs more than a little prodding from my other half. She is extremely adept at using my own advice against me; she simply asks me if she was experiencing whatever the symptom may be, what would I say to her. At that point I call her a brat, she giggles and I go make an appointment.  I guess I don’t see the value in looking for trouble, though I know a lot of you beg to differ when it comes to this kind of stuff. 

     My issue is not with the tests themselves, it is the fearful mindset we've allowed to be foisted upon us. Fear is a great motivator and an excellent marketing ploy that is used by basically anything that we buy whether it’s cars, zit cream, or the stuff on the “As Seen on TV” rack at your local grocery store and healthcare. You ask, have I fallen prey to the marketing of fear? Of course, if I had conquered the human condition I wouldn't be here. My biggest fear now is running out of things to write about and having the time to do it, and as boogy men go that’s not a big one. 

One Year Ago Today

                                                                   

     One year ago today I married the love of my Life, which for me says a lot mainly because I have some miles on this chassis.  I've heard that phrase used by other folks and though I don’t know what that means to them I do know what it means to me.

   After a bit of trial and error, some false starts and a couple of missteps the universe finally got my order right. I remind my wife on occasion that I ordered her from the universe a long time ago, it just took a while for us both to end up in the same place. Her reaction? She giggles.

                                                                 

     I've learned along the way that finding the love of your life isn't about not having to endure rainy days together; that just makes for a dry dusty landscape where Life struggles to scratch out a meager existence and grabs what is available. No rain or stormy weather turns everything a shade of brown, which lends credence to the idea that beige isn't a color it’s an attitude. Learning to walk hand in hand through a quick downpour or a thunderstorm punctuated by hail enables us to truly appreciate the sunny days when warm breezes caress our cheeks and romantic nights when the kiss of the light from a full moon casts a halo around all creation. There is comfort in believing “This too shall pass “ in concert with another and trusting each other enough to keep on walking the walk.

     Finding the love of my life means feeling the fire inside me when I finally see my honey after a long day; Its seeing the way her eyes light up when she looks at me, whether across the dinner table or as she drops her cares and ways after a day at the salt mines. It also means sitting at opposite ends of the couch, each with a book in our hand, occasionally reaching out just to touch hands, no words needing to be exchanged. 

     Love I've learned is about finding someone that gets you, that understands who you are and despite all that can entail loves you anyway.  Love I've learned is about allowing you to find your own way with no judgments; and returning that idea in kind, offering support, encouragement or just an ear when needed. Love is about allowing my partner enough space to have her Life while understanding I can’t be all things for her at all times, nor expecting her to be that for me.

    This is an example of the woman I married; this surprise was waiting for me when I got home from work on Friday night. The book, “Our Life Together - So Far”, is a collection of pictures of our years together -so far. Yes, that is Crème Brule sitting there too. How cool is that? All this was accompanied by a reminder to set my alarm for an early start for another surprise the next day.

                                                                     

     My morning surprise was breakfast at the little café that sat next to the Chapel at the Farm,( http://www.chapelatthefarm.com/ ) where we were married. We had lunch there after we took our vows that day. Saturday morning we sat outside on the patio, and though the weather was fabulous and the food was excellent, the company was the best part of the whole meal.

                                                                        

Happy Anniversary My Love and since I can’t sing worth a damn I’ll let Phil Phillips do it for me:

Gone,Gone,Gone 

Not My Idea of Body Art

    

     I managed to pick myself up a case recently, and it wasn't the kind you bring home for a backyard barbecue. I surmised I pretty much had bronchitis so I carted myself off to urgent care. Forget about trying to get in to see my regular doc at the beginning of ick season, he was booked solid. I went to the same urgent care I have used before since they are usually pretty efficient.

     When I arrived I was the only one in the waiting room, which only proves my point; if you are going to get sick do it early in the morning, the lines are shorter. I sat and filled out the normal paperwork crapola and sat down to wait.  I began to wonder if everyone there was updating their Facebook page and why I was still waiting to go in; there was no one there but me.  After about 15 or 20 minutes the triage technician lady came out and called my name. We ran through all the usual vitals stuff and she told me to wait for the doc. I kicked back with my Kindle to wait for the docs appearance, which didn't take very long.

     The doc did the usual poking and prodding, peering in orifices and listening to my chest, then told me she wanted a chest x-ray.  A few minutes later back in comes the same technician and says, ‘I’m the x-ray tech too, follow me.”  Off I thus troggled to the x-ray room. I elicited a giggle when I explained she needed to turn the slide on end because I have long lungs. She remarked she wished more people would remember that. I didn't realize it was that common and I thought it was kind of weird when an x-ray tech pointed that out to me many years ago, so I've made a point to remember.

    After that it was back to wait for results and see the doc again. She gave me a few  scripts and told she wanted to give a shot of some kind of antibiotic to get my healing kick-started.  Guess who was handed the job of antibiotic archer? Yep, it was the same triage, x-ray tech. I told her she needed to get paid more; she agreed.  She put a band-aid on my hip over the injection spot, handed me some papers and sent me on my way.

      The fun began later, depending on your point of view. I‘m not a big fan of band-aids; they either keep trying to fall off or collect every stray bit of fuzz I  get near when I am wearing one. I decided this one needed to go; it wasn't covering anything that big. Bad idea I had there. I had a bit of trouble trying to get it started to pull it off since it was in a rather odd spot, though I finally managed to pull it loose – along with a few pieces of skin.  

     A gander at the mirror confirmed my suspicions; I had a nice connect the dots in the shape of a band-aid on my ass.  In between giggles and ouchs I received an assist from my better half in finding a bigger one to cover my new body art.

     This one is staying on till it falls off or it snows here- whichever comes first.

Throwback Pitcher

     

     I rarely will sit and watch baseball on the tube anymore, though I have been to a few D-Backs games at “whatever the hell they call it now” Field in Phoenix. It really is much more enjoyable in the stands than on TV because you realize there is more going on than what the camera can show you at any given moment. My baseball on TV watching is pretty much confined to catching some of the World Series. There are two memorable examples for me of catching just the World Series at seasons end; now I have a third. The first was when our local Diamondbacks beat the Yankees on a bloop single in game 7 back in 2001; it was great to finally have a championship for an Arizona team. The other was an even bigger deal for this New England mutt. I could have sworn there was something in my eye watching the Red Sox finish a sweep of the Cardinals back in 2004; I couldn't help wishing some of the die-hard Red Sox fans I knew could have been there to witness what I did that night. Many of them have passed on, including my dad, so the end of the game was thoroughly surreal and bit overwhelming. Now if the Cubs could just get there and do the same, it would probably stop global warming.

     Along comes this past Wednesday night, and I managed to catch the last few innings of Game 7 of the World Series, which was the first bit of baseball I watched all season. I’d had kind of half an ear tuned to the series, so I knew the teams were taking turns kicking the crap out of each other.

     I was surprised to see a one run game in the 6^th inning, so I decided what the heck watch the last few innings and see which team self-destructs.  What I saw was a pitching display that will be written about for years to come, especially with the current way pitchers are handled.  As I watched I was amazed at how he gave those guys nothing to hit, and could still turn it loose when he needed. The network flashed a graphic across the screen showing what the Giants Madison Baumgardner was doing hadn't been done in over a 100 years; a few weeks ago I wrote a piece about something similar :

http://theholeinthepaper.blogspot.com/2014/09/where-are-all-guys-with-rubber-arms.html

   

     Being a failed Little League pitcher myself, that lead the league my last year in plunking kids in the head, I am prone to admire a pitcher that has command of a game the way Baumgardner did the other night.  Being witness to a demonstration like that for a part time baseball fan was definitely a happy accident.  My hope is some real baseball fans got to partake as well. 

Mixed Nuts

     This past week has been more about writing words on actual paper instead of in the air, which is how I think of typing on the keyboard.  Don’t ask me to explain it, that just popped out of mind and refused to go back in. Most of my posts I type out before I post them, rarely do I hand write them first, usually I can sit at the keyboard and just go. There are times though when the keyboard isn't quite real enough for me, it doesn't seem to engage enough of my senses to make the words flow; some thoughts just tell me they need to be written by hand. Most of the handwritten stuff I've put down over the years hasn't seen the light of day. If you asked me to give you a reason why I would probably say I simply wasn't ready to share it, which accounts for the recent silence from this chair.

     Lately I've taken to reading things written by other writers, other than their books. I've found a lot of interesting thoughts and observations about the craft along with a glimpse in to their own writing life. The paths each of us has taken to reach the point of putting ourselves out there on paper are as varied and unique as the individuals themselves. I've found it interesting to see how other writers view their writing, what it’s meant for them and the struggle with trying to find their niche. Apparently in today’s world a lot of writers feel pushed to have a niche. I guess if you’re a retailer trying to sell books it makes sense to be able to categorize the times you have to sell.  For a writer I can thoroughly understand how that niche can feel too confining, almost like someone else is trying to force you into a box.

     Boxes are for keeping shoes in, or little keepsakes like granddad’s broken watch and that penny you left on the railroad tracks when you were 12. I imagine most folks don’t like being pigeon-holed, I know I sure don’t. I guess that’s why I've done so many different things over the course of my life, though it sure has put me in some strange places. I know others don’t seem to mind those definitions since it gives them a sense of structure or some boundaries to work in. I have no issues with boundaries, they are so necessary in so many situations and without them what we may see now as chaos, would be even more so. 

     I tried to sit and think what my niche is, I really spent some time and mulled over the idea, and being resistant to creating a box for myself I will just keep chewing on that one. I looked over the things I've posted here and it’s rather a big can of mixed nuts, a magic can with the type of nuts changing each time I open it. I never worry about spilling any, there is always more where those came from.For the present I suppose I’ll just let the world and all its wonder furnish me with nuts to keep that magic can full. 

Leaving on a Jet Plane....Nope not yet.

     

     I do not have a fear of flying; I just don’t like to do it. Short flights of two, maybe two and half hours or less I can tolerate fairly well, though anything much longer than that I dread the thought of; it’s akin to that one unpleasant task that you don’t really want to do. You know that one thing you finally decided can’t be avoided and just need to follow through on. I know flying is the most time efficient way to travel long distances, I just don’t like that post-flight feeling of being beaten with a phone book; there are no bruises though it sure feels like there should be some. I basically walk out the gangway like I’m wearing a blindfold and only one shoe; I usually end up walking into something. I pretty much have figured out that ugh feeling has a lot  to do with the fact I can’t at any point say “Hey, Pullover, I want out”, like you can on a long car ride; one can’t really do that at 35,000 feet up.

     I count myself among the fortunate ones that can fall sleep almost anywhere; I learned as a kid long trips mean lots of naps. Take me on a long road trip by car and you get pretty much the same; if you want someone to keep your company let me drive a for a while, otherwise I’ll be leaving you with your own thoughts as the miles melt away.  However, it is not so handy a trait during those often pointless meetings at work; that’s me standing up in the back there so  I don’t snap my neck nodding. Plane trips usually turn into several 20 minute cat naps which definitely make the time go faster, however I occasionally miss out on those bags of 9 peanuts the flight attendants toss at you.

     I also experienced my first peanut free flight when the flight attendant announced over the PA that we would only be given pretzels during one leg of our journey. I wasn't aware the airlines even did that type of thing, though it makes sense in recycled air 6 miles up for folks with peanut allergies.  I’d sure miss my peanut butter if that ever happened to me.

     I've come to the conclusion that airline seats and Japanese motor cars are made for midgets. If you are taller than 5’10’ and weigh more than 160 lbs. you feel like a breakfast sausage; that same feeling you get when you put on the suit that has been in the closet for 5 years and the pants…are…a…little…snug! Phew! After the combination over the past decade or so of some airlines going bankrupt and a few others merging, it seems that the airlines that are left have pushed the seats closer together to stuff a few more people in; I don’t remember flying coach as being quite as cramped years ago. Then again I could just be a cranky old man that doesn't like to fly.

     There have always been PA announcements in airports, though the post 9/11 announcement that runs on a loop makes me wonder what we have done to ourselves. You know the one I mean, it starts off with, “If any unknown person attempts…”, then repeats itself 5 minutes later. I guess it must be geared towards the folks that don’t heed the warning on the back of those sun shades we put in our windshields out here; "Do not attempt to drive with sun shade in place". If you need to have that announcement repeated to you ad nauseum you probably shouldn't leave the house.

      

     Another aspect of the changes implemented by the airlines over the past decade or so has been the decrease in the number of non-stops. Now most flights have at least one stop and those layovers often are so short you have to almost run from gate to gate depending on the airport. Sometimes, like the layover we just experienced, they seem to never end; ours did eventually since I’m writing this at home instead of Southwest gate A10 in Baltimore.  Our layover in Baltimore was supposed to be only 35 minutes and we were supposed to stay on the same plane and continue to Phoenix: I should have known that was too good to be true. Fortunately for us we had no connecting flight to catch in Phoenix since it ended up being a 3 hour wait, though I hoped no one else on our flight had to make a connection.

     We were told we needed to get off the plane and wait in the passenger area for further instructions. So off the plane we troggle to sit in the chairs by the gate and wait, about 10 fidgety minutes later with no updates the ornery goat that doesn't like to fly decided he needed some instructions. As I walked up to the gatekeeper at his little podium I overheard him tell the man that had beat me there by 3 steps to “please go sit and wait sir there have been some changes to your flight and we will let you know more shortly.”  I previously worked for a small commuter airline so I really didn't want to be “that” passenger so I went and sat myself back down. I waited another 10-15 minutes during which I saw several people attempt to elicit information from the gatekeeper; he just stonewalled each one and shooed them away, then eventually disappeared. I decided to try my luck at another desk and the woman behind the counter at least was kind enough to tell me they were giving our plane to a group that had theirs delayed and our delay would be about another hour, adding also they would have to find us another crew as well. Really?  Another trip through Baltimore airport had turned into a delay. Why should I be surprised its happened every time I've gone through there? It is the airport equivalent of the Hotel California – you can never leave.

     The situation evolved from the ridiculous to the sublime a very short time later. That plane we came in on, the one that was supposed to be used by the passengers that got hosed right before we arrived, well that one was taken away so they had to wait for another one, which turns out wasn't ready to fly either. I stood up to go look at the board to see what time they had moved our flight to and it had disappeared from the board! Right about now I am doing a slow burn, I really didn't want to leave New York and I didn't want to have my next birthday at the airport in Baltimore.  I walked up to the desk and asked a woman standing behind it, wearing makeup by the pound, what was going on.

“Well sir it seems the plane we were going to give your flight isn't ready, and it looks like we are short a crew as well.”

“Why is it every time I go through here there is an issue with the plane? Do you bring all your broken planes to Baltimore?”

“Oh no sir Southwest doesn't bring all its broken planes to Baltimore.”

Standing to my right is another woman with a twinkle in her eye and a bit of grin who pipes in with, “Well Baltimore is a maintenance hub for Southwest.”

“Ahh. Okay I get it now, all the broken planes DO come through Baltimore.” 

Queue the crickets. The woman to my right, shrugs, as a smile tugs the corner of her mouth. The woman behind the counter looks at me like she doesn't know whether to shit or wind her watch. I thank the lady to my right and tell the Maybelline ad to drink some more Kool-Aid, do an about face and head back to my seat.

     Eventually we managed to find a plane and a crew and made it into the air for the last leg of our trip home. The attendants passed out free booze to those indulging and broke out the good stuff from the snack bin - packs of cheese filled Ritz and mini Lorna Doones. I wolfed down my share and settled in for my usual nod.  We finally arrived home a few hours later than expected, grateful neither of us had to roll in to work the day.

     I hope my next trip to Baltimore is to see family and not as a stopover. If it is I’ll remember to bring a pillow and a blanket in case the Hotel California is doing a thriving business.

    

     

Have a Stinky Day

     During my recent sojourn to upstate New York I discovered an interesting little shop along the main drag in downtown Saratoga Springs. While my wife and I were on an afternoon stroll, checking out the shops and the sights we happened upon a bright blue awning with a picture of a cartoon-like dog, inside a logo that said, "Stinky Dog”. Seriously how could we pass that up? We walked in the store and were greeted by a pleasant bundle of energy of a woman we found out later was the owner, Samantha. Her greeting? “Thanks for stopping in, hope you’re having a Stinky Day.” Needless to say we both giggled.  We spent some time talking with the owner and being one that is curious to a fault I asked her about the origins of Stinky.

     She told us he started out as a doodle that graduated into drawings of Stinky  that she ended up selling, which lead to more artwork showing Stinky in various spots around the globe selling, which eventually grew into an entire line of Stinky products. The store was definitely an extension of the owner; they both were bright and cheery. It was filled with all manner of Stinky paraphernalia. Of course we had to indulge.

     My wife picked up a couple of those smelly things you put in closets and bureaus; these were filled with pine so we could remember our trip every time we opened our dressers.  She also grabbed a sweater for her folk’s Yorkie. Of course when we got home later he had to try it on and being a Yorkie he already had the adorable thing going for him and the sweater just added to it. However, the look on his face reminded me of Ralphie from “The Christmas Story”, during the scene when his mom made him try on the bunny footy pajamas that his grandma made for him. Little Bailey stood in her parents kitchen and looked at each of us in turn like he was wondering if he was being punished. I imagine if he could talk he would have told us something along the lines of, “Yo, dude I don't do sweater vests.” I can relate to the feeling, I managed to conveniently lose several of those homemade sweaters vests back in elementary school. As cold as the winters get there in upstate New York he may change his mind.

     For myself, I had to add to the myriad of t-shirts and coffee mugs we have already; can you really have too many of those? I think not.

     I am really glad we decided to stop in to check out the store, since it was a fun little interlude in the midst of a fabulous vacation. The store and its owner were great examples of taking a dream and running with it by doing what you love and the rest will somehow manage to take care of itself.  If you are ever in Saratoga Springs and on the downtown stroll take some time to experience the Stinky Dog.

     Oh, one more thing. Have a Stinky Day.

 Website: http://www.stinkydog.com/default.asp

Original art by Samantha Norwood McCullough

Six Days in Heaven

                                                                            

     If any of you out there that read my words have noticed a decided lack of new posts, I apologize for not stopping amid the wonders that have assailed my senses the past week, though suffice it to say I was in heaven for six days. My wife and I took a trip to see family in upstate New York, where the air is clear and dirt free, the trees didn't come on a truck and the bodies of water you pass weren't made by a bulldozer. I gathered many ideas and threads to pull and though I took time to scribble a few notes I pretty much spent the time walking and drinking it all in. Note to self; it is time for some new walking shoes.

     Today was spent unpacking and putting life at home back in order after spending most of the past week just enjoying being out of the city and in among the trees. If I simply said I had a great time that would be an epic understatement. I think I OD’d on nature, not a bad way to go I’d say. This trip was a collection of firsts, as in first time meeting a big portion of my wife’s awesome family. The other “first”  really wasn’t a first, just a real long time in coming.  I was able to spend some time with one of my oldest friends from way back, the first time we’d seen each other in over 30 years.  Our conversations were spent remembering our days of glorious idiocy and some of the crazy things we did, but mostly we talked about what has gone on for each of us since we last sat in the same room. It was really good to see him and it sure didn’t feel like it had been 30 years since we’d seen each other; it felt more like 30 days. One could surely make this kind of stuff up, Hallmark movies are made with less material, though it most definitely happened to me and it was fantastic. I struggle for words as I write this knowing all that is contained on this page barely scratches the surface in describing the depths of feeling the past week or more has meant to me.

                                                                           

                               

     30 plus years gone in a flash, times change but good friends are forever. 

      My wife’s parents are both just real good solid folks, they are both warm, generous and have been welcoming to this old long-hair and made me really feel part of the family. They threw my wife and I a dinner party slash reception, hence the reason for our trip, so the rest of the family could celebrate our wedding with us,though a little late and I could finally get to meet them face to face. I must admit I was more than a little concerned beforehand, though any trepidation was quashed upon meeting them all. Each and every one made me feel a part of the family in their own way and the best part was being able to get a few minutes to talk to each of them in turn either at the party or over breakfast the next morning. Lots of genuine warm fuzzies were passed around.

     A whole host of things went through my mind over the course of those six days, including another note to self. When traveling to Saratoga Springs in October the next time bring more warm socks: I froze my ass off the first couple of days. It was definitely not easy to get back on the plane to come back here since I didn’t want to leave and because I don’t like flying, which is a rant for another post.

                                                                             

     Saratoga Springs has a really nice feel to it, when you can walk around downtown you notice the town has a lot of character. Most of the buildings are old and many of the ones that aren’t old are made in such a way that at least on the outside they keep to the general style of the area. If I needed to put that feeling I get walking around town into one word it would be homey; that cup of hot chocolate, old comfy sweater, curled up in front of the fireplace with a good book kind of homey feeling. I think this trip really drove home hard for me about how much I miss that feeling of hominess that is not easy to reproduce living out here in the desert, where 10 years old is old and there is no sense of permanence. Sure I may be romanticizing a bit, the winters would freeze the ears off a brass monkey and the snow is ass deep to an elephant in the dead of winter, though I still have the yen to put up with that again if I mainly because I can get the payoff in the spring, summer and fall. 


                   

The Adelphi Hotel in Saratoga Springs, just one of many cool old buildings.

With a world famous horse racing track in town many horse related items to see. 

Morning coffee view from the porch.

     Fall was always my favorite time of year when the leaves start changing color and littering everyone’s lawn.  Fall still is my favorite time of year, though here it just means I finally reached the point in the year I don’t feel like a boiled owl every time I go outside. We took a drive one day up to Jay to see relatives and I don’t think I said much, though per my usual, when a car trip starts, Gregg falls asleep before the odometer registers a mile. While I was awake I spent my time drinking in the leaves on the trees and watching the river flow by as we followed it for part of our journey. We stopped a couple of times to enjoy the scenery and the river, the highlight of which was the old covered bridge: the kind of place I could stay all day.

                                                                               

No description needed.

The Jay covered bridge. We spent some time hopping around the rocks in the river, just like a couple of kids on a holiday.

     A great trip for sure that was fulfilling in many ways and fantastic in its simplicity: Just spending time with really great people all the while surrounded by an amazing backdrop. Going back again won’t happen soon enough. And the answer is yes to those who are wondering; the when is the question, so we here are leaving all the windows and doors open for opportunity to present itself.

                                                               

                                                                               

Down by the river, pondering the possibilities.